“Mom,” a small voice interrupts, and we all turn to the back hall where a tiny girl stands wearing black yoga pants and a sweater jacket. Her head is wrapped in a purple scarf. She’s thin and pale, but her eyes . . . something about them has me fixated, and I can’t stop looking.
“Neena,” Clara sighs and rushes toward her. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
“It sounded like Marcus was hurt. I was worried,” the girl responds as Clara tries to shoo her back down the hall.
“I’m okay, kiddo. Don’t worry,” Marcus assures her. “Go back to bed.”
Even as Clara gently pushes Neena back, Neena and I remain with our eyes locked. Her eyes. What is it about her eyes? After a minute, Clara wins and manages to get Neena down the hall. The room is silent for a moment until Bowman and some other guy I haven’t met before come out, suited up, ready to jump. Bowman gives me an awkward wave as he moves his gaze to Marcus. Marcus quickly shakes his head, indicating for Bowman not to say anything.
“We have to head to the airfield,” Marcus tells me. “You should stick around. There’s a lot you’ve missed since you’ve been gone.” Then he hands me the paper and leaves.
I can’t even read it yet. I’m still lost in thought. What is it about her eyes? I scratch my head, wondering why they look so familiar when suddenly it hits me.
They’re my eyes.
She has my eyes.
But that’s . . . impossible. I’m numb with shock. And fear. I look at the paper in my hand and begin to read it.
DESPERATELY SEEKING EPIC.
You’re my father.
The words seem to blur together forcing me to stop reading. And before I realize it, I’m sitting on the couch with the paper clenched tightly in my hand. I can’t will myself to read any more. It just can’t be true. How could it? How could it be true? Because if it is true, it means I have a kid that’s been fatherless for her entire life. It means Clara hid her from me. It simply can’t be true. Surely she doesn’t hate me that much that she’d omit the fact we have a child together. The longer I sit, the more horrendous my thoughts become.
“Paul,” Clara says my name, her voice faint. Jerking my gaze to hers, she swallows and her eyes go wide. She can see how angry I am.
“Is it true?”
She drops her head, frowning a little. Her blonde hair cascades over her shoulders, and she hunches them ever so lightly. She doesn’t speak, just nods yes.
I stand and grab fistfuls of my hair as I pace back and forth. “So she’s what? Thirteen?”
“Twelve,” Clara answers, her voice raspy. She still hasn’t looked up.
I laugh with disdain. “Aw, fucking perfect, Clara. You hate me that much you’d hide our kid from me?”
Whipping her head up, she glares at me. “I tried contacting you for months after she was born. You didn’t respond to one email.”
“I don’t check that shit. You know that.”
“How else was I supposed to reach you? You didn’t even get a cell phone until two years ago, and the only way I found out about that is because Richard told me.”
“Well, cutting my money off worked. Why didn’t you do that sooner?”
“Because I didn’t think about it until now. And before she wasn’t . . .” She pauses as if choking on her next word.
“She wasn’t what, Clara?” I snap, sick of her theatrics.
“She wasn’t dying,” she growls at me through clenched teeth.
I stumble back a bit. Dying? This day has been a mind-fuck of emotions. First seeing Clara, which initially brought on the old feelings of want and lust, and oddly wanting to strangle her. Then hearing I have a kid I didn’t know about. I’m still trying to digest that one. Now my kid is dying? That’s a lot, even for a fuck-up like me.
“Of what?” I manage.
“Leukemia,” Clara answers softly.
“What about chemo or—”
“She’s been through two rounds.” Clara cuts me off. “She needs a bone marrow transplant. Even with it, her odds are poor, but it’s her last hope.”
“Or what?” I ask stupidly.
Clara closes her eyes and inhales deeply, making me hold my breath. “Or she dies. A few months ago they said six months to a year. That’s when I cut your money off. There’s a very small chance you could be a match, and if you are . . . Paul . . .”
“Don’t even say it.” I hold my hand up, stopping her, and her face falls, transforming into despair. Did she think I’d say no? That I’m that big of a bastard? “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”