Damaged Goods, page 24
“I’m changing,” Brendan said. “I hope it’s not too late.”
“It’s never too late to be better,” Emily said. “Come into the sunroom—it’s much more comfortable there.”
As they walked through the living room and into the sunroom, he noticed the house was spotless, with every piece of furniture in its rightful place and not a speck of dirt or dust. A large framed photo of Cassie hung on the wall opposite the fireplace: She knelt behind a four-point buck she had hunted, holding its head by the antlers. He held Emily’s hand as they gazed at the beaver dam and snow-covered hills in the distance. He remembered standing there with Cassie two years earlier.
“What are the babies’ names?” Emily asked.
“James and Christina,” Brendan said. “I see Cassie in their eyes. It’s painful to know I’ll never have a relationship with them.”
“Don’t lose hope, Brendan. The parents can issue restraining orders that would prevent you from pursuing a relationship with the children if it comes to that, and I hope it never does. But they can’t stop the children from seeking you out when they are older. Most people have an inherent desire to learn about their origins. Be patient. You don’t know how this situation will play out.”
He held her tightly and kissed her forehead. “Do you ever wonder what could have been between us?” Brendan asked.
“I’d be a liar to say it never crossed my mind, but you were an ambitious young man,” she said with a smile. “I was a free spirit, soaring on the wind. That’s all behind us now. How are Laura and Shannon?”
“Laura has stayed by my side, and she’s finding herself in her work. Shannon’s on his own journey, diverging from the path I carved for him against his will.”
“And what about you?”
“I coach junior varsity football at a local prep school. The pay isn’t quite the same as Wall Street,” he joked, “but the intrinsic reward makes up for it. Luckily, I saved money along the way.”
“You’re always looking to the future,” she said.
He heard the kitchen door open and shut. “That’s my daughter from Boston,” Emily said. “What a coincidence that you’re here. It’s finally time for you to meet each other.”
Brendan’s thoughts lingered on the word “finally.”
They returned to the kitchen to find a woman who looked like a twentysomething Cassie.
“This is Sunshine,” Emily said as she held her daughter’s hand. “And Sunshine, this is Brendan O’Shay.” But before they could shake hands, Emily leaned closer to Sunshine and asked, “How are you feeling?”
“The twins were lively in the womb, each eager to be the first to enter the world. And the parents turned out to be quite a handful.”
“Sorry,” Brendan said. “I’m struggling to keep up with this conversation.”
“I’m a gestational surrogate,” Sunshine said. “The men I worked with worried about the most absurd things. But they provided me with a lovely apartment and took care of all my needs. They also paid much more than I asked for. Yet, in the end, I’d probably do it for free. It’s an act of love.”
Brendan turned to Emily. “I’m afraid I know the answer to the question I’m about to ask: Why does Sunshine look so much like Cassie?”
“I’ve been thinking about how this day would unfold for thirty-five years. Sunshine is why I left Nehoiden High so abruptly,” Emily said. “Daddy and Mommy were very Catholic. We were seventeen. Having the baby was the only choice I was given.” She hugged Sunshine.
Brendan’s head began to spin. He stumbled over to the counter and leaned against it. “Did you get pregnant the night of Cassie’s accident?” he asked. “Am I Sunshine’s father?”
“That was a terrible night. Cassie’s accident was tragic, and I was distraught that you came inside me, even though you denied it. But it turned out that it didn’t matter, because a few days after the accident, I found out I was pregnant from all the sex we’d had earlier that summer. And yes, Sunshine is your daughter.”
Brendan gazed at Sunshine. What a trip it had been. He’d lost a sister, then he lost a niece and nephew, and now the daughter he never knew existed was standing a few feet away, smiling at him. He didn’t know whether to embrace Sunshine or run out the door.
“How could you keep that secret from me?” he asked.
“Football was your ticket to a better life. The last thing you needed was to become a teenage father.”
Brendan began to hyperventilate, and Sunshine quickly poured a glass of water for him. After taking a few sips, he settled down. “Were you Tom and Mark’s surrogate?” he asked Sunshine.
“I’m not at liberty to say,” she replied, nodding her head yes.
He felt lightheaded again. “Are you saying that you, my biological daughter and Cassie’s biological niece, gave birth to your biological cousins? That sounds, I don’t know, kind of incestuous.”
“It’s not incestuous at all,” Emily interjected indignantly. “A biological connection is preferred,” she added. “There’s no medical harm in it.”
“Do Tom and Mark know about your connection?”
“Of course they do. Tom knows everything. He’s the most diligent person I’ve ever worked with, and Mark is thrilled.”
“I need to take a seat,” Brendan said. “Are these connections the reason they permitted me to meet the twins?”
“I advised them to do so,” Emily said.
“You’re the expert they were referring to?”
“Yes. The guys agreed that if you ever found out about Sunshine, you’d pursue James and Christina like Captain Ahab chasing the white whale. Ultimately, meeting the babies should give you closure.”
Brendan’s vision blurred. What further madness could happen in Cassie’s house?
Emily sat beside him and touched his hand. “Desire good for all, and the universe will work with you,” she said. “All is good for Sunshine and me, the guys and their babies, and you, Laura, and Shannon. The universe is working with Cassie, too. You’ll realize it soon enough.”
Sunshine sat on the other side of Brendan and touched his other hand. He clutched their hands to his heart. “I’ll need some time to sort this out,” he said. “But I won’t forget you. For now, though, I have to go.”
* * *
Brendan drove toward Mount Krystal where the forest opened up to a field with a small cemetery in it. Weathered gravestones stood arranged in three rows of five. He trudged through the snow toward Cassie’s resting spot, pausing at his mother’s grave and praying. As a kid, his mother had told him that a prayer for the dead could push them from purgatory into Heaven. He thought his mom could use the help.
He continued onward to the last gravestone in the last row and stood about where Cassie’s coffin was lowered into the ground, losing track of time as he told her the story of James and Christina, wondering if Cassie had known about Sunshine. He began to shiver. It was time to go home. He turned and gazed out over the flat white meadow up to the peak of Mount Krystal. A solitary cloud suddenly obscured the sun, releasing delicate snowflakes onto the stony eyes of the Alaskan Malamute engraved on the front of Cassie’s gravestone. A biting wind whipped down off the mountain and across the meadow, nearly immobilizing Brendan. Suddenly the wind shifted, and sunlight broke through a narrow gap in the clouds.
“You orchestrated this, Cassie. Didn’t you?”
A ray of light hit Cassie’s gravestone just right, and the Malamute appeared to wink.
Brendan brushed the snow off the gravestone as the clouds obscured the sun once more. His ankles felt numb from standing in the snow, yet his heart felt warm. He retraced his footsteps to his car and drove away.
* * *
When Brendan arrived home in Connecticut, Laura was beaming. She nodded toward the living room. Brendan turned the corner and saw Shannon standing by the Christmas tree. His beard was scruffy, and his thick brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail and secured with a single elastic band. The front of his green T-shirt featured a sketch of a moose strolling down Main Street in Talkeetna.
“I know that sketch,” Brendan said, pointing at Shannon’s T-shirt.
“I sold a thousand of these T-shirts to tourists passing through town on their buses,” Shannon said. “Now my work will be seen in all fifty states . . . and some foreign countries, too.” Brendan gave Shannon a big hug. Laura joined in. Brendan never wanted to let them go.
He would tell them about Emily and Sunshine someday . . . just not today.
Acknowledgments
Writing a novel is a solitary experience, but it is not done without the encouragement of others. This novel began as a short story submission for a fiction workshop at the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown, Massachusetts, in 2014 and was developed into a novel at the Westport Writers’ Workshop in Westport, Connecticut. Throughout my writing journey, many former classmates at Middlebury College in Vermont; neighbors in Weston, Connecticut; and teaching colleagues and students at Brunswick School in Greenwich, Connecticut, and Fairfield County Day School in Fairfield, Connecticut, provided help along the way. In particular, I thank Frank Albanese, a career publishing professional and friend; Allison Dickens, a writing instructor and developmental editor at Westport Writers’ Workshop; Adele Annesi, a writing instructor and author in Ridgefield, Connecticut; and David Altfeld, of Manhattan and Los Angeles, for listening to my expressions of self-doubt and providing invaluable support and encouragement. Finally, I thank my wife, Susan. No words can express my gratitude for her love and support—in writing and in life.
Damaged Goods
Copyright © 2025 by Paul Scheufele
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the copyright owner, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.
ISBN 979-8-9928397-0-8 (paperback)
ISBN 979-8-9928397-1-5 (ebook)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2025913752
Wolf House Publishing, LLC
Boston, Massachusetts
Damaged Goods is a work of fiction. The names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental.
Book design by C’est Beau Designs.
Author photograph by Anna Chernobaeva Photography.
Paul Scheufele, Damaged Goods
