Chapter Twenty-Six
Kit was confused. “Anything you’ve learned, you can share with my sister, my daughter. I don’t keep secrets from them.”
“You can share with them after, but I think you’re going to want to hear this before they do.”
“Oh, okay.” Kit turned and said, “You two make yourselves scarce. Hal, let’s go into the living room.”
He followed her into the room, then closed the pocket doors between the living and dining rooms.
Kit moved the winter jackets from the sofa to a nearby chair. Having made room, she sat on the edge of a cushion. “Why so secretive?” she whispered.
He crossed the room slowly, then sat at the other end of the sofa, his body turned in her direction.
“First of all, the remains you found are of a boy. The consensus is that he was stillborn, given the size and overall development of the bones and the overall skeletal structure, according to Doc Steele. It’s not being recorded as a suspicious death.
The state has closed its case file. But there is a match to you. ”
“So he would have been my first cousin, then, right?”
“No, actually, Kit, the DNA indicates—” For a moment, he appeared at a loss for words. “The report indicates that he was your brother.”
It took a very long moment for his words to sink in.
“My . . . brother? My mother had a stillborn baby boy?” She sat back and tried to digest the news.
“Well, that would explain why she never wanted to come back here, if she’d had a son who died here .
. .” Poor Mom. “But wait—why wasn’t he buried?
Why would Mom have left him here? Why did Maxine keep his remains in her room? ”
For a moment, it had almost made sense—before it didn’t.
Hal and Kit made eye contact, and seconds passed before he said, “I wonder if your sister would mind giving us her DNA.”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind at all. But what are you thinking?” Kit asked. “I thought you just said the case was closed.”
“I said the state closed its case, but I still have questions.” Hal shook his head slowly. “And I don’t know what I’m thinking. It just makes sense that while your sister’s here, we tie up this loose end.”
“You mean, see if she’s a match to him, too?” When he didn’t respond, she added, “And to me?”
When he stayed silent, she rose. “I’ll get Beth.”
For Kit, the implications were mind-blowing. If Beth was not a match—it could only mean one of a very few things, all of which Kit refused to acknowledge. Was there any scenario that proved that she and Beth were not sisters? The answer would be a wound too deep to consider.
Of course, Beth complied, swabbing the inside of her cheek like a pro. “I’ve been under treatment for cancer, though. I read somewhere that some types of chemotherapy can alter DNA.”
“We’ll worry about that after the results come back,” Hal told her while he placed the swab in a plastic bag and sealed it. “The lab is going to push this through as quickly as they can. We know you have a lot of questions.”
“So many questions,” Kit muttered.
“I’ll be in touch.” Hal’s expression was unreadable as he left the house.
“So what was all that about?” Beth asked after Hal left.
Kit took a deep breath before responding. She was still confused and shocked by the fact that she had had a brother. How had her parents never talked about having lost a son? Something wasn’t adding up. But because they should know, she explained to Beth and Abby the nature of Hal’s visit.
“No, that’s impossible,” Beth declared. “Mom had a son she never told us about? Not. Possible. And to have left it here, unburied, with her sister? I repeat: Not. Possible.”
“Mom, maybe you and this baby belonged to someone who worked here. Or one of the campers.”
Kit shook her head. “A camper had a stillborn child while she was here, gave it to Maxine to bury, but instead, Maxine wrapped it in a quilt and kept it in her room? Does that sound logical to you? And then the camper had another child, which she gave to my mother to raise? I should say Barbie Clark because at this point, do we know for a fact that she is my mother? Where’s the logic, Abby? ”
“It’s about as logical as any other scenario I can come up with,” Abby admitted.
“But that means Barbie wasn’t my mother, either.” Beth appeared shell-shocked.
“No, no. I know she was your mother. I remember when she and Dad brought you home from the hospital. I remember you as a baby. And we have all those pictures of you, me holding you when you were just a few days old.”
“How do you know I was a few days old? Because they told you I was? Doesn’t mean Mom gave birth to me. She could have gone to the hospital and been given me right after I was born as part of an adoption plan.”
“Mom, what do you remember about the time when Aunt Beth was born?”
“Dad’s sister, Peg, came to stay with me. Mom was in the hospital for a few days after you were born, Beth.”
“Maybe if she was trying to hide the fact that she hadn’t given birth to me, she went to a hotel for a few days.”
“Hide from who, Bethy? Who would Mom have wanted to hide an adoption from?” Kit felt like screaming. They were both avoiding the elephant in the room. Almost as much as she was.
“Her neighbors. Aunt Peg. I remember her as a judgmental woman with a sharp tongue. She was nothing like Dad. It’s hard to believe they were sister and brother.”
“Not disputing that, but the scenario you just described seems too far-fetched to me.” Kit looked from one to the other. “Let’s wait and see what the DNA tells us. Speculation at this point is only going to make us all crazy.”
“But—” Beth began.
Kit sighed. “But what?”
“What if the DNA proves we’re not sisters? That you and the baby were Mom’s but I wasn’t?” Tears rolled down Beth’s face.
“You are now, always have been, and always will be my sister, Beth. There are some things that DNA can’t change.” Kit embraced her. “But we’re getting way ahead of ourselves. Let’s just wait until the results come back.”
But even as she’d been the voice of reason and calm, Kit lay awake staring at the ceiling, wondering just whose child she was, and who her sibling was—the child in the quilt, or Beth.
Both? Nothing seemed to make sense. She’d thought of every possible scenario.
If Barbie had been the mother of all three—Beth, the baby in the blanket chest, and herself—why would she have left the remains of her son with Maxine? And why hadn’t Maxine buried them?
Could Maxine have been waiting for Barbie to return to take the remains of her son? Was that why they hadn’t been buried?
The cold, creeping thought that she was actually Maxine’s daughter, not Barbie’s, kept slipping in and whirling through her mind and she kept trying to push it out. But why would Barbie have raised her as her own? If Miles and Maxine had had a child, why wouldn’t Maxine have raised her?
How could she be anyone’s daughter but Barbie’s?
She tried to remember back to that time before Beth was born.
She’d been excited to learn she was going to have a sister or a brother, but she didn’t have any real memory of her mother being pregnant.
Barbie had always been slender, and lots of women don’t show their pregnancies.
And she had only been seven years old. Did she even know what a pregnant woman looked like at seven?
Mostly she remembered the morning she was told that her mother was going to the hospital but would be back in a few days with a new baby.
No-fun Aunt Peg had come to stay, and three days later, Mom came home with a baby who was all pink and gold, and Kit had fallen instantly in love.
It had never occurred to her to wonder if things had not been as she’d remembered and believed.
Their parents were Ed and Barbie Clark, and she and Beth were the Clark sisters, and no one had ever had any reason to doubt those truths.
It hit Kit like lightning: Whatever the answer, it was the reason why her mother had fled Maine and never gone back, why she had taken her secrets and a lie to her grave.
And now here they were, awaiting the results of some DNA testing that might turn all their worlds inside out.
It was as if, even in death, the sisters were still feuding. Clearly, one was her mother, the other her aunt. She was pretty sure Banks knew who was who. Maybe now, with the discovery of the baby’s remains—her brother’s remains—he’d be more inclined to tell her.
Abby was the first one up the following morning and proceeded to make pancakes from the ingredients she’d purchased at the general store. When Kit shuffled in, still in her robe and pajamas, Abby poured more batter into the pan without asking.
“Here, Mom. You look like you need this more than I do.” Abby handed her the mug of coffee she’d fixed for herself.
“Thanks, sweetie.” Kit sank into one of the kitchen chairs and took a long sip.
“Rough night?” Abby asked.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“I heard Aunt Beth moving around a lot during the night. I guess she had some trouble falling asleep, too.”
“Yes, she was, and every time she got up, I woke up. I’m going to have to find another room to sleep in.”
“There are lots more rooms and beds to choose from. Take your pick.”
“I will.” Kit sighed. “Oh, this is just a shit show, if you’ll pardon the expression.”
“Mom, I’ve heard you curse before. And for the record, shit show is mild compared to what I’ve been calling my future ex.”
“How’s that going?”
Abby’s eyes narrowed. “She can have him. He’s all hers. I have the best thing he’ll ever produce.” She looked down and smiled at Benny, who was drawing abstractly on a sheet of paper, his crayons spread across the table. “He is the only Evan Allen Kent production worth keeping.”
Kit smiled, too. “You’re absolutely right. He’ll never be able to duplicate this once-in-a-lifetime masterpiece.”