下载掌阅APP，畅读海量书库
立即打开
“That’s not possible—”
The door opened behind Michael. His hand still rested on the knob as it came open, so he let go. It was Angela. She took in the scene with her lips parted, struggling to find something to say just as Michael had moments earlier.
Finally, Angela said, “Is something wrong, Michael?”
Erica stood with her hands on her hips, her chin thrust forward in a defiant posture. But she still had tears in her eyes.
Michael looked between the two of them, feeling a strange surge of embarrassment. He and Angela once ran into his high school girlfriend, Kayla McKee, whom he dated all during senior year. Michael felt awkward then, fumbled through introductions in the middle of the grocery store, but Angela laughed about it on the way home, pointing out that Kayla had three kids in tow and another on the way. “She’s a breeder,” she said. “You could have had a whole litter with her by now.”
That was before all the troubles of having a child grew more desperate. But Angela always talked freely of her former boyfriends and lovers, mentioned them as casually as she mentioned a piece of clothing or a pair of shoes from her past.
But she didn’t laugh on the porch, not when she saw Erica.
“Angela,” Michael said, “this is ... Erica. My ... I don’t think you’ve ever met.”
“Hi,” Angela said, nodding at Erica, her voice clipped. “It’s nice to meet you. We thought it was kids selling something.”
“I’m sorry, but I need to talk to him,” Erica said. “It’s important.”
“Michael, is everything okay?” Angela asked, hands on hips in an unconscious imitation of Erica’s posture.
“Can you just go back inside for a minute?” Michael asked. “I’m going to figure this out, and then I’ll be right in. I promise.”
“It’s getting late ,” Angela said. She took one more long look, running her eyes the length of Erica’s body. Then turned to go back through the still-open door.
Michael knew what Angela meant. She was ovulating. They needed to try. That night. And likely again the next morning. They had a plan.
“I know you don’t like me,” Erica said to Angela. “You’ve made that very clear.”
Angela kept going, closing the door as she went inside.
Erica’s words stood out. They sounded like they referred to something more than the moment on the porch or the predictable distrust between two women who had dated—and then married—the same man. Michael started to ask about her words but stopped himself. He had more important things to figure out.
He remembered what she’d said just before Angela came outside.
She’s yours, Michael. Felicity is your daughter.
“Erica,” he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about or why you’re saying it, but we don’t have any children together. You know that. I’m not sure why you’re showing up here, trying to throw my life into chaos.”
Erica maintained her defiant posture. “We were having sex up until the end, Michael. Up until you left me. We weren’t always careful. You’d reach for me in the middle of the night. I don’t think either one of us was fully aware of what we were doing.”
“She’s ten years old?”
“Nine.”
“And you never told me about her? Come on, Erica. That’s crazy.”
“Don’t do that, Michael. We’re not married, but you still can’t just act like I’m overreacting or hysterical. You’ve always done that, and it’s never been fair.”
Erica started fumbling in her pockets again. Michael thought she was reaching for another cigarette, but instead she brought out her shiny iPhone. She scrolled through, her finger swiping quickly, and then she turned the screen so Michael could see it.
A photo of a child. She was blond, like almost all the women in his family. Her cheeks were rosy, and in the photo, she stood in front of what looked like a barn, the red wooden boards cracked and peeling. A beautiful kid, yes.
But his?
“Don’t you see it, Michael?” Erica asked. “The resemblance.”
“She’s blond. Lots of people in the world are blond. They’re not all my kids. None of them are my kids.”
“Look closer. Zoom in.”
“Erica, I can’t even ... I mean, we’ve been trying for two years, and the doctor says I may not be able to father a child. So how could this girl—”
“Look.”
Michael did as he was told. He remembered Erica’s determination, her iron will once something entered her mind. He used his thumb and forefinger to zoom in on the girl’s face, the picture clear even as the light faded from the day. The action didn’t reveal any more to his eyes. He still saw a cute blond girl on an outing to the country, her cheeks flushed from a long run or the cold wind.
“I don’t get it, Erica. A photo doesn’t prove anything.”
“Robyn,” Erica said. “Doesn’t she look a lot like Robyn?”