“Identical or fraternal?”
“Fraternal.”
“Then no, Mr. Bender. If he was an identical twin, there could be some question, but as a fraternal, you have distinctly individual DNAs.”
Park shakes his head. “It’s a mistake. There’s no way.”
“You aren’t aware of a child?”
“No. I’m not.”
“You’re not covering for him, are you?” Moore asks, frost dripping from her words.
That pisses him off. “No, I’m not covering for him. There is no him. I don’t know how this could happen.”
“Park?” Olivia is still staring, her mouth a small O of shock. He takes her hand, and she lets him.
“It’s okay, honey. It’s all some big mistake.”
“I think I’ll take you up on that coffee,” Osley says, flashing a smile, and Olivia jumps to her feet and pulls two cups from the cupboard, tipping one toward Moore in a silent offer. Moore waves her off.
“I don’t understand,” Olivia says, handing Osley the cup of steaming coffee and rejoining them at the table. “How could this be possible? Park doesn’t have any children. I think I’d know. I think he’d know.”
“My wife is right. I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding,” Park starts again, but Moore shakes her head.
“I’m afraid there’s no mistake. Mr. Bender, you are the father of the suspect we’re seeking. That you’re not aware of the child makes things more complicated, but it doesn’t change reality.”
Moore glances sideways at Osley, who finishes his coffee with a slurp and sets the cup on the table hard enough to rattle. “We know this is awkward, Mr. Bender. We’d like to take another sample from you, so we can run the tests once more, just for certainty.”
Olivia is crumbling now. “This is impossible. Tell them, Park. Tell them they’ve made a mistake.” She’s crying; there’s a thickness in her voice, a long, slow sniffle. “You can’t have a child with someone else. You can’t.”
The coffee is burning in his stomach, acid crawling up into his throat. Her tears are making it worse. Shut this down. Now.
“Detectives, you need to give us a moment.”
“Sir—”
“A moment. Please. My wife is in a delicate condition. She needs to lie down.”
“I don’t. Tell them. Tell me,” Olivia wails. He hasn’t seen her this emotional since the first miscarriage. She’s been so strong through it all. Stoic. Numb, maybe. Damn it, why can’t she fall apart after they leave?
He stands, fighting the urge to grab her arm and yank her out of the room. Gently, oh so gently, he cups her elbow, says, “Come with me,” and, relieved when she complies, leads her from the kitchen toward the staircase in the hallway.
He hears the police murmuring, ignores them. Tears are pouring down Olivia’s cheeks, her gorgeous dark eyes swimming. He stops at the base of the stairs, knuckles one hefty tear away. “Go lie down. I’ll figure this out. I promise.”
“I don’t need to lie down.” A choking cry. “I’m not pregnant anymore. I lost it. This morning.”
The twin blows are too much to take. He has a biological child out in the world, one he had no idea existed. His wife has lost their baby. Sorrow spills over him, and he pulls her to his chest. Her hair smells like freshly cut hay on a summer day, clean and grassy, and now that he’s paying attention, he scents the blood. He’s always been especially attuned to her cycle. How had he missed this?
“God, Olivia. Why didn’t you come get me when it happened?” he says.
“There are some things you don’t need to experience firsthand, Park. Trust me.”
The quiet desolation, the haze in her eyes. She’s already back there, remembering, reliving it.
“Then why didn’t you tell me, honey?” he asks, softer now.
“I was about to when they rang the bell,” she whispers, body drooping in defeat. “Park. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I failed you again.”
He grasps both shoulders—he can feel the sharp edges of her collarbones under her sweater; if she’d only gain a little weight, maybe she wouldn’t keep miscarrying—and makes her face him. “Oh, hon. No more talk like that. Remember what Dr. Henry says. This is not a situation of blame. It’s a biological anomaly.”
“Apparently, you’re the biological anomaly, Park. What will the neighbors say? How will you explain this to our families? Do you even have any idea who the mother might be?”
No, I don’t. I don’t have a clue.
“I’m sure this is some sort of lab screwup,” he says. “They’ve made a mistake.”
“They don’t make mistakes with DNA. They wouldn’t be here if they weren’t sure.”
“Just… Olivia, go upstairs, okay? Let me talk to the police, let me straighten this out. You do need to lie down, you look very pale. Take an iron pill, and maybe a little something to relax you. Since you won’t hurt the baby—”
Her face crumples, and he trails off. The tears have ended—Olivia is too strong for her own good—but she needs to temper things. No woman should have to go through what she has. He feels a spike of guilt for his uncharitable thought about her weight being to blame for the babies. Of course this isn’t her fault. It’s a terrible circumstance, that’s all.
“No numbing,” she says finally. “I have to work today. The Jones build. And you owe me an explanation of what the hell is going on. When you finish telling them whatever it is you need to say without me in earshot, I expect you to share with me, Park Bender. Is that understood?”
This last is said fiercely, and he nods. Without another argument, Olivia moves soundlessly to the stairs and floats up, small feet soft on the runner. He watches her go, heart twisted, mind whirling.
This absolutely cannot be happening.
The detectives are still in the kitchen. He half hoped they’d see his family was suffering and quietly let themselves out, but no, here they are, the Black cowboy sitting at the table calmly sipping away and the cold white chick with the swan’s neck standing at the window, looking out at the backyard. The feeders are nearly empty, and the squirrels are up to their usual hijinks, hanging upside down, tails straight out as the feeders spin wildly. Olivia always laughs when they do this, says it’s their way of going on a roller-coaster ride. Moore seems to agree, is more animated, at least. He doesn’t know how Osley can stand being with her all day; she’s so intense, so disapproving.
Osley has helped himself to another cup of coffee. He sets down the cup with a small click and smiles, gesturing for Park to take the chair opposite, as if this is his kitchen, his home, and Park the honored guest.
Park hesitates a moment, drops into the chair. Moore stays by the window.
“Sorry things are so confusing, sir. Your wife okay?”
“She will be. Listen, she’s in a fragile state right now. We’ve lost several pregnancies, and it’s been very difficult. We’re both in therapy, trying to make sense of it all. You can imagine this news coming as more than a shock. That I have…a kid.” He shakes his head like a wasp is flying near. “How old is he?”