Finding Cassidy (5 page)

Great Blue Herons are mostly solatary creatures, but they can be really social, especilly when they want to find a mate.

Cassidy MacLaughlin, Grade Four Science Project

I
cried for me, I cried for Dad. I cried because I was angry, afraid and confused.

I might have cried for hours, except Tabitha positioned herself at my bedroom door and meowed for freedom (she, apparently, didn’t care that my world had just exploded). Getting up to let her out, I caught my reflection in the vanity mirror.

It pulled me in like gravity.

I sank onto my stool and stared. A stranger stared back. Blond hair, blue eyes, nose a little too big. It was me, all right.

Whoever that was.

I studied my hands, with the weird knobby knuckles no one else had. The long, thin fingers that Grandma Mac said were the sign of a born pianist.

Grandma Mac! Oh God, that means—I lifted my head. My mirror image quietly mouthed the words out loud. “It means she’s not your grandmother.”

My whole history was based on a lie. My dad’s—I mean, Frank’s—family wasn’t mine. Aunt Colleen. My cousins Peter and Jenna. I wasn’t related to any of them.

Did they know? My mind sought memories, bits of conversation. Grandma had always said I was a generational throwback, with my blond hair and tall build. Grandpa Mac talked about recessive genes. They
couldn’t
know. Or maybe they knew and they’d lied to me too?

What was worse?

I grabbed the photo albums from my top shelf. The first few were filled with pictures of me as a baby and a young child. Pictures of me with Mom and Dad. I mean Frank. I looked for a clue. Was that guilt in Mom’s eyes as she bathed me? Why was Dad—Frank—not smiling as I took my first step? Was he disappointed that I wasn’t really his?

A gust of wind rammed my window; the lights briefly dimmed. I was used to power outages. We
got them a lot at this time of year. Besides, what was temporary darkness when my parents had kept me in permanent darkness for years?

I looked at the pictures of me with Nana and Granddad Hunt. Was that love in Granddad’s eyes, I wondered as I studied the pictures of my third birthday party? Or pride of ownership?

My hair was so blond back then it was almost white. As a young kid, I’d yearned to have dark hair like Mom. When I was twelve, I saved up my allowance and bought a box of hair dye. L’Oréal’s sable brown. I still remember the colour. I didn’t ask; I just dyed it one night when they were out. I remember being so surprised when they came home and hardly reacted. But it didn’t make one bit of difference. I still felt like an outsider at times.

Because I was one. I understood that now.

By the time I reached the fourth album, red-hot rage filled me. I grabbed a pair of scissors from my desk and methodically pruned myself out of every single picture in album four. That was the year of the Caribbean cruise. The year of my school trip to Whistler. Frank had chaperoned, and there were lots of pictures of us together.

When I saw the one of us goofing around on the slopes, I burst into tears again.

We’d been so happy that day. He’d taught me how to do hop turns; he’d bought everybody pizza for lunch. He’d been the coolest dad on the trip. And now he was gonna die.

I wiped my tears. Except he wasn’t my dad.

I kept cutting. I lined my single self along the vanity, across the desk, on the nightstand. For a few seconds, I felt better. I had freed myself from the lie in album four. Only fifteen more albums to go.

But the smiling images silently mocked me.
Frank has Huntington’s. You don’t know who you are.

Desperate to turn off my mental dialogue, I turned on the television. I clicked through forty-plus channels. I watched polar bears climb ice floes in the Arctic, Rachel tell Ross off, and Donald fire a skinny businesswoman from Arkansas.

But when Emeril grabbed the turkey baster, I thought of all the jokes about sperm and turkey basters and I had to turn the TV off.

I stared around my room. My own eyes stared back. Wherever I turned, there I was. All alone. Cassidy the Separate.

I snatched up the images and put them on my nightstand. It was like playing with the paper dolls Grandma Mac used to make me.
She’s not really your grandma.
Never mind! I pulled the pictures of Jason
close and surrounded my single self with him until I wasn’t alone anymore.

Until I belonged.

Until I remembered who I was.

I was Jason’s girlfriend. That hadn’t changed. That
couldn’t
change. The only thing that stopped me from being
all
his was that I hadn’t slept with him. So tonight I would. Sleeping with him would make me forget about Frank’s illness; it would make me forget I was some half-orphan-type person. It would give me a place to belong.

It was such a good decision, I’m surprised it took me so long to make it.

Anticipating
it
made me jittery and nervous and hot and cold at the same time. It also gave me a purpose. Because if I was going to have sex with Jason, I needed new underwear. And for that I needed to go shopping.

Which was a perfect mind-numbing way to kill a few hours until Jason got off work at nine.

Unfortunately, any escape from the house meant I had to go down the hall past the living room. Past Frank—Formerly Known as Dad—and Grace the Snake, both of whom would insist on knowing my plans.

I marched down the hall and stopped in the doorway. I had the lie ready, but a question popped out
instead. “Who knows?” It was surreal, having words pop out of my mouth that I didn’t expect.

Two heads slowly turned, in perfect synchronicity, toward me. “About the insemination?” Dad asked.

I nodded.

“Just us,” Mom said. “Other than Nana and Grandad, of course. And they’re both—” The word “dead” hung in the air. “Gone,” she finished.

I glanced from one to the other, looking for signs that this too was a lie. Dad was pale; Mom’s face was puffy. Otherwise, they looked like they’d always looked. As if that meant much. “Huh.” It was all I trusted myself to say.

“It’s true, Cass. And no one needs to know, either,” Dad added. “It’s no one’s business but ours.”

“What about the Huntington’s? People will assume that I’m at risk.”

Mom and Dad exchanged glances. “We’ll figure something out,” Mom said.

Another lie?
Did I know these people?
I shrugged, pretending indifference. “Whatever. I’m meeting Prissy. She’s invited me to stay overnight. We’re going shopping first.” I’d regained control of my mouth; the lie tripped out easily.

“I thought you were going out with Jason,” Mom said.

“Change of plans.”

Mom studied me for what felt like forever. I forced myself to gaze unblinking into her red-rimmed eyes. Could she read my mind? “Why not sleep here tonight?” she finally asked.

Because I’m going to lose my virginity and I don’t want to be rushed.
“I don’t want to sleep at home tonight.” Understatement of the century.

“Are Prissy’s parents working?” Dad asked.

Prissy’s parents owned a whale-watching company. Their season was generally in high gear by now. “Not tonight.” They wouldn’t be on the water in this storm, but still I added, “I checked.” What was another lie on top of the others?

“I wish you’d stay and talk.” Mom’s lower lip quivered. “I don’t like you going out like this.”

I widened my eyes, feigned ignorance. “Like what?”

“Upset.”

“Who’s upset? I’m going to spend money. That always makes me happy.”

Mom sighed. “You’re not fooling me, Cassidy.”

My heart leapfrogged. Did she suspect? Or was she slipping into her usual overprotective mode?

“I want you in your own bed tonight. Be home by midnight.” She shut her eyes and leaned back in her chair.

“Mom!”

“Grace, cut the kid some slack. It’s been a rough day for all of us. If she wants to stay at Prissy’s tonight, let her.”

Mom’s eyes opened to thin slits. “I don’t agree. But if you want to overrule me, go ahead.” She shut her eyes again.

Dad gave me a half-smile and tugged nervously at the collar of his shirt. “You, uh, going anywhere else after the mall?” He looked uncomfortable playing Mom’s role as inquisitor.

Wordlessly, I shook my head.

“Just to Prissy’s?”

I nodded.

“I don’t have a problem with that.” His eyes—those familiar eyes that I’d looked into and trusted for my entire life—now reflected trust right back at me. “Just phone us when you get there and you’re in for the night, okay?”

Guilt balled in the pit of my stomach. Dad’s belief in me was absolute. How could I lie to him, especially now, when he was so sick?
Because he’d been lying to me forever.
“Sure.” I swung my backpack over my shoulder and turned away.

“Don’t forget,” Mom muttered.

“Right,” I muttered back.

The mall lot was practically deserted. I dashed through the rain, past Starbucks and Toys “R” Us, only to feel that familiar lurch of disappointment when I stepped inside and was greeted by so many common, second-rate stores.

Shopping was clearly better under optimal conditions. Like those in Seattle or Palm Springs. But tonight I’d have to make do.

Dad has Huntington’s. He’s going to die.

He’s not my dad. I don’t know who I am.

I’d hoped the mall would distract me from the mess in my head, but it took a while before I could concentrate. Thoughts of Jason saved me. You are Jason’s girlfriend. Slow down. Hold that thought. Start shopping.

In a couple of hours, I spent…Well, let’s just say I spent a lot. (Or rather, Frank did. He pays my bills.)

I mean, let’s be honest. If a girl’s going to lose her virginity, she has to look and feel her best.

Did I feel guilty?

Not one bit.

The way I saw it, my parents didn’t give a shit about my feelings. They were self-involved pricks. How could they not have told me the truth about my conception? About my real father? How could they have lied to me all these years?

So no, I didn’t feel guilty. The trouble was, I didn’t feel a whole lot better either.

The rain had eased to a lazy drizzle by the time I finished my mall therapy. I threw my purchases into the trunk and started my engine seconds before my cellphone rang.

It was Jason.

“A carton of rotten cantaloupe split open on me,” he said. “I’m covered in orange stink. I have to go home and change.”

“I’ll meet you at your place.” I flicked on my wipers and turned the heat up to high.

“Don’t bother,” he said. “I’ll see you at Max’s.”

I didn’t want to go to Max’s. I had something else in mind. “But Jase—” I hesitated.
How to tell him?

“I gotta go. You know what Finnelli’s like about phone calls.” And he hung up.

Max lived on oceanfront property just off Radcliffe Lane. Technically, it was the perfect party house. It was huge, it had a wraparound verandah, and his parents were often away. The downside was that the lane was narrow and always crowded with cars; I had to park a block away.

The wind off the ocean was fierce. Within seconds,
it had whipped my hair into a frenzied mass of frozen ribbons. But even with the storm, the deep base of Max’s stereo carried on the air like a discordant note. By the time I reached the top of his driveway, hip hop practically drowned out the howl of the wind.

My footsteps slowed as I walked up the neat, boxwood-lined path to his front door. A subtle yellow glow shone through the windows, outlining the shapes of everybody milling around inside.

I didn’t want to go in. I wasn’t a party queen at the best of times, but now, after this latest bit of news, I just wanted to be alone with Jason.

What piece of information should I give him first?

Frank…you know, the guy I used to call Dad? Well, he isn’t. I was conceived in a lab. Purely business, you understand.

Or maybe I should try a more positive approach.
I don’t have Huntington’s. I’ll never have Huntington’s. I’m not related to my father.

Maybe I should just save the personal stuff and hit him where all guys like it—between the legs.

Hi, how was work? I’ve changed my mind. Let’s get a really expensive room somewhere and have sex.

Suddenly the music stopped. There was a hoot of laughter and the music—top forty this time—started up again.

No, this party was not the place for me. Deciding to wait for Jason at the end of the lane, I turned to go. I hadn’t taken four steps when the front door flew open and half a dozen guys spilled onto the verandah.

“Hey, Ms. MacLaughlin!” Max’s loud voice was thick and boozy. “The party’s the other way.”

I turned and waved, prepared to offer an excuse, but then Prissy and Yvonne appeared in the doorway.

“Cass!” Yvonne dashed down the steps and grabbed my arm. “Prissy brought Jell-O shooters. Tangerine.” Her words were slurred and her eyes were overly bright, but her grip was surprisingly strong. “If you don’t like them, we’ll mix up something else.” She tugged at me. “Hurry, it’s freezing outside.”

I had no strength to argue. I let her lead me up the stairs, through the sweet-smelling haze of pot and cigar smoke into the boom, boom, boom of the crowded house. People yelled and waved. Waving back, I wove past the huge palm that graced the two-storey foyer, through the mess of bodies dancing in the living room, toward the kitchen.

It was a state-of-the-art room with two black refrigerators, several ovens and a large granite island that happened to be littered with cartons of cider and bottles of rye and vodka. The smell of cheese, tomato sauce and booze wafted through the air.

“You know that last party? When you wouldn’t drink the tequila? I promised I’d make these, remember?” Prissy held up a square blue plate loaded with jiggly bits of orange Jell-O. They were shaped like shot glasses. “Just like Mom used to make.” She giggled. “Only better.”

“I don’t know.” My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten much dinner. “What’s in the oven?” I loosened my jacket.

“Barbecued chicken pizza. Two huge ones. We just put them in.” Yvonne popped one of the Jell-O shooters into her mouth. “You should try these. They’re soooo good.”