“Whose dog is it?” I asked.
“We don’t know. It hasn’t got tags or even a chip,” Vicki said. “It’s this great monstrosity of a thing,” she added. “White, fluffy, drools way too much.”
Dad turned his head and frowned at her. “I’ve never seen it drool.”
“It licked my face the other day,” she said, insulted. “I had to take a shower.”
“Now, I don’t think that’s necessar—”
“So the dog decided to make a home with Sam?” I cut in.
“For now. It’s not staying, though,” Vicki said.
“How often does it come by?”
“Mostly on weekends.”
“The dog knows the days of the week?” I asked drily. Vicki nodded and shrugged at the same time. “Sam must be feeding it something really good then.”
Vicki laughed. “Well, I don’t mind. The silly-looking thing helps with the laundry.”
“You’re kidding,” I said absently, my mind going off on a tangent. A big, white, fluffy dog that helps with laundry. That was no stray.
“Helper or not, Sam knows the rules about dogs.” Dad stood up. “I don’t mind him having it here for now, as long as he looks after it, and it doesn’t eat my azaleas.”
I laughed. “I don’t think Petey will—”
Dad stopped half way between the kitchen and the table, and turned around. “How’d you know its name?”
“Um.” I bit my lip. “Vicki said Petey.”
“I did.” She looked utterly confused.
“Um, yeah. So, anyway. . .” I hesitated. “Dad, can I talk to you alone for a minute?”
He and Vicki exchanged long glances, then she stood up and slowly left the room. But I was sure she’d parked herself just around the corner. I didn’t care, though. As long as she stayed out of this conversation.
“What’s up, honey?” He sat back down, angling the screen so I now looked onto the wall, which only confirmed that Vicki was standing right there, listening.
“Am I adopted?”
Dad’s eyes shot past the screen, coming back again a little wetter and sharper than before. He slowly breathed out and lined his fingers together under his chin. “Why do you ask?”
“Just . . . just answer me, Dad.”
The reflection of his eyes showed Vicki’s face just before she appeared. She sat down beside him again and took his hand: the united front, ready for something it seemed they’d been prepared for for a long time.
“Yes, Ara,” Vicki said for him. “You’re adopted.”
Finally, some truths. I had to choose which role to play then: the shocked daughter; the angry teen who resented her adoptive parents, or the real me that just wanted to tell Dad not to worry so much—that it was okay. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” I asked.
“To . . . there was just never a good time,” Dad said.
“Well, now’s a good time.”
Vicki stood. “I’ll leave you both to it.”
“Thank you, Vicki.” Dad patted her hand and turned back to face me. “I’ve wanted to tell you, Ara.”
“I don’t doubt that, Dad.”
“I just . . . after I left your mom, she forbid me to tell you. She thought you’d want to leave her and find your, what she called, “real parents”. Not that she felt that way, but she thought you would. We planned to tell you once you turned eighteen, but—”
“But you couldn’t do it.”
“Not after everything that happened.”
“Everything? What do you mean?” The way he said that sentence made me think for a second that he knew about Drake arresting and torturing me.
“You know, Mom dying and you moving here—all that heartache, then breaking up with Mike. I didn’t want to complicate things further.”
I nodded. “And, you know, I appreciate that, Dad.”
“Really?
“Yeah. I’m not sure I could've coped with the truth then, but . . . I can now.”
“Okay then.” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. “What would you like to know?”
“Her name. My mom’s name.”
He smiled fondly. “Her name was Rose.”
“Was?”
“Sadly, honey, she passed away giving birth to you.”
My mouth opened as if I knew what to say, but I didn’t. I just stared at Dad’s face, waiting for him to speak.
“She was just a child when she had you, Ara, sixteen, actually—”
“Sixteen?”
“Yes. She thought she was in love with this boy, and they . . . well, you know how it goes. Nine months later, you were born.”
“So, well, how did you come to adopt me? I mean, did you know Rose?”
“Rose was. . .” He looked down. “She was my baby sister, charged to my care after my mother passed away.”
Sister? I never even knew he had a sister. “Did my mom know her, too?”
“Yes.” He smiled fondly. “Rose and Eleanor were close, you know. Eleanor was the support Rose needed then. I just . . . I was a guy. I just didn’t know what to do with a pregnant sixteen-year-old.”
“So, then. . .” I just felt more confused about it all. “Did you plan to adopt me all along, or was that forced on you after Rose died?”
“It was never forced on us, Ara.” He shook his head impatiently. “It was our choice. Rose planned to raise you herself. But. . .”
“But she died.”
“And you became our little blessing.”
I truly believed him as he said that. I could tell from his voice that no matter how much pain I’d brought him, there had always been more joy. “Did Rose ever get to hold me?”
He nodded. “For a while. You were nearly a month early, so we all knew you might not survive, but we never imagined we’d lose Rose.”
“How did it happen? How do people just die from giving birth, Dad?”
“We don’t know.”
“How can you not know?” I asked, getting louder.
“She was in a car accident, honey, and went into early labour. She didn’t have any major injuries, so they let her give birth naturally. And . . . when you were born, this pretty little blue baby, and Rose held your tiny little hand, the reality of it hit her harder than we imagined.” He shook his head. “Some say she died of a broken heart—that she couldn’t live in a world where her baby was dead.”