Dearly Beloved, page 24
Tears welled in her eyes. She was just hungry.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Seated around a large wooden oval table, were people Renée wished she didn’t know. These people had power over her future. She got no say in the end, and no matter what put her in this position, they were going to judge her. Literally.
An authoritative-looking brunette man with an intimidating, thick mustache and tired, discerning green eyes sat at the head of the table. In front of him, a folded, white cardboard nameplate read: Judge White. Everyone seated at the table in the conference room had a nameplate, which, to her, meant they didn’t know each other. Shouldn’t people deciding the fate of a ten-year-old girl at least be familiar with each other? None of them gave a crap about her, but shouldn’t they know the case? She guessed not.
Glancing to her side, Renée watched her CPS caseworker, Gary Olsen, thumb through a file folder. She supposed the overweight, middle-aged Caucasian man with black frame glasses that kept sliding down his nose needed to get his notes together. He probably didn’t even know who she was since she only got graced with his presence when he came to rip her from one placement and throw her into another.
“Returning to my home isn’t an option. She’s not welcome back.” Bobby Greensburg, seated across the table, stated in her hoity-toity way of speech, matter of fact.
This further proved her theory about them not caring about her. Why would they ever subject her to being in a room with a woman who did the things Bobby did? Her stomach was in so many knots it felt like someone was crocheting a blanket inside her tummy. It took everything in her not to vomit at the prospect that they considered sending her back to Mrs. Greensburg’s house after what she’d told them happened there.
“It’s your assertion, then, that this child lied?” Judge White asked, steepling his fingers and watching Mrs. Greensburg closely.
“Yes,” Mrs. Greensburg lied confidently. “She exaggerates. If she didn’t want to stay, that is all she had to say. Running away, making up stories…? She needs help. Renée has issues that are above my ability to deal with.”
She might as well not be here. Why was she? They weren’t talking to her. Most of the time, they weren’t even looking at her. No one asked her what had happened. Everyone had read some report, written by somebody that told somebody that reported it again to somebody. But she was right here, and no one would ask her what happened. As scared as she was, she’d tell. She wouldn’t lie. Bobby Greensburg and her family shouldn’t breathe on kids. They were the sick ones. They had issues.
“She crafted the entire story?” Judge White asked. “Two of your son’s friends never lived at your residence? You didn’t permit her to drink alcohol? Starve her when she threatened to expose the level of abuse in your home?” Lifting some papers, he read. “There was no inappropriate conduct on behalf of anyone living in your home?”
Renée’s heart leaped a little. Although he seemed hostile and unaffected, the judge sounded like he believed her, or at least didn’t believe Bobby, which was better. He could think of her as a liar, or exaggerator all he wanted, just as long as he didn’t believe Bobby either.
After telling what her uncle did, Renée had learned some fundamental truths. People believed what they wanted to. They thought about what was fathomable in their own minds. If they couldn’t imagine it, then it was impossible. She might tell white lies from time to time. She was still a kid, but she never lied about what mattered. However, it was easier to label her a liar or exaggerator than to admit the truth. Because if people believed her, they had to admit they’d failed, which Renée learned. No one liked to admit failure. So, they pacified themselves by making her the damaged one, her the villain. She didn’t try to get people to believe her anymore. It was an exercise in futility. She would cast enough doubt on the other person, so no one believed them either.
“I’m not lying, Judge,” Renée interrupted. She knew it was pointless, but no one else was standing up for her. “I told her I would tell. She didn’t let me eat for a week.”
“You understand this is your last foster placement, don’t you?” Judge White asked her. “Black children, and children your age, are harder to place. You’re unadoptable.”
Whatever hope filled her heart died a quick death.
“Your Honor,” Bobby interjected.
Oh, no! Renée held her breath. Bobby was going to retaliate. She would die if she had to go back to her house. They would kill her.
“She needs a lot of help,” Bobby went on. “She’s an evil little girl, suffering from a personality disorder. I’m not surprised she would lie about my family. Just saddened. I tried hard to provide her with a loving home.”
There goes that word again.
“Renée didn’t seem like herself after her last visit,” Alex commented, lying across the double beds of their hotel room. “Did she tell you what happened?”
Andrew glanced at Alex and shook his head. No, she hadn’t, and it pissed him off. Once upon a time, she wouldn’t have hesitated to let him know if something bothered her. Now he had to pry it out of her.
“I tried to get her to talk. Even got her three shots of Patrón at dinner,” he replied, remembering his attempt to ply her with alcohol to get her to open up. He’d taken her to a nice dinner. She loved sushi. Yet, the more buzzed she got, the less she spoke. “She kept avoiding the topic the moment I brought up her half-sister. After an hour, I gave up.”
What he wanted to do was go back to Shenae Williams’s house and demand to know what happened. Why his sister had to take medicine as soon as she got in the car. He didn’t know if she should go into these people’s houses alone anymore. Anything could happen to her, and he wouldn’t know until it was too late.
“Think we should be worried?” Alex wondered.
Alex always looked out for Renée. He trusted him with his sister’s life, unlike Chris, who in grand Chris fashion hadn’t said word one in concern for Renée. Laying on the floor, hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling as if everything were right in the world.
“Not yet, I don’t think,” he answered Alex, but glared at the side of Chris’s head.
“You should go in with her next time.”
Yeah, right! Andrew’s head whipped around. Wide eyes stared at his friend. He liked his testicles right where they were. If he even acted like he might go in with her, Renée would relocate his testicles for him.
“Man, did you just meet Renée?” he quipped. “She will have two goats, five chickens, and a cow if I try that.”
Alex laughed. “Just a suggestion, my bad. Maybe you should call your mom?”
Even worse idea than going in with her. Their mom would have an entire farm if she found out what they were doing. What he’d helped Renée do.
“Not in this lifetime. What would I say?” Andrew asked rhetorically. “Renée’s being quiet? My parents don’t even know we’re here. It would kill them.”
“What if she goes into shock? This isn’t Arizona. There’s no psychiatrist to bring her out of it this time. We’re fucked if she goes catatonic or something,” Alex warned.
Sometimes Alex’s concern seemed overboard. Andrew eyed his friend through skeptical eyes. He worried about Renée, too. But Alex’s interest sparked questions he’d never considered before. He needed to monitor him.
Renée’s hand, which held her cell phone shook. Tears welled. She felt stupid. Of course, this would happen. She’d come all this way. So, this outcome made total sense. If it weren’t for bad luck, she’d have no luck.
Sun illuminated the hotel room as Christina entered. Something was different about her friend. The ruffled skirt of her pink floral dress swayed with an extra bounce in her step. Disquiet compressed thin lips, yet in the depths of her dark eyes, happiness shone. Confusion momentarily eclipsed her distress.
“Hey, girlie. What’re you doing?” Christina asked, eyebrows creasing in bemusement. “Aren’t we going to meet your sister, Kathy?”
Pain lanced Renée’s heart. That’d been the plan. Renée cleared her throat before speaking. “We were, but I talked to her. She can’t do it today.”
Christina examined Renée’s face. “What do you mean, she can’t do it? You can’t do it any other day. It’s not like we live here.”
This was the Christina people rarely got to see. Yes, most times she was mousy, but she wasn’t a coward. Just shy. She possessed quiet strength. When roused, she was just as fierce as Renée.
If anything could make her smile, her meek friend’s outrage at her expense was it.
“Apparently—and I’m quoting her—she can’t stay stuck in the past anymore. Seeing me would take her back to a time she’d rather forget. She said maybe sometime in the future.” The disappointment was hard to hide. It was a living, breathing entity. Right now, it lived like a lump in her throat and a queasy feeling in her stomach.
Her sister might have said she wanted to forget her past, but Renée heard: “I want to forget you.” The person who could validate her and her experiences, her life, wanted to forget her. Possibly had already forgotten her.
Watery, sympathetic eyes bored into hers. It was almost too much for her to bear. “I’m so sorry, Née. I know she’s the one person you wanted to see.”
Renée leaned on Christina’s shoulder for a second. Squeezed her hand. She loved her even more for knowing that without her saying the words. Her broken heart sealed a bit.
“It’s fine.” She raised her head. “I just thought seeing her would’ve made it all real, you know. Sometimes my memories are surreal. When I look back, it’s like I’m watching someone else’s life.”
“I’m sorry,” Christina said, frowning. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
Unfortunately, the person who could do something for her didn’t want her. Who would help her find herself now? She wanted to disappear.
Not true. She felt invisible already.
Only one thing to do. Renée sighed. “Could you get my pills for me and not tell anyone what happened? I feel like enough of a loser already. I don’t want the ‘aww… it’s gonna be okay’ frowns.”
Christina patted her shoulder, hopped up, and went in search of her pills. “Why would you feel like a loser? She’s the loser for not wanting to see you.”
Damn! She was going to make her cry. Renée shook her head. “No, she’s not. She wants to do what I should have done a long time ago. Get over it. I’m stupid for thinking she’d want to skate down memory lane with me after all this time. I mean, if I hadn’t reached out to her, she probably never would’ve reached out either. Guess I didn’t mean as much to her as she did to me.”
“It’s her loss, sweetie,” Christina commiserated, handing her the pill bottle. “She’s missing out on knowing an amazing human.”
“Not that amazing. I’m evil.” Renée regurgitated the longstanding consensus about her.
“Who says?” She scoffed, sat next to her. “I’ve known you for a couple years now. You literally found me in tears in the mall. You could’ve walked by, dragged Ashley away. But you stopped and listened to me cry about being broken up with. You bought me coffee and ice cream. Took me shopping. What evil person does that? You go to bat for everyone but you. And you're funny as hell.”
When said with such conviction, she didn’t sound so bad. She smiled weakly. “Thanks, Chrissy. You’re sweet like a chocolate-covered strawberry.”
“It’s sexy!” Christina laughed. “Sexy like a chocolate strawberry, weirdo.”
“What? Not as good as beat ’em and street ’em?” She laughed, reminding her of their discussion a few days ago.
“No! It’s plagiarism. Mine was an original.” Wrapping an arm around Renée’s waist, she gave her a quick squeeze. “Let’s ditch the boys, go get Ashley, get some Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and explore Indiana now that we don’t have to pit-stop in Kalamazoo, Michigan.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“My baby. My baby girl,” Manuel Williams gushed to his wife. His white smile contained the wattage they warned you about exposing your retinas to. “Look at you all grown up,” he said to Renée. “I haven’t seen her since she was four years old. Her mother brought her to say goodbye before taking her away to Arizona.”
Renée’s eyes bulged. She gazed around the ostentatious living room to keep from outright glaring at the contributor of half her genetic code.
This house differed from Shenae’s. Cherry wood-trimmed faux antique couches with gaudy, floral fabric backing and matching cushions. Unlike Christina’s delicate floral-patterned outfits, these colors were loud and didn’t match on any level. Tried too hard to be elegant, but the velvet fabric was timeworn. Deflated cushions indicated they’d seen much ass in their day. All the furniture appeared expensive but was imitation luxurious. Which wasn’t as shocking as it should be, considering Cheryl, her sperm donor’s buxom, Caucasian wife, carried herself similarly. Big, over teased, brunette hair streaked with gray. She was a lot of woman. She wore knockoff designer clothes, costume jewelry, including giant Wilma Flintstone pearls, and overpowering perfume.
What shocked Renée was the multitude of pictures on the walls. Baby pictures of Shenae, and who she assumed was Manuel Jr. Professional and candid photos of Shenae and her two daughters. A family picture of him, Shenae, and Manuel Jr. hurt more than it should have. But it did. Because while she’d pined for the family that threw her away, they’d moved on as if she’d never existed. She wasn’t even a blip on their radar.
And he dared to say her biological mother took her away. From all the stories and what she knew firsthand, he chose to leave. When she and Kathy were taken into the foster care system, Arizona state contacted their fathers. He could have stepped forward and raised her, but instead, mysteriously fell off the face of the Earth. Manuel had never looked for her and signed his parental rights away. Now, he had the nerve to act like the slighted one. Wow!
Anger bubbled inside her. “Wait a minute. What do you mean, took me away?” she asked, not disguising her agitation. “You weren’t around a lot before we left.”
“Is that what you think, sweetheart?” Cheryl responded, all condescending, like anyone asked for her opinion.
“That’s not what I think,” she confirmed. “That’s what I know,” she corrected.
Sympathy spread red painted lips. “Sweetheart, that’s not true. I’m sure from a child’s perspective it seems that way. And with no one to confirm or deny, it became your truth. For the five years I’ve been married to your father, he’s talked nonstop about you.”
If she called her sweetheart one more time, Renée would scream. Narrow eyes observed the happy pair in disbelief. Her gut tightened.
“Cheryl’s telling the truth,” Manuel backed up his wife, hugging her shoulder. “I failed a lot as a father, but when I found out about your mom leaving, I wanted to find you. I didn’t know where to start. I promise I wanted to find you. They didn’t notify me about my rights being severed. Before I knew it, time passed, you were grown. But you’re my little girl. I’ve always loved you.”
She glared. Yet, her heart softened. Anger, betrayal, and sorrow warred within her. This wasn’t the story her caseworker had told her. If what he said was true, he’d had no clue about her adoption until it was too late. To help her through childhood depression and abandonment issues, her caseworker told her that her biological mother had died. After she reached adulthood, she learned that wasn’t the truth. CPS wasn’t above lying when it suited them. It was possible Manuel’s story was true, which meant she’d spent years being resentful and angry for no reason. Renée was so confused.
A man who didn’t want his kids wouldn’t hang pictures of them around his house, would he? She didn’t know.
“I don’t know what to say,” she said, voicing her confusion. “It’s hard to believe you looked for me for twenty years.”
“Believe it, mi hija,” Manuel exclaimed, upbeat. “It’s one hundred percent true.”
“Your dad was so sure he’d see you again one day that he’s kept you under his insurance at the steel mill all these years. I’ll give you the card before you leave. We have it around here somewhere,” Cheryl said, then gave a strained laugh.
Manuel joined with an uncomfortable laugh of his own.
They were so weird. Maybe it bothered Cheryl that he had children outside of their relationship. A child who materialized on their doorstep demanding answers. Some women thought of children as baggage. Yes, he had Shenae and Manuel Jr., but Shenae was in her mid-thirties, and Manuel Jr. wasn’t much younger from what she gathered from the pictures. Her being in her twenties meant she might need him more than his other two children. Who knew? Honestly, she wasn’t sure what type of relationship she intended to have with him after today. Her emotions were jumbled.
“You know what?” Manuel said, standing suddenly. “You should stay for dinner. Maybe a couple days so we can catch up, get to know each other. I’ve got a lot to show you.”
“Umm…” Whoa! Quite the offer. One that would make Andrew’s head explode. It already made her head hurt a little. “My brother’s waiting for me. He wouldn’t appreciate sitting outside in the car for a few days.”
Manuel and Cheryl chuckled.
“See, Cherie told you she was mine. She’s got her daddy’s sense of humor,” Manuel complimented, continuing to laugh.
“Yeah, she does,” Cheryl agreed. “She looks like you, too. Only more feminine. She could be a model if she didn’t get your height.”
Renée gave a small laugh, but that was all the commitment she would make. Manuel was short, maybe five-foot-five or five-six. She could admit she might have gotten her height from him. However, comparisons stopped there. Skin a few shades lighter brown, he had inky, close cropped, black hair. His face was square and too small for his body. All his features were compacted into the middle like they were afraid to branch out. No, she wasn’t the hottest thing walking, but she didn’t think she favored him, either. Nor did she find Cheryl’s statement particularly funny.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Seated around a large wooden oval table, were people Renée wished she didn’t know. These people had power over her future. She got no say in the end, and no matter what put her in this position, they were going to judge her. Literally.
An authoritative-looking brunette man with an intimidating, thick mustache and tired, discerning green eyes sat at the head of the table. In front of him, a folded, white cardboard nameplate read: Judge White. Everyone seated at the table in the conference room had a nameplate, which, to her, meant they didn’t know each other. Shouldn’t people deciding the fate of a ten-year-old girl at least be familiar with each other? None of them gave a crap about her, but shouldn’t they know the case? She guessed not.
Glancing to her side, Renée watched her CPS caseworker, Gary Olsen, thumb through a file folder. She supposed the overweight, middle-aged Caucasian man with black frame glasses that kept sliding down his nose needed to get his notes together. He probably didn’t even know who she was since she only got graced with his presence when he came to rip her from one placement and throw her into another.
“Returning to my home isn’t an option. She’s not welcome back.” Bobby Greensburg, seated across the table, stated in her hoity-toity way of speech, matter of fact.
This further proved her theory about them not caring about her. Why would they ever subject her to being in a room with a woman who did the things Bobby did? Her stomach was in so many knots it felt like someone was crocheting a blanket inside her tummy. It took everything in her not to vomit at the prospect that they considered sending her back to Mrs. Greensburg’s house after what she’d told them happened there.
“It’s your assertion, then, that this child lied?” Judge White asked, steepling his fingers and watching Mrs. Greensburg closely.
“Yes,” Mrs. Greensburg lied confidently. “She exaggerates. If she didn’t want to stay, that is all she had to say. Running away, making up stories…? She needs help. Renée has issues that are above my ability to deal with.”
She might as well not be here. Why was she? They weren’t talking to her. Most of the time, they weren’t even looking at her. No one asked her what had happened. Everyone had read some report, written by somebody that told somebody that reported it again to somebody. But she was right here, and no one would ask her what happened. As scared as she was, she’d tell. She wouldn’t lie. Bobby Greensburg and her family shouldn’t breathe on kids. They were the sick ones. They had issues.
“She crafted the entire story?” Judge White asked. “Two of your son’s friends never lived at your residence? You didn’t permit her to drink alcohol? Starve her when she threatened to expose the level of abuse in your home?” Lifting some papers, he read. “There was no inappropriate conduct on behalf of anyone living in your home?”
Renée’s heart leaped a little. Although he seemed hostile and unaffected, the judge sounded like he believed her, or at least didn’t believe Bobby, which was better. He could think of her as a liar, or exaggerator all he wanted, just as long as he didn’t believe Bobby either.
After telling what her uncle did, Renée had learned some fundamental truths. People believed what they wanted to. They thought about what was fathomable in their own minds. If they couldn’t imagine it, then it was impossible. She might tell white lies from time to time. She was still a kid, but she never lied about what mattered. However, it was easier to label her a liar or exaggerator than to admit the truth. Because if people believed her, they had to admit they’d failed, which Renée learned. No one liked to admit failure. So, they pacified themselves by making her the damaged one, her the villain. She didn’t try to get people to believe her anymore. It was an exercise in futility. She would cast enough doubt on the other person, so no one believed them either.
“I’m not lying, Judge,” Renée interrupted. She knew it was pointless, but no one else was standing up for her. “I told her I would tell. She didn’t let me eat for a week.”
“You understand this is your last foster placement, don’t you?” Judge White asked her. “Black children, and children your age, are harder to place. You’re unadoptable.”
Whatever hope filled her heart died a quick death.
“Your Honor,” Bobby interjected.
Oh, no! Renée held her breath. Bobby was going to retaliate. She would die if she had to go back to her house. They would kill her.
“She needs a lot of help,” Bobby went on. “She’s an evil little girl, suffering from a personality disorder. I’m not surprised she would lie about my family. Just saddened. I tried hard to provide her with a loving home.”
There goes that word again.
“Renée didn’t seem like herself after her last visit,” Alex commented, lying across the double beds of their hotel room. “Did she tell you what happened?”
Andrew glanced at Alex and shook his head. No, she hadn’t, and it pissed him off. Once upon a time, she wouldn’t have hesitated to let him know if something bothered her. Now he had to pry it out of her.
“I tried to get her to talk. Even got her three shots of Patrón at dinner,” he replied, remembering his attempt to ply her with alcohol to get her to open up. He’d taken her to a nice dinner. She loved sushi. Yet, the more buzzed she got, the less she spoke. “She kept avoiding the topic the moment I brought up her half-sister. After an hour, I gave up.”
What he wanted to do was go back to Shenae Williams’s house and demand to know what happened. Why his sister had to take medicine as soon as she got in the car. He didn’t know if she should go into these people’s houses alone anymore. Anything could happen to her, and he wouldn’t know until it was too late.
“Think we should be worried?” Alex wondered.
Alex always looked out for Renée. He trusted him with his sister’s life, unlike Chris, who in grand Chris fashion hadn’t said word one in concern for Renée. Laying on the floor, hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling as if everything were right in the world.
“Not yet, I don’t think,” he answered Alex, but glared at the side of Chris’s head.
“You should go in with her next time.”
Yeah, right! Andrew’s head whipped around. Wide eyes stared at his friend. He liked his testicles right where they were. If he even acted like he might go in with her, Renée would relocate his testicles for him.
“Man, did you just meet Renée?” he quipped. “She will have two goats, five chickens, and a cow if I try that.”
Alex laughed. “Just a suggestion, my bad. Maybe you should call your mom?”
Even worse idea than going in with her. Their mom would have an entire farm if she found out what they were doing. What he’d helped Renée do.
“Not in this lifetime. What would I say?” Andrew asked rhetorically. “Renée’s being quiet? My parents don’t even know we’re here. It would kill them.”
“What if she goes into shock? This isn’t Arizona. There’s no psychiatrist to bring her out of it this time. We’re fucked if she goes catatonic or something,” Alex warned.
Sometimes Alex’s concern seemed overboard. Andrew eyed his friend through skeptical eyes. He worried about Renée, too. But Alex’s interest sparked questions he’d never considered before. He needed to monitor him.
Renée’s hand, which held her cell phone shook. Tears welled. She felt stupid. Of course, this would happen. She’d come all this way. So, this outcome made total sense. If it weren’t for bad luck, she’d have no luck.
Sun illuminated the hotel room as Christina entered. Something was different about her friend. The ruffled skirt of her pink floral dress swayed with an extra bounce in her step. Disquiet compressed thin lips, yet in the depths of her dark eyes, happiness shone. Confusion momentarily eclipsed her distress.
“Hey, girlie. What’re you doing?” Christina asked, eyebrows creasing in bemusement. “Aren’t we going to meet your sister, Kathy?”
Pain lanced Renée’s heart. That’d been the plan. Renée cleared her throat before speaking. “We were, but I talked to her. She can’t do it today.”
Christina examined Renée’s face. “What do you mean, she can’t do it? You can’t do it any other day. It’s not like we live here.”
This was the Christina people rarely got to see. Yes, most times she was mousy, but she wasn’t a coward. Just shy. She possessed quiet strength. When roused, she was just as fierce as Renée.
If anything could make her smile, her meek friend’s outrage at her expense was it.
“Apparently—and I’m quoting her—she can’t stay stuck in the past anymore. Seeing me would take her back to a time she’d rather forget. She said maybe sometime in the future.” The disappointment was hard to hide. It was a living, breathing entity. Right now, it lived like a lump in her throat and a queasy feeling in her stomach.
Her sister might have said she wanted to forget her past, but Renée heard: “I want to forget you.” The person who could validate her and her experiences, her life, wanted to forget her. Possibly had already forgotten her.
Watery, sympathetic eyes bored into hers. It was almost too much for her to bear. “I’m so sorry, Née. I know she’s the one person you wanted to see.”
Renée leaned on Christina’s shoulder for a second. Squeezed her hand. She loved her even more for knowing that without her saying the words. Her broken heart sealed a bit.
“It’s fine.” She raised her head. “I just thought seeing her would’ve made it all real, you know. Sometimes my memories are surreal. When I look back, it’s like I’m watching someone else’s life.”
“I’m sorry,” Christina said, frowning. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
Unfortunately, the person who could do something for her didn’t want her. Who would help her find herself now? She wanted to disappear.
Not true. She felt invisible already.
Only one thing to do. Renée sighed. “Could you get my pills for me and not tell anyone what happened? I feel like enough of a loser already. I don’t want the ‘aww… it’s gonna be okay’ frowns.”
Christina patted her shoulder, hopped up, and went in search of her pills. “Why would you feel like a loser? She’s the loser for not wanting to see you.”
Damn! She was going to make her cry. Renée shook her head. “No, she’s not. She wants to do what I should have done a long time ago. Get over it. I’m stupid for thinking she’d want to skate down memory lane with me after all this time. I mean, if I hadn’t reached out to her, she probably never would’ve reached out either. Guess I didn’t mean as much to her as she did to me.”
“It’s her loss, sweetie,” Christina commiserated, handing her the pill bottle. “She’s missing out on knowing an amazing human.”
“Not that amazing. I’m evil.” Renée regurgitated the longstanding consensus about her.
“Who says?” She scoffed, sat next to her. “I’ve known you for a couple years now. You literally found me in tears in the mall. You could’ve walked by, dragged Ashley away. But you stopped and listened to me cry about being broken up with. You bought me coffee and ice cream. Took me shopping. What evil person does that? You go to bat for everyone but you. And you're funny as hell.”
When said with such conviction, she didn’t sound so bad. She smiled weakly. “Thanks, Chrissy. You’re sweet like a chocolate-covered strawberry.”
“It’s sexy!” Christina laughed. “Sexy like a chocolate strawberry, weirdo.”
“What? Not as good as beat ’em and street ’em?” She laughed, reminding her of their discussion a few days ago.
“No! It’s plagiarism. Mine was an original.” Wrapping an arm around Renée’s waist, she gave her a quick squeeze. “Let’s ditch the boys, go get Ashley, get some Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and explore Indiana now that we don’t have to pit-stop in Kalamazoo, Michigan.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“My baby. My baby girl,” Manuel Williams gushed to his wife. His white smile contained the wattage they warned you about exposing your retinas to. “Look at you all grown up,” he said to Renée. “I haven’t seen her since she was four years old. Her mother brought her to say goodbye before taking her away to Arizona.”
Renée’s eyes bulged. She gazed around the ostentatious living room to keep from outright glaring at the contributor of half her genetic code.
This house differed from Shenae’s. Cherry wood-trimmed faux antique couches with gaudy, floral fabric backing and matching cushions. Unlike Christina’s delicate floral-patterned outfits, these colors were loud and didn’t match on any level. Tried too hard to be elegant, but the velvet fabric was timeworn. Deflated cushions indicated they’d seen much ass in their day. All the furniture appeared expensive but was imitation luxurious. Which wasn’t as shocking as it should be, considering Cheryl, her sperm donor’s buxom, Caucasian wife, carried herself similarly. Big, over teased, brunette hair streaked with gray. She was a lot of woman. She wore knockoff designer clothes, costume jewelry, including giant Wilma Flintstone pearls, and overpowering perfume.
What shocked Renée was the multitude of pictures on the walls. Baby pictures of Shenae, and who she assumed was Manuel Jr. Professional and candid photos of Shenae and her two daughters. A family picture of him, Shenae, and Manuel Jr. hurt more than it should have. But it did. Because while she’d pined for the family that threw her away, they’d moved on as if she’d never existed. She wasn’t even a blip on their radar.
And he dared to say her biological mother took her away. From all the stories and what she knew firsthand, he chose to leave. When she and Kathy were taken into the foster care system, Arizona state contacted their fathers. He could have stepped forward and raised her, but instead, mysteriously fell off the face of the Earth. Manuel had never looked for her and signed his parental rights away. Now, he had the nerve to act like the slighted one. Wow!
Anger bubbled inside her. “Wait a minute. What do you mean, took me away?” she asked, not disguising her agitation. “You weren’t around a lot before we left.”
“Is that what you think, sweetheart?” Cheryl responded, all condescending, like anyone asked for her opinion.
“That’s not what I think,” she confirmed. “That’s what I know,” she corrected.
Sympathy spread red painted lips. “Sweetheart, that’s not true. I’m sure from a child’s perspective it seems that way. And with no one to confirm or deny, it became your truth. For the five years I’ve been married to your father, he’s talked nonstop about you.”
If she called her sweetheart one more time, Renée would scream. Narrow eyes observed the happy pair in disbelief. Her gut tightened.
“Cheryl’s telling the truth,” Manuel backed up his wife, hugging her shoulder. “I failed a lot as a father, but when I found out about your mom leaving, I wanted to find you. I didn’t know where to start. I promise I wanted to find you. They didn’t notify me about my rights being severed. Before I knew it, time passed, you were grown. But you’re my little girl. I’ve always loved you.”
She glared. Yet, her heart softened. Anger, betrayal, and sorrow warred within her. This wasn’t the story her caseworker had told her. If what he said was true, he’d had no clue about her adoption until it was too late. To help her through childhood depression and abandonment issues, her caseworker told her that her biological mother had died. After she reached adulthood, she learned that wasn’t the truth. CPS wasn’t above lying when it suited them. It was possible Manuel’s story was true, which meant she’d spent years being resentful and angry for no reason. Renée was so confused.
A man who didn’t want his kids wouldn’t hang pictures of them around his house, would he? She didn’t know.
“I don’t know what to say,” she said, voicing her confusion. “It’s hard to believe you looked for me for twenty years.”
“Believe it, mi hija,” Manuel exclaimed, upbeat. “It’s one hundred percent true.”
“Your dad was so sure he’d see you again one day that he’s kept you under his insurance at the steel mill all these years. I’ll give you the card before you leave. We have it around here somewhere,” Cheryl said, then gave a strained laugh.
Manuel joined with an uncomfortable laugh of his own.
They were so weird. Maybe it bothered Cheryl that he had children outside of their relationship. A child who materialized on their doorstep demanding answers. Some women thought of children as baggage. Yes, he had Shenae and Manuel Jr., but Shenae was in her mid-thirties, and Manuel Jr. wasn’t much younger from what she gathered from the pictures. Her being in her twenties meant she might need him more than his other two children. Who knew? Honestly, she wasn’t sure what type of relationship she intended to have with him after today. Her emotions were jumbled.
“You know what?” Manuel said, standing suddenly. “You should stay for dinner. Maybe a couple days so we can catch up, get to know each other. I’ve got a lot to show you.”
“Umm…” Whoa! Quite the offer. One that would make Andrew’s head explode. It already made her head hurt a little. “My brother’s waiting for me. He wouldn’t appreciate sitting outside in the car for a few days.”
Manuel and Cheryl chuckled.
“See, Cherie told you she was mine. She’s got her daddy’s sense of humor,” Manuel complimented, continuing to laugh.
“Yeah, she does,” Cheryl agreed. “She looks like you, too. Only more feminine. She could be a model if she didn’t get your height.”
Renée gave a small laugh, but that was all the commitment she would make. Manuel was short, maybe five-foot-five or five-six. She could admit she might have gotten her height from him. However, comparisons stopped there. Skin a few shades lighter brown, he had inky, close cropped, black hair. His face was square and too small for his body. All his features were compacted into the middle like they were afraid to branch out. No, she wasn’t the hottest thing walking, but she didn’t think she favored him, either. Nor did she find Cheryl’s statement particularly funny.
