Page 9 of For Fox Sake

A year and a half ago, my siblings and I went through our dad’s bedroom together to clean it out and found a stack of letters to our dad from someone named Ryan. Most of the letters were stories and updates about someone named Mia. None of us knew who these people were. My sisters didn’t want to know. They had their own stuff going on.

For months, I read through the letters, hunting for clues, trying to figure out the connection or any hints at all as to who these people were and why they were writing to Dad.

There was a phrase that didn’t quite make sense, good old Dull. I thought it was a mistake or some lingo or slang I just wasn’t getting, but then I realized there’s a town called Dull in Oregon.

Once I had that little clue, I hired a private investigator, Dwayne, to help me find Ryan and Mia. That was all I had to go on, no last names, nothing else specific, but it’s a small town so it didn’t take long to find them.

Within weeks, Dwayne located an obituary for Mia. She died six years ago. She was only twenty-one. The article listed her surviving relatives, including a sibling named Ryan Green. It has to be him, the letter writer.

I’ve had a year plus forty-one hours of solo drive time to come up with some ideas on how to find out the truth.

Objective number one: find a way to meet Ryan. It started with renting this property he manages. I don’t know where he lives, but I have his contact information. Then, once we’re face-to-face, I’ll... I have no idea.

The most logical approach would be to ask why he was writing to my dad, but what if he’s my brother? What if he’s not? I need to see him in person and get an idea of what kind of person he is. Then maybe I’ll know what path to take forward. The only thing I know for certain is I need a DNA sample. Maybe that will clear some things up without a confrontation.

Across the room, the box my PI sent me rests atop the dresser. It’s a small, prestamped package with all the materials needed to send in a DNA sample. They’ll even do a rush job and get me the results within a couple of days. For a fee, of course.

Based on research Dwayne conducted through my ancestry records, there’s no obvious genetic link, no reason to suspect Dad may have had another family. But after reviewing property records and other public records, he discovered Ryan and Mia were from Dull originally, but then moved to Ithaca and lived there for a few years when they were young. Ithaca is only a few hours from my family home in Whitby. At some point, they moved back to Dull.

Is Ithaca where the connection started? But how and why? I have so many questions and no answers. Not yet.

I make my way back down the hall, through the living room, and into the galley-style kitchen. My eyes trail over the appliances. What can I break that would require a call to the landlord but not be too hard to fix?

I pull the oven out a few inches. It’s a tight squeeze between the beige granite countertops. It takes a bit of wiggling, but eventually, I get it back far enough to fit my arm behind it. I reach down and yank on the plug, then push the oven back into place.

That should do it.

Chapter Three

Ryan

“He showed up here with your wallet and expected what, exactly? A blow job on your porch? In exchange for a shitty lunch at the Dull Diner and basic human decency?” Bernie waves a hand in the air, her dark, curly hair bouncing along with her emphatic movements.

I carefully flip the pancake in the skillet in front of me. “I paid for his lunch.”

She props her hip on the edge of the counter. “What a prince. I am going to kill Austin.”

“It’s not his fault. He said they’ve only worked together for a few weeks. I’m sure he’s great at work.”

When he doesn’t have to interact with women or children or, you know, people in general.

Austin is Bernie’s older brother by five years. Bernie and I have been best friends since preschool. We were inseparable up until middle school, when Mia’s condition worsened and we moved to New York to be closer to hospitals that could handle the level of care she needed. Bernie and I stayed in touch though. Both of us were weirdos with boy names in a Podunk small town. Although Bernadette could have gone by her full name, she’s always preferred Bernie.

She shakes her head. “You should have thrown those live crabs at him.”

I snort. “If I had kept them, I would have. Maybe I should have let them live on the porch, like security dogs. Except crabs. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. He came, he was annoying, then he saw Ari and freaked out and ran away screaming.”

She snorts. “Screaming?”

“Internally, I’m sure. He was disgusted at the idea of dating someone who’s,” I glance toward the hall to make sure Ari isn’t there, and lower my voice, “‘used goods.’”

Bernie’s mouth pops open. “Are you fucking kidding me? He actually said that? I’m going to kill him. I’m going to find him and chop off his fucking nipples and make a belt out of them.”

I tilt my head toward the bedrooms down the hall, where Ari is getting dressed. “Bernie. No f-words or Ed Gein references with juveniles in the home.”

“Sorry, but he deserves it. Did you tell him she’s even not your kid?”

I frown. “Of course not. She is my kid. Whether I gave birth to her or not is irrelevant. And any so-called man who can’t accept a child, any child, doesn’t deserve my time.”

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