Page 5 of Finally Found You

I rise from my seat, my muscles tense as I hurry toward the coffee shop. Huxley has been acting strangely since that woman who claims to own the bookstore came into town. He’s usually levelheaded and calm, but Enid has unearthed emotions in my brother I never knew existed. I brace myself for the worst as I push the door open.

To my surprise, Huxley sits at the table, sharing coffee with Enid—his new enemy—and someone else I don’t recognize. He picks up his drinks and food when he spots me before standing up. When he walks by me, he says, “We’re leaving, but she’s looking for you. I’m looking forward to the explanation. And, well, surprise.” His voice is sarcastic, tinged with what could be anger or disappointment. It’s hard to tell with him.

When I approach the table where the other woman sits, I’m taken aback. She’s not a woman, but a teenager who bears a striking resemblance to my sisters Fern and Cory.

I’m not sure who she is, but the similarities with my sisters indicate this is a family matter, and I have to drag her away from this place before we can talk about who she is and what she’s doing here.

“Follow me,” I order with a firm voice.

“What? No. I’m here looking for my father,” she says, defiance sparking in her eyes.

“I’ll take you to him,” I promise, wondering who’s going to get an earful from me.

Her challenging gaze pierces me, stirring up memories of my sister Cory. She’s not going to do what I say until I give her a satisfactory explanation. There’s another way to persuade her—reverse psychology. My heart races as I prepare to take the gamble.

“Fine, stay if that’s what you want.” I pull out my phone. I don’t break the connection between us. “I’ll call child services so they can come and pick you up.”

“I’m eighteen,” she claims, her chin jutting out stubbornly, defiance sparking in her eyes.

“Sure, and I’m the president of Antarctica and King of the Penguins.” I can’t help the wry smile that tugs at my lips. “Also, the only one who can help you, but you do whatever you think is best.” With that, I turn and walk away, every step feeling heavier than the last.

Once I’m out of the shop, I put the phone to my ear, pretending to make a call. My heart pounds in my chest as I count in my head. One, two…

Right on cue, the door of the shop opens and closes. “Fine, I’ll go with you. Just don’t call anyone,” the kid says, her voice laced with frustration. I can’t help but smirk, relief flooding through me.

This was too easy.

She’s not the first stubborn teenager I’ve had to deal with. As we walk toward the vineyard, I send a message to Aslan and Gatsby. Did either one of you procreate a child thirteen to sixteen years ago and forget?

Aslan: Did you find a lost computer, and you think it belongs to Gatsby?

Gatsby: Can we stop with the joke? I never dated a robot. It’s impossible to fuck one… and you two are just two ignorant idiots.

Aslan: Why did you ask about a child?

I glance at the girl walking beside me. She’s tall, lanky, and looks like our sister. There’s no doubt she’s looking for one of them, but who?

Lysander: Someone who looks just like Cory came to Paradise Bay searching for her father.

Aslan: It could be Dad’s. Why are you blaming us?

I can see why he thinks that. Just a year ago, we discovered our father had a child with another woman. Sadly, she died in a crash when she was two, along with her adoptive parents. I wouldn’t doubt that he could have had another child or another affair, but this kid was created after Dad died.

Lysander: She can’t be Dad’s. This kid is between the ages of thirteen and sixteen.

Gatsby: Not it.

Lysander: You can’t just call it. All our brothers could be the father—except for Huxley.

Gatsby: What takes him out of the equation?

Lysander: He was a child when this kid was conceived. Plus, he already met her, and it’s obvious he doesn’t think she’s his problem.

When we arrive at the vineyard, I guide her to my SUV, my gut clenching with the urgency to leave. We have to get out of here now. Mom is around, and the last thing I want is for her to get involved.

“I’m not getting into that car.” The stubborn teenager crosses her arms and stomps her foot. That’s when I notice her raggedy shoes and torn clothing. She looks like she hasn’t bathed in days. My heart shrinks. This kid has been neglected.

I rake my hand through my hair, frustration and anger bubbling inside me. The moment I figure out who her father is, I’m going to beat the fuck out of him. After that, we’re suing the state, the foster system, and whoever else let this kid fall through the cracks.

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