From Air (Wildfire)

Chapter Forty

During my jewelry-making class, my phone vibrates with a call. It’s the private investigator I hired. Since I no longer care to pursue my search for Barbara, I don’t bother to answer and disturb the class. Afterward, I return his call.

“Nathan Moore,” he answers.

“Hi, Mr. Moore. This is Jaymes Andrews. Sorry I missed your call. I was in a class. Did you get my messages? I’m no longer interested in finding—”

“Yes,” he interrupts. “My apologies. I had a family emergency. I meant to contact you earlier with an update.”

“It’s fine. As I said in my messages, I no longer want to pursue this.”

“I understand. However, I think you need to know what I found,” he says with gravity to his words.

I sigh. “Okay. What did you find?”

“Can you come by my office?”

“Can’t you just tell me over the phone?” I glance at the time on my dashboard. I want to get in a workout and grab some groceries.

“I’d rather not.”

“If Barbara’s dead, you can tell me. I’ve never met her. I can take the news.”

“She’s alive. That’s why we need to talk.”

I massage my neck, regretting calling him in the first place. “I can come now.”

Nathan’s musty-smelling office feels more like the workplace of an NFL general manager. It’s jammed wall to wall with sports memorabilia: photos, jerseys in glass cases, and two signed footballs atop a bookshelf.

“Thanks for coming, Ms. Andrews.”

“Jamie.” I smile, shaking his hand.

“Please, have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Water? Whiskey?” He offers a veneered smile while stroking his hand along his nearly bald head like it’s a nervous habit.

“I’m good. Thanks.” I sit in a worn leather chair on the opposite side of his scratched oak desk while he closes his laptop and pulls a legal-size envelope from a desktop file sorter.

“I must say, once I started digging into this for you, it was impossible to stop. I’m used to looking into cheating spouses, identity theft, doing background checks ... things of that nature. But this was quite the plot twist. So I did some extra work in case you need help connecting the dots.”

“Can I just interrupt you for a minute?” I lean forward, resting my hands on his desk and drumming my fingers. “I’ve decided the revelation of discovering Dwight Keane is my uncle is more than enough. In fact, I wish I didn’t know it. I wish I would not have taken this job in San Bernardino. I’m sure Barbara Keane, if that’s still her last name, has good reasons for cutting all ties with her father. I can think of a big one. But I’m done. That’s between her and Dwight. My mother went out of her way to protect me from this whole situation. I think I should trust her judgment and let sleeping dogs lie.”

“Ms. Andrews—” Nathan shakes his head. “Jamie.” He offers an apologetic smile. “I’m not sure what has changed your mind since you hired me, but given Dwight Keane’s history, I understand why you might want to distance yourself from the tragic situation. However, since you’re twenty-six, I think full disclosure of your past would probably be the wisest decision, should you ever need to know more about your family for health reasons.”

“She’s sick,” I say with a cautious undertone. “Barbara’s sick. Isn’t she?”

Nathan’s forehead wrinkles. “No. Well, I don’t believe so.” When he leans forward, bringing a slight tobacco stench with him, I sit back in my chair.

Something feels heavy . It’s just a feeling that I can’t shake.

“Jamie, after Dwight was committed, his sister took custody of Barbara.”

I shake my head. “Did he have more than one sister?”

“No.”

“Well ...” My head spins. “I don’t know—I don’t understand. That would have been my mom. How long did she have custody?”

He slides a stack of papers from the envelope. “Samantha Grace Keane changed her name to Lauren Samantha Mendes. She married Karl Hayden Andrews.”

“My dad.”

Nathan glances up at me. “After Samantha married, a judge also granted her request to change Barbara’s name.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Barbara Keane is now Jaymes Lanette Andrews.”

My lips part to speak.

Nothing.

“Samantha, or Lauren , was your aunt. Karl was the man she married. But they weren’t your biological parents. You are the only child of Dwight and Annie Keane.”

I stare at copies of birth certificates, social security cards, and court documents. It makes no sense. He missed something. He messed up.

Every time I open my mouth to speak, the words die. I’m too numb to think, let alone say anything. This isn’t real. I’m not hearing him correctly. He’s wrong.

“Annie’s parents died before the accident. She has two brothers. Kalen is fifty-two. He lives in Idaho with his wife. They have three adult children. Ryan is the other brother. He’s forty-seven and lives in Wyoming—no wife or kids. Dwight’s parents are still alive. Waylon and Aubrey live in Flagstaff, Arizona.”

No. My mom said her parents were dead.

She said a lot of things that weren’t true.

Nathan hands me a tissue. I stare at it for several seconds before I realize my face is wet with tears. I’m silently bleeding out in front of a stranger, but it doesn’t hurt. I feel nothing .

“What happened to your family was a horrific tragedy. But from everything I’ve pieced together, I can only guess your well-being was a priority. Your aunt gave you the life you deserved. She took on a huge responsibility. Living a lie is a painful existence.”

Stripped of confidence, all coherent thought, and my identity, I find my legs. His words carry measurable weight, and it’s hard to stand beneath such a heavy reality.

Nathans stands, too, sliding the papers back into the envelope. “Do you have any questions?”

Everything feels lethargic; even my gaze takes forever to find his face. “I have many questions.” I blink several times. “But the person who can answer them is dead.”

His expression wilts. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Sorry. I let the word bounce around in my head. Sorry for what?

A bear eating my mother?

My father starting a fire that killed people, including Fitz’s family?

Living a lie?

Falling in love with a man I can never have?

Losing the woman who I thought was my mother?

He hands me the envelope. It takes me a few seconds to reach for it. I don’t want it. But what I want doesn’t matter anymore. My life is simply what is .