Impossible
Max
“Max?” Dad’s hard warning tone would send other men scampering away.
“DNA doesn’t lie. Everett is my brother.”
“There is no threat. Everett isn’t my child.
He isn’t your brother.” Her whole body shakes as she pushes out of Dad’s arms and stands up.
She marches over to me. “Hear me when I say this, Massimo Rage Vincenti: Nothing in the world would keep me from you or Milia. I would walk through fire to keep you safe and get you back. There is no way I would walk away from Everett and not fight to get him back if he were my son. Everett isn’t my child. ”
“But he is. The science doesn’t lie.”
“He can’t be. Everett can’t be my son. I only gave birth to two children, Milia and you.”
“The science doesn’t lie. Everett is my brother.” I hate seeing the pain in Mom’s eyes.
Dad walks up and wraps his arms around Mom.
She twists around until she’s facing him. “I would remember him. I wouldn’t have left my child. There’s no way Everett is mine.”
He sets his head down on hers and meets my eyes. The confusion and fear in them mirror my own. “Maybe Everett can shine some more light on this. Why don’t you go get him?”
“I remember every minute that I was gone. He can’t be mine. He can’t be mine,” she keeps repeating that over and over again as I walk out of the room.
How is this possible? Could it really be amnesia?
A traumatic brain injury would do that, but she has no visible scarring on her head.
But there could be something hidden underneath her hair.
Wouldn’t Dad have felt it?
None of this makes sense. Why can’t life be like my computers, which follow set rules?
I step into the kitchen doorway and stop.
Nonna is standing at the stove stirring something that smells wonderful, while Everett and Hope are setting the table.
Ethan is at the bar watching Nonna cook with a smile on his face.
This feels completely normal and absolutely strange.
Milia walks up behind me— “Hey, Bro.” —body checking me and then walking past. “Nonna!” She walks up and gives Nonna a hug. “When’s dinner?”
“Soon.” Nonna notices me and gives a questioning look.
I shrug in response.
“How about I make you a little appetizer?” Nonna walks over to the fridge.
“Can I help? Daire and I did some extra strength training today, and I could eat your arm. I’m so hungry.”
“No cannibalism in the kitchen.” Ethan smiles at her.
“Nonno, that would only happen if we were stranded up in the mountains with a broken leg and no way to hunt.” Milia’s sense of humor needs work.
“You’d have to do it the right way. Make sure you picked the oldest or weakest person. Then preserve the meat so you don’t waste their life.”
And now that got weird. Note to self: Remind the pilots to give all the jets a thorough inspection and tune-up. And make sure Milia doesn’t fly with me.
“Everett.”
The boy’s smile fades as he turns to me.
“Dad, Everett came over for dinner, isn’t that cool? We’re going to play some video games after dinner. Want to join us? He’s really good. He can be on my team.”
What? “You’re ditching your dear old dad as a partner?”
“Everett is better than even you.”
“Oh really?”
“It has to do with age and hand to eye coordination,” Everett chimes in. “The older you get, the slower you get.”
“Those are fighting words.”
“Bring it on, old man.” Everett beckons me with his hand.
“After dinner, you’re going down. But first—” I don’t want to do this. “—my parents want to talk to you. In the library.”
Everett raises an eyebrow, but follows me.
Once we’re in the hallway, he asks, “What’s with the stealth?”
“I haven’t told Hope or Milia.”
“Are you planning to?” There’s a bit of hesitation in his voice.
He’s worried I won’t accept him. I stop. “Yes. You’re part of this family now. We’re having a family dinner on Sunday. I’ll introduce you around then.”
“Oh. Okay. Because you know, you don’t have to. I’m fine. I can go back to Willow Street.”
I’m doing everything wrong today, it seems. “The only time you’re going back there is to visit your friends. This is your family.”
“Then why does it feel like I’m going into a job interview that I’m not going to get?”
It’s too easy to forget Everett is a kid, let alone a street kid with tons of insecurities. “This isn’t about you. Mom doesn’t remember you.”
Everett’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.
“We don’t know why, but we’re hoping talking to you jogs her memory.”
“She doesn’t remember me?”
“Not at all.”
“How? It’s not like you can just forget having a kid.”
“We don’t know. That’s what we need to find out. This isn’t about accepting you or not. That is answered in blood. Nothing will change that. Your place is here with your family. We just have to figure out what happened to Mom. And make the two of you safe.”
“Maybe it’s better that she doesn’t remember me.”
I reach out and put my hand on his scrawny shoulder. “She’d rather die than forget her child.”
“Are you sure?”
“Later, I’ll tell you a story. But for now, she’s in the library worrying.” Dad is probably trying to hold it together. “Just answer their questions as clearly as you can.”
“I’m not going to tell you about them.”
Why did he have to take after the stubborn side of the family? “You know that’s the wrong choice.”
“It isn’t.” His absolute certainty is irksome.
Now isn’t the time to fight that battle. I knock on the door again.
You never know with my parents.
“Come in!” Dad shouts instantly.
I give Everett a reassuring smile and then open the door and walk in.
Mom is back in Dad’s lap with his arms around her. Her tear-filled eyes are locked on Everett. “You’re sure?” she whispers.
“One hundred percent.” I can’t wish my answer was different, because that would mean losing a brother.
Tears pour out of her eyes.
“Everett, how was your mother killed?” Dad squeezes his arms tighter.
That’s a hard question to start with.
“They shot her in the heart, then in the head. I watched her bleed out on the security feed.”
A double tap sounds like a military hit. How many times has Ethan said ‘double tap to get the job done’? Dozens, maybe hundreds of times.
“Do you think that was faked? Because Temperance has no scar. Not a single trace on her head or heart.” Dad’s hand moves to her heart.
The boy shrugs. “I didn’t see any signs of tampering, but it’s possible.”
“Did your mother have any scars? Any moles?”
Everett taps by his ear. “Three moles just here like I do. And a scar about one inch long on her spine. That’s where they implanted her tracker.”
Implanted a tracker! Not that I haven’t thought about doing that a time or two for Hope, but still. This has all the military vibes. “Do you have a tracker?”
He nods. “I couldn’t reach it to take it out, but I disabled it.”
Of course, he did. “We can get a family doctor to take it out.”
“They can’t be trusted—”
“Ours can. They’re family.” And if I can get my hands on that chip, I can track it back to its manufacturer. “We can worry about that later.” And by later, I mean very, very soon.
“Temperance doesn’t have one of those.” Talon takes a breath.
“Can I see?”
If I were Everett, I’d want to see proof with my own eyes, too.
Mom pushes up out of Dad’s arms and walks over to Everett. She turns around, lifting her blouse in the back. There’s nothing but smooth skin and a few healed stretch marks that she probably got from giving birth to Milia or me years ago.
Everett stares silently, lifting a finger to the middle of her back.
Is that where his mother’s was?
Dad walks up and wraps an arm around Mom as she turns around. “How old are you, Everett? Do you know when you were born?”
Everett nods. “I’m fifteen. Why?”
DNA doesn’t lie, but it does tell partial truths.
“Because my wife can’t be your mother. I know every movement she’s made, and she’s spent every night in my arms for more than seventeen years.”
That means…
“I don’t have a sister,” Mom blurts out. “I’m an only child.”
“It appears you do. An identical one,” Dad states the obvious.
“What?”
“I’m not your mother. But it appears that I might be your aunt. How that is possible, I don’t know. But I do know that from now on, if you accept, I would like to treat you like you are my own child. To care for you and protect you just like I would Milia and Max.”
“Really?” Everett’s voice is barely a whisper.
Dad nods. “A man can never have too many sons.”