Close Match Page 9

  “What are you talking about, Bris? What was just like the others?” I’m so confused.

  Letting go of one of my hands, she brushes a piece of hair that got loose from the knot on my head away from my face. “You got an email to the dummy account, sister. It said ‘DNA confirmed: Close Match.’ When I looked at the profile of the person, their name is Rhett Parrish. Linnie, he’s the right age.”

  I start hyperventilating.

  Is this possible?

  Did I find my father?

  “What the hell do I do?” My heart’s thumping erratically.

  “Read this and tell me if this works before I hit Send.” Bristol lets go of my hands, and I wish she wouldn’t. I want her to hold on to me. She’s the only thing that’s real right now, something honest and true.

  I don’t know this Rhett Parrish. He’s nothing more than a name in an email. No, that’s a lie, and I refuse to tell more of them than I have to. Especially than to myself. He’s the genetic reason for half the cells in my body. Taking an enormous breath, I read what she wrote.

  Mr. Parrish,

  My name is Lynn Brogan. If you’re the ‘Rhett’ identified in my mother’s, Elle Brogan, diary that I found upon her death earlier this year, then it may be possible I am your biological daughter. This is something I was…

  Seventeen

  Montague

  …I was not aware of until that time. I am not sure if you had any knowledge of this information before now as well. If you didn’t, I apologize for the shock this must be causing you as well.

  As far as I can piece things together, thirty-four years ago, you met my mother when she was on a break from her long-standing boyfriend. They reconciled shortly after your affair; married soon after that.

  You may wonder why my mother and I use her maiden name. At the time you knew her, she had just established a communications firm out of New York City. She was successful at the venture, and I followed into the family business. In doing so, I elected to use her name professionally, although my birth certificate does carry that of the man I thought was my biological father.

  I am not trying to intrude on your life, Mr. Parrish. Since my stepfather died early of cancer and my mother recently passed due to undetected heart issues, and the recent discovery about my actual parentage, my half-sister and I decided to have a DNA test performed to identify any medical concerns we could preemptively address.

  It led me to you.

  I expect nothing from you, but I do hope you may be able to provide me with some medical background for me to be able to ensure my good health and good health to any future children I may have.

  With my best regards,

  Lynn Brogan

  My mother’s voice trails off. I toss my head back and finish the drink I poured myself the minute I entered Ev’s study after they called me down at the barn to tell me he had a close match. Without a word to the groom I had been talking with, I charged down the path so fast, I thought I was going to be sick.

  “Holy crap. You have a daughter.” I blurt the first thing that comes to mind.

  “That about sums up how I’m feeling.” Ev scrubs his hands over his face. He’s sitting on the edge of the desk near my mother. He’s pale, but I’m not worried it has anything to do with his illness. Pure shock is etched across his features.

  “Do you remember her mother?” I ask. Reaching for my mother’s hand, he nods.

  “I met Elle in a bar in Chicago when I was in my late twenties. I was out there for a conference; she said she was too. It was right after I’d come up with the code and the company was about to go public.” Ev’s eyes take on a faraway look. Mom goes to stand behind him, not letting go of his hand. “Elle had no idea which button on a computer turned it on.” His voice is amused. “She had long dark hair and bright blue eyes. I remember her being very artsy, almost bohemian. Uninhibited. The first time I saw her, she got up on stage and blew the doors off the place singing karaoke. I introduced myself right after.”

  Mom laughs. “Did your amazing singing voice impress or scare her?” I relax subtly, realizing this isn’t going to cause even further strain on them than what they’re already facing.

  Ev grins. “I didn’t get the chance to do either. I scratched my name off the list. You know,” he says thoughtfully, “hearing you read that Elle ran a successful communications company astounds me, to be honest. She didn’t give the impression of being all that business savvy.” Ev’s astounded.

  “So, there was no concern about corporate espionage?” I wonder aloud.

  “Not after the first night, no. When I say she did not know about computers, I mean none. I’d leave her to give a talk on encryption, and her face would be blank. And I’m not talking complex theories here, Monty. The name I used on the profile, Rhett?” He jerks his head toward Mom’s laptop. “That’s what I was called back home before school. I was already going by Everett by the time I made it through my first week at Tech. She never challenged it. If she ever tried to find me to tell me she was pregnant, she never would have been able to. Rhett Parrish existed…but didn’t.”

  “I understand. You were starting to become high profile, Ev. It’s not a crime.”

  “No, but I wonder if my daughter’s going to feel the same way when I tell her that,” he says bleakly. Pulling my mother around so she’s standing in front of him, he focuses on her. “Char, this was years before I ever met you. I never knew.”

  “Sweetheart, I know.” Leaning forward, she whispers something in his ear that causes his body to sag in relief. “What you did before you met me has nothing to do with how much you love me now.”

  Except it does, I think grimly. Because we’re about to invite this unknown woman into our lives to try to save Ev’s.

  * * *

  “I think you should let me look her up,” I argue. I’m pacing back and forth in front of Ev’s desk in his library. Mom’s gone off to bed so she can make us her infamous mixed berry galette to celebrate something we didn’t have before.

  Hope.

  I still don’t know if what we have is hope. I still feel like we’re working on a Hail Mary pass. Acid pitches the alcohol I’ve been drinking around in my stomach. I rub a hand against it to calm myself down. I’m going to need a half a dozen antacids before bed at this rate.

  Ev’s sitting behind his computer shaking his head. “No way, Monty. What I learn about my daughter is going to come from her. Do you understand me?” His green eyes narrow in fierce determination. “You don’t want to appreciate how disappointed I will be to learn otherwise.”

  Shit. “Fine,” I grit out even though it goes against everything inside me to protect the people I love. Storming over to the decanter of brandy, I pour myself a healthy splash. Turning to Ev, I hold up the decanter. He shakes his head. I keep forgetting the meds he’s on don’t encourage drinking. Instead, I pour him a glass of soda water. Grabbing both tumblers, I approach his desk. “But the very minute you give me the okay, I’m calling in every favor I have to look this woman up. We can know everything about her in a matter of hours.”

  “Son.” I feel a chill race down my spine at the endearment because I’m not Ev’s son. Not really. Not anymore. He has a biological daughter who might be able to do what I can’t.

  Save him.

  “Yeah, Ev?”

  “I do need your help with two things.”

  Taking a swallow, I nod without hesitation. “You don’t have to ask.”

  He takes a small sip of his own. “Even though Char is handling this better than anything I could have predicted, if it gets to the point where we meet Lynn…”

  “I’ll keep an eye out on Mom,” I promise. He lets out a sigh of relief. “What’s the other?”

  “Would you help me write this letter back to Lynn? I’ve been thinking about it all night, and I have no idea what to say.”

  “Ev, I don’t think it’s insane to ask her for a picture of her mother,” I caution. “Maybe you wouldn’t recognize a
current one, but surely she has an older one that you would. It’s not a ridiculous ask.” I tick off my list of concerns. “She doesn’t have a profile picture. She doesn’t list any family surnames. She’s not connected to anyone else on the platform.”

  Brushing his lips across his glass, he contemplates what I’m saying. “So you’re concerned it could be a scam. Someone who happens to know me and is exploiting…”

  “Let’s just say I’d want the picture as a gesture of good faith.” I leave it at that.

  “Then I’m going to need your help writing back,” he says grimly.

  Standing, I walk around behind the desk. “Let’s write this offline, and you can just copy it in,” I suggest.

  Pulling up his word processing program, I begin to dictate. Dear Lynn…

  Eighteen

  Evangeline

  …To say I, too, was shaken by our connection is an understatement. The genetic output, compounded with what you have shared, do lead me to believe I am your biological father. I immediately told my wife and my stepson about you. We appreciate your courtesy while we process the news.

  I own a farm in the Northern Virginia area where I’m semi-retired. If you’ve never been to the area, it’s beautiful countryside—rolling green hills in summer and the mountains are covered with the most spectacular foliage in the fall.

  You mentioned you are in the communications field in New York City. That sounds like an interesting profession. I was there recently for my wife’s and my twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. It’s was an exciting city to visit. Very energetic. If your mother is the woman I’m thinking of, I’m both happy and impressed over your success. In part, because the woman I remember as Elle couldn’t tell one end of a computer from the other. The only technology I knew she could work adeptly was a microphone. That is if I remember her.

  As you have Elle’s journal, your memory of what occurred so many years ago is a great deal stronger than mine. I don’t know if you have a picture of your mother from that time; it would help me to recall the past fully. Unfortunately, it was a long time ago, Lynn. Many years have passed. And I’ll be terribly embarrassed if I’m sharing memories of the wrong one.

  I hope this finds you well. I look forward to hearing from you.

  Rhett Parrish

  My hands are shaking as Bristol scrolls through the email that dinged my phone, prompting me to race down to her office. “What do you think? Is it unreasonable to send him a picture of Mom from back then?”

  Bristol is thoughtful. “I don’t think so. He’s cautious, Linnie. You laid out a lot in that initial email. This is a simple request to make certain you’re not some sicko. Frankly, he could have asked to have seen Mom’s journal, and it wouldn’t have been completely unreasonable.”

  I was thinking the same thing. “Do you have access to the family cloud drive from here?” Years ago, Mom paid a small fortune to have all of her photos and our childhood photos digitally scanned.

  She nods. “You know what I wonder…” Her voice trails off.

  My lips fall open. “Do you think Mom has a picture of him?”

  “I don’t know why we didn’t think of it.” Bristol looks irritated as hell. “We could have gone the normal route and hired an investigator if we’d just thought of that.”

  “But just think, we know it’s likely both our fathers hate cilantro,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

  “There is that. Now, what week was it?”

  “Somewhere around November twelfth. She was doing a traveling production of Anything Goes, remember?” I give her a wry smile.

  “Since you’re named after one of the characters, it’s kind of hard to forget that. Better than being named after the place you were conceived,” she tacks on as her fingers fly across the keyboard.

  “I don’t know. I’ve always kind of liked your… Bris, what is it?” Panicked, I surge to my feet and race around her desk.

  “Linnie.” Shaken eyes raise to meet mine. “I think I might have the perfect picture for you to send to him.” Turning her monitor slightly, I see a picture of a dark-haired man with his arm wrapped around Mom. Ignoring the shaft of pain, seeing her so young, vital, and alive does to me, I focus solely on the man. Despite the red eye cameras in that day and age caused more often than not, because Bristol zoomed in I can see the edge of green eyes. Eyes that match my own.

  Bristol’s arm wraps around me. I whisper, “Do you think we should send him a picture of me as well? Maybe not a professional shot, but one that shows him I’m who I say I am?”

  “Maybe once he responds to your next email accepting that he’s your father? Let’s play it by ear.”

  Letting out a shuddering breath, I sit down behind Bristol’s massive desk and pull up a new message. Attaching the picture, I write a simple email.

  Dear Rhett…

  Nineteen

  Montague

  …I think you’ll recognize the man in the picture.

  Mom cataloged all of her and my childhood photos not too long ago. We had these on our family cloud drive. I don’t know why I didn’t think to go through there first. But then, you likely would have been contacted through an investigative agency instead of by me directly.

  And yes, you’re right. Mom really didn’t understand technology all that well. She did have a fantastic rapport with people. It’s something that made her a legend in the business.

  Best,

  Lynn

  Even I’m shaken by the image of Ev, one that doesn’t look at all different from when I met him. “That was about seven years before I met you both,” he murmurs. “I was about to turn thirty. I thought I was on top of the world because of the business.” Pulling my mother close, he kisses the top of her head. “Then I walked into a hotel in New York and acted like a bumbling idiot to the most beautiful woman I ever met, and my life changed forever.”

  Mom shakes him. “Ev, honey, stop thinking this is a bad thing. This could be the miracle we’ve been hoping for.”

  He cups her face. “We were never able to have a baby. Why? Was I already sick?”

  Mom’s face twists in agony. “I don’t know. And I don’t care. We had Monty and each other. That’s all we ever needed.”

  “Char, if we do this, we’re inviting a child I had with another woman into our lives.”

  “Ev, if we don’t, I might not have you in mine,” she whispers.

  And there it is. My mother wouldn’t care if Ev had had an affair at one point and this child was the result. Her love for him is so strong, she’d be willing to sacrifice anything to save him. I turn my back to them to give them a few moments of privacy. Even as I move to the big windows overlooking the barn, I can hear whispers though I can’t make out the words. I’m dying to ask someone to investigate the hell out of this woman before Ev risks everything.

  But I made a promise. Bracing my arm against the windowsill, I lean against it and let out a long breath. In so many ways, this is wrong. For Ev, for my mother, hell, even for the unknown Lynn. She’s about to meet her father after suffering her own tragedy, and then she’s going to be propositioned for bone marrow like she’s a pharmaceutical rep. I’m dragged back into the conversation when I hear him say, “…meet in person.”

  “What the hell, Ev?” I turn around and send him a glare. He meets it head-on.

  “I think Lynn deserves to meet her father. At least once.”

  “So, you’re going to bring her here? To the farm?” I’m incredulous.

  “Give me a little more credit than that. I thought we could meet on neutral grounds. Maybe DC? She could take the shuttle down, we’ll meet for lunch, and then she could head back to New York,” he adds.

  Christ. This is getting complicated. “When do you want to set this up?”

  “I don’t know.” He rubs his hand across his forehead. “I suppose a lot of that depends on her. I don’t know her, Monty. Yes, she’s my daughter, but what if all she wants is what her first email said? What if all she wants is i
nformation to check a box in her orderly life? What if she has no desire actually to meet me?”

  “Why do you want to meet her?” I ask him quietly. “You don’t need to, you know.” I read that plenty of donors don’t.

  His jaw falls open as if to ask me, Are you stupid? “She’s my daughter. If for some reason this doesn’t work, I don’t want regrets. I need to know what she looks like, what her touch feels like, who she is. It’s consuming me.” His shaking hand reaches for the glass of tea next to him.

  I stand and walk back over toward them. “Are you sure this is what you really want?”

  Ev lets out a gush of air. “Someday, I hope you understand the beauty and hell of raising a child—the deep-seated pride at their every accomplishment and the depthless agony when they’re hurting. It makes all of this”—he lifts his arm holding the glass to encompass the room—“seem worthless by comparison. Now, I just found out I have another one out there who I didn’t know existed? Who by chance and sheer desperation on my part I managed to find? Of course I want to meet her. Yes, there is some tiny hope she might be the answers to all our prayers, but I know nothing about that. As her last living parent, I’d do anything to be the answer to hers.” He lifts the glass to his lips and drains it, causing the ice to rattle around inside.

  Astonished by the vehemence in his words, I deflate. I never thought Ev was seeking out my assistance because he had unfathomable regrets towards a daughter who he just found right at what might be the end of his life. My eyes dart around the room as I try to order my thoughts. On the shelf behind Ev’s desk is a picture of Mom, Ev, and me taken the day they got married. Down a few inches to the left is a gag mug I got him for Father’s Day years ago that says, “Dad Joke, Loading…please wait” in deference to his love of all things computer. Then there’s a picture of just the two of us Mom captured of us riding when I was home on leave where we’re both laughing. But as much as I know he loves me, and I love him—God, do I love him—I can’t be the biological child he must be craving.