Happenstance

Chapter Ten

The room was quiet when I sat in my seat at the black table in first period. Everyone was staring at the floor, but when I walked in, they all glared at me. Then the whispering started. This was all very new, and I didn’t know what to expect, which was more frightening than life before the Erins were dead.

For the first time in eighteen and a half years, I was the only Erin. There was no need for nicknames, and I didn’t have to pretend not to notice Weston when he walked into the room. But that didn’t change the way people felt about me. Brady’s eyes twitched, the hateful words he wanted to say on the tip of his tongue.

The bell rang, but Mrs. Merit didn’t speak. Instead, a crackling came over the speakers, and Principal Bringham came over the PA system.

“Good morning, students. As you all know, we lost two very bright students over Spring Break, Erin Alderman and Erin Masterson. We’re going to observe two minutes of silence today, for you to pray for their friends and family if you would like, or, if not, a moment of silent reflection.”

The PA fell silent, and we all sat, staring at the floor. I was not the only person the Erins had relentlessly picked on, and certainly not the only one feeling a sense of relief more than a sense of loss. But, wherever they were, I hoped they were free of whatever plagued them to make others miserable, so they could feel better about themselves.

“Thank you,” Principal Bringham said, and then the PA system shut off.

“I was asked to instruct all of you that if you need to speak to anyone about what happened to Sonny and Alder there are counselors here all week to help you understand and process your feelings. Now, please open your text books to page one eighty-eight.”

Throughout the day, I noticed that the student body was mostly quiet. Occasionally one of the cheerleaders could be heard making a scene near their lockers. After Chrissy wailed after second period, they all seemed to try to outdo one another’s outbursts of hysteria. Brady was sandwiched between two empty chairs in Health class, and although I caught him glaring at Weston and me several times, he didn’t say anything.

In Art class, Mrs. Cup called Weston to her desk, and they had a long, quiet conversation. It seemed like it ended well, but it ran so close to the end of the hour, that she was barely able to brief us on our last project: adding to the Blackwell mural downtown. The former Art teacher, Mrs. Boyer began the tradition, and Mrs. Cup continued it after Mrs. Boyer retired. We added our own tiny pieces, but mostly we filled in bits of brick that had broken off, or painted what had worn away over the last year.

“Be prepared,” Mrs. Cup said. “We’ll be going to the mural site tomorrow. Be sure to bring your things with you, so you don’t have to come back to the building. You can leave straight from the mural at 3:30.”

Weston sat in his stool at my desk.

“Is she still going to fail you?” I whispered.

He shook his head and tried not to smile.

Two girls stood in Mrs. Cup’s open doorway. “Mrs. Cup, Mr. Bringham needs to see Erin Easter.”

“All right,” Mrs. Cup said, gesturing for me to gather my things.

“He said he needed for her to come right away,” one of the girls added.

I gathered my things, and Weston touched my arm. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“I’ll be okay.”

He frowned. “I want to come with you.”

I grinned. “You worry too much. You don’t have to protect me, Weston.”

“Says who?” he said, only half joking. “I’ll wait for you in the front.”

I shook my head. “You’ll be late for practice. Go ahead.”

He watched me as I stuffed a few things in my backpack. I followed the girls down the hall. We passed the set of lockers that stood alone in the middle of the commons area and then turned left toward the office. Just a few weeks before, I’d gone down this way, soaking wet. Now life seemed completely different, and it felt like it was about to change more.

I walked into the office, where Kay Rains stood, along with a police officer, Principal Bringham, and the counselor, Mrs. Rodgers. A few students and teachers idled about or sat in a row of chairs beside the door, waiting for something. Maybe for me, and whatever was about to happen.

“Why don’t we step into my office?” Principal Bringham said. “I think that would be best.”

Our small group followed him, and Kay asked me to sit with her in one of the two chairs in front of the principal’s desk. Mr. Bringham sat down and clasped his hands in front of him.

“Erin, I understand you’ve taken a blood test. Do you understand why?”

I nodded.

“I don’t want you to be nervous. I know there are a lot of people in here, but it’s just a formality. Ms. Rains has the test results, and she’s come here to explain them to you.”

“With a police officer?” I asked.

Kay chuckled. “I know. It’s awful. But we felt it was best since we’re on school grounds and the potential for emotions to run high . . . it seems like a bit much to me as well. But because you’re eighteen, and Ms. Easter requested we inform you at school should the results come back a certain way, we’ve come here.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but can we get to the point? I’m going to be late for work.”

Kay blinked. “Of course, I’m sorry.” She shifted in her seat. “Erin, according to the test results on all three of you girls, we’ve come to the conclusion that there was a mistake at the hospital the day you were born. It appears that the late Miss Alderman was given to the Aldermans, and you were given to Ms. Easter . . . by mistake.”

Mrs. Rodgers side stepped, making eye contact with me. “What she’s trying to say, Erin, is that you are Sam and Julianne Alderman’s biological daughter. Now, you’re eighteen, so I’m not sure what this means to you, but the Aldermans have been informed, and they would very much like to speak with you as soon as you’re ready.”

“They know?”

Mrs. Rodgers nodded and smiled. “And they’re eager to talk to you about it, if that’s all right. They know this is a huge shock for you, and they want to give you as much space as you need to think this over.”

“Where’s Gina?” I asked.

Kay looked to Mrs. Rodgers, then to me. “She opted out of the meeting. She has been made aware, as well.”

I thought for a moment, while everyone in the room waited for my reaction. I looked at Mr. Bringham from under my brow. “Am I free to go?”

“Of course. This must be very upsetting for you. Mrs. Rodgers and I are available to talk when you’re ready.”

Mrs. Rodgers knelt next to my chair. “If you have any questions, legal or otherwise, I would be happy to help you, Erin. Please don’t hesitate.”

I stood up and took my backpack with me. “Thank you. I appreciate it, but I have to go to work now.”

The police officer moved to the side and opened the door, and I walked out, trying to ignore the dozen or so pairs of eyes staring at me. I pushed through the side door of the building, to find Weston’s truck sitting under the overhang in the half-circle drive in front of the school.

I walked past him, but he jumped out and jogged after me. “What did they say?” When I didn’t respond or stop, Weston stood in front of me.

I blinked.

“Erin. What did they say to you?”

“That Gina Easter isn’t my mother, and Julianne Alderman is.”

Weston stood up straight and looked over my head, lost in thought. “Whoa.” He looked back down at me. “Are you okay?”

“I need to walk.”

“Sure you don’t want me to drive you? Let me drive you.”

I took a deep breath. “I haven’t walked in a while, and right now I just really, really need to walk.”

Weston nodded, and I walked around him, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other until my feet hit the familiar asphalt in front of the Dairy Queen. I yanked open the door and slipped on my apron, tying it quickly as I made my way to the front.

Frankie was taking a bite from her own concoction, leaning against the counter. “I thought maybe you weren’t coming in today.”

“Sorry. I had a meeting.”

“With Weston?”

“No,” I said, frowning.

“He was about ten feet behind you when you came into view, driving about one mile per hour, and then he turned into the ball fields and ran in to practice. Did you dump him?”

“We’re not . . . together . . . really.”

“So you dumped him?”

“No.”

“What kind of meeting?”

“With the principal and the counselor and some lady from DHS.”

“Why?”

“I’m not really sure why she was there. They don’t really know what to do.”

“About what?”

“When, uh . . . Alder died . . . they did some tests, and they came back weird. So they did some tests on Sonny. Those were fine. So they asked me for a blood sample.”

“I’m completely confused, but I think you’re going to make sense any minute,” Frankie said, shoveling the spoon of Whatever Blizzard into her mouth.

“So, they tell me today after school that Gina’s not my mom.”

“What?” Frankie said, standing up, her mouth still full of ice cream.

“And Gina’s not even there. I mean . . . they said they told her, so she knows, but she wanted them to tell me at school. She didn’t come to be there when they told me. So I don’t know if I’m supposed to go get my stuff, or if I have a place to live, or . . .”

Frankie pulled me into her chest and wrapped her arms around me, and it was then that I realized I was sobbing.

“Baby girl,” she said, rocking me ever so slightly from side to side. She pulled away and held my cheeks in her hands. “What are you doing here? You can’t work like this.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go!”

Frankie held me again, making soothing hush sounds like most mothers did. Except for mothers like Gina, who probably wasn’t sure what she was more indifferent about—knowing she raised someone else’s child, or that her biological child was dead.

The road was quiet, and not many people must have felt like ice cream, because we had only two customers by the time baseball practice let out, and Frankie waited on them both.

“He’s going to drive straight over here. I bet he’s been so distracted and dying to see you he could barely stand it,” Frankie said.

I chewed my thumbnail, staring at the red Chevy parked across the street. “No way. Not after the way I treated him.”

“Honey, if he can’t understand that you had just gotten the shock of your life, then he doesn’t deserve to see you.”

The driver’s side door of the Chevy opened and shut. The truck quickly backed out, paused for less than a second, and then surged across the street, not stopping until it was behind the Dairy Queen. I rushed to the back door, but Weston had already opened it.

I practically lunged for him, and he caught me, letting me squeeze the life out of him without complaint. He made the same soothing sounds Frankie was before and I cried again.

Frankie stood in the doorway, staring at me like I was dying. “Take that girl home, Weston.”

“I don’t . . . have a home,” I said, bawling.

“I’m taking you home with me,” Weston said. He placed me on my feet just long enough to lift me into his arms and carry me to the passenger side of his pickup. Frankie opened the door for him, and he set me in the seat and closed the door. Frankie’s muffled voice buzzed and then paused as Weston spoke. After they hugged, he jogged around to the driver’s side.

He held my hand firmly in his as we drove to his house, and again as we walked inside. He led me straight to the lower level and watched me as I sat on the couch.

“I’m going to run upstairs and grab some drinks and . . . what are you hungry for?”

“I’m not, really.”

Weston sighed and nodded. “No, I imagine not.” He pushed a button on the remote and started the last movie on the list, then hurried back up the stairs. I was glad he turned on the television before he went and didn’t leave me alone with my thoughts.

Less than two minutes later, Weston was sitting next to me, placing the various boxes and packages he’d brought with him on the coffee table, including tissues. Then he twisted the cap on a bottle of Fanta, handing it to me.

“I figured you probably didn’t need the caffeine.”

My hand shook as I held the bottle to my lips and took a sip. Weston took the bottle from me and set it on the coffee table. When he settled back to the couch, I leaned against him, letting myself sink into his arms.

He touched his lips to my temple. “Tell me what to do, Erin. Tell me how to make you feel better,” he whispered.

“This,” I replied. “Just this.”