“It’s got bad mileage,” I tell him matter-of-factly as we climb in. “Hey, I’m a college student, right?”
“Right. But really?”
“I don’t know. Just doesn’t feel right. It’s okay though, you drive it. I mean, I like the car… because it reminds me of the idea of a mother… my mother. But, you know, I can’t even remember what she looks like, the sound of her voice. I mean… I don’t know anything about her.”
“Alright,” he says. “I wasn’t pushing.”
“It’s fine.”
He starts the car, pulls us out, and we drive in silence for a while. Duncan was left on a church’s doorstep, grew up in a group home. He didn’t have parents… the closest thing were the social workers who went home at five. The live-in workers at the house were more like security guards than anything else, offering nothing but a jaded, harsh tongue, if even that.
And me… I never knew my mother, and Dad… well… he’s never really been a father, but that’s a long story.
So I forget about it, push the thoughts away even though they try to push back, try to invade my mind and threaten to ruin my mood even more.
To distract myself, I rub Duncan’s thigh as he drives me back to the college campus, study his sharp side profile.
“Thanks for getting me out of there, though. Seriously. You put on a real scene.”
“Don’t worry about it, Dee.”
“What did you mean by ‘just a little longer’?”
He looks at me. “Not yet, Dee. Soon, okay?”
“You know I don’t like it when you’re cryptic.”
“I know. Just… trust me.”
“Okay,” I say. “But I don’t like surprises. You know that.”
“I thought all girls liked surprises.”
“Well, I’m not like all girls. Surprises in my life have never been good. Walking downstairs to find some poor man gagged and getting beaten up by Dad and Frank while blood leaks from his eyes is not my idea of a fun surprise.”
“Wasn’t I a surprise?”
“The only good one,” I say.
“Just trust me, Dee. We’ve got a future, but it just needs a little more time.”
I blink, not really understanding what he means. It’s the first time I’ve ever really heard Duncan talk about our future. Together. Inclusive. A long-term plan.
When we get to the campus security checkpoint, I say bye to Duncan, give him a kiss, and then watch as he drives off.
And his words echo through my head: We’ve got a future.
And I can’t help but to ask myself: What future?
We’re a secret couple. He’s my foster brother. Even if there’s nothing truly wrong with our relationship – we’re not blood relatives, and it started when we were both adults – Dad would never have it. He cares about his reputation too much, about what the other families might say.
So what future, exactly?
We can’t hide forever.
It’s got to end sooner or later. It’s a train in the night bearing down on us, and we won’t know it’s about to hit us until we hear the blare of the horn, and feel the shaking of the rails, and it’s all too late.
A future.
That night, by the shimmering pool, our child was conceived.
If only I’d known then that my future would be keeping our baby a secret from him.
If only I’d known then that my future would be running away from him with our baby.
If only I’d known then that my future would force me to leave everything I loved behind…
But I shouldn’t jump to the end.
I should start at the beginning.
Chapter Three
Thailand, five years ago…
The light breaks through the leafy canopy overhead in bursts of brightness, like a thousand camera flashes are going off at once. I catch only scattered glimpses of blue sky.
The air is thick with the smell of wet soil and a dozen different flowers. There’s a sourness on the air, and it reminds me of the apple orchard back home, except it hits the nose harder, has a bitter bite.
Sweat beads on my upper lip, and my t-shirt clings to my back. I should never have worn black in this heat. Even the air that rushes past us as Dad drives us through the jungle isn’t enough to keep me cool.
“Where are we going?” I ask Dad, but my words are snatched away by the wind. He doesn’t hear me, and he keeps driving, winding us deeper and deeper into a dark-green thicket of thin trees, dangling vines, and dense underbrush.
The jeep takes it well – at least, I imagine it does. The ride is not so bumpy, but nevertheless Dad drives slower than he does back home on the street. The sound of plant life being crushed to death beneath us fills the air, and birds stop their calling as we trundle through, only to resume when we’ve left their trees behind.