Page 8 of Finally Found You

“In order to help you, I have to learn more about you. I can’t just go to my lawyer and tell him to process emancipation when I don’t even know the basics,” I explain, trying to keep my voice as neutral as possible, despite the emotional turmoil churning inside me. “We have to confirm that I’m, indeed, your father.”

She retrieves another piece of paper from her notebook and unfolds it, revealing her birth certificate—from the state of Colorado. Kenzington Opal Balsamo. My name is there, alongside Elsie Balsamo’s. But for the life of me, I can’t recall ever meeting someone by that name. She was twenty, and I was twenty-four. It’s around the same time I went back to study part-time.

Did I meet Elsie on campus? Was it here?

“Listen, I’m not a lawyer, but I’m sure we still need to establish my paternity. Just because a paper says I’m your dad, it doesn’t mean I am,” I explain while rubbing my chin. “A DNA test will take at least a week.”

“We don’t have a week.” Kenzington’s chin quivers. “What if they take me away tomorrow?”

“You’re with me. No one will take you away,” I say firmly.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I see Gatsby’s name on the screen, seeking an update.

Lysander: Do you remember a woman named Elsie Balsamo?

Gatsby: Nope. What’s going on?

Lysander: I’m trying to figure it out. Can you or Aslan cover for me at the vineyard? I need to deal with Kenzington.

Gatsby: And who is Kenzington?

Lysander: My daughter.

Gatsby: She’s yours?

Lysander: I feel it in my gut. Though, I’ll have Derek or Finn search for the mother to confirm everything.

Gatsby: We’ll cover for you. Keep us updated.

I slip my phone back into my pocket and, with a heavy sigh, decide to focus on Kenzington. I busy myself heating a can of chicken noodle soup, preparing a sandwich, and rinsing some fresh fruit.

I set the food on the small table. “Why don’t you eat while we continue discussing the ways I can help you?”

Kenzington wastes no time. I have to remind her to slow down.

“Besides the sandwich Enid bought for you, when was the last time you ate?”

She shrugs, her mouth full. “A few days? I didn’t think the bus ticket to San Francisco would be that expensive. I didn’t have much money when I arrived, and it took me a while to figure out how to get to Paradise Bay.”

“Where did you get the money from?” I probe, my brow furrowing.

Kenzington’s lips press together, her eyes flickering with a mixture of fear and defiance.

“I can’t help you if you withhold information from me.”

“I might’ve stolen Cami’s wallet,” she confesses. “She had very little cash. I didn’t know her credit card didn’t have enough credit or that her debit card would just have enough for the bus ticket.”

“Who is Cami?” I ask, my patience wearing thin.

“No one important. I’m sure she’s glad I’m no longer her problem.”

“So she was your foster mother?”

Her nostrils flare. “No.”

“How long have you been in the foster system?”

“I haven’t, but I heard the social worker say that I was going to be placed soon if Cami didn’t find a job.”

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