When Brett was out of the shower and dressed, he looked around the rooms. The place lacked any personal character reflecting real inhabitants. It was furnished with generic sofas, chairs, and tables sitting on beige wall-to-wall carpet and displayed reprint art on the walls. It could have been Motel 6, but it was the best they could afford. The bureaus and closets contained a few items of clothing, some with tags still on them.
While Brett explored the place, Laura put together some dinner. She felt better since Roger had eased Brett's mind. But she wished he were here because being so far made her feel all the more vulnerable.
Was this how they would be living again-in hiding? And how were they to explain that to Brett? He had finals next week and was to graduate middle school in three, then go to overnight camp in the Dells with Brian. How could they tell him that all that was over? That he would never see his friends or go home again? That his parents were not who he thought they were?
Roger's attitude was that they would manage. He had withdrawn $65,000 cash the day he first spotted the tail just in case. They had more money buried with the other half of the Elixir supply. They could move to places far from urban centers. It meant sacrifices-changing their names again, buying more IDs, home schooling, and disguises. But Brett was young enough to adjust.
"Chris, we're not the Unabomber family," she had said.
"The alternative is life imprisonment for us and foster homes for Brett. Which would you prefer?"
She was halfway through cooking the pasta when Brett appeared at the kitchen doorway.
"Feel better?" she said looking up.
He was still in his uniform because it was the only outfit he had. But his hair was wet from the shower and his face was shiny.
He held a book in his hand. "Is this you?"
Laura nearly fainted on the spot.
If I Should Die.
The copy Jenny had given her years ago. She had forgotten it was on a shelf in the other room. Brett was staring at the black and white dustjacket photo.
Of all the nightmares Laura had lived with, this was the one she had dreaded the most. They had thought about making up a story about Roger stumbling upon a bank robbery one day, and how because he had seen the face of the man who killed a teller, they had entered a witness-protection program and taken on new identities. Brett's eyes shifted form the photo of Wendy Bacon to Laura, reading the author's bio on the inside. She knew she could not mouth another lie. "Yes, it's me."
Confusion clouded Brett's eyes. "But it says Wendy Bacon."
Laura felt the press of tears but tortured her face into a smile. "Well, honey, that was the name I used back then."
"Back when? When did you write it?"
She took a deep breath and put her arm on his shoulder. This was not how she wanted to break it to him. "A long time ago."
"It says, 'Ms. Bacon makes her home with her husband and son in Carleton, Massachusetts.'" He looked up at her for an explanation.
"That's where we used to live."
"But you said I was born in Kansas."
"We moved."
Brett glanced back at the photograph. "But you look so different. Your hair…" The look in his face was utter bafflement. "The license plate said Massachusetts in Dad's picture I gave you."
"Why don't we sit down inside and I'll explain."
She walked him into the living room. Brett did not take a seat, but stood facing her with the dustjacket photograph of a brunette Wendy Bacon beaming out into the world from a simpler time.
Laura cupped his face in her hands. "Honey, I first want to say that we love you very much, and that it was because we love you-"
"Mom, cut the crap!" He dropped the book on the table. He looked scared. "It's Dad. He's dying, or something."
"No, that's not it. We're both perfectly fine. You just talked with him. He'll be here tomorrow. Believe me."
"I thought he was in the hospital." There was a frantic look in his eyes. "Where is he?"
She took a deep breath. "Madison."
"You lied."
"Honey, you asked about the book-"
"I don't care about the dumb book. What are we doing here? What the hell is going on? Where's Dad?"
"I'm telling you Dad's in Madison. And he's not in a hospital. I swear to it."
Brett wiped his eyes. He didn't have a clue.
It was obscene. This is the worst moment of my life, she told herself.
"Honey, there are some things we've not told you, so I wish you'd sit down-"
"I not going to friggin' sit down!"
"Okay," she said trying to find a center. "I'm going to start from the beginning, and everything I'm going to tell you is the truth, I swear to God. I swear on my life."
He looked scared.
God, give me strength.
"Long before you were born, we used to live in Massachusetts where Dad had a job as a biologist. About twenty years ago, he went to Papua New Guinea where he discovered a very rare flower that…"
And she told him the story.
At first, Brett didn't believe her, thinking it was some roundabout tale to say how Roger had picked up an exotic disease that was killing him. When it was clear that she was not making it up, he sat in stunned bewilderment.
"But Dad's hair is turning white."
"Because he uses makeup."
"No, he doesn't," he protested angrily.
"Brett, I know how scary this all sounds, but he's perfectly healthy. Elixir keeps him from aging. The only problem is that there were some bad people who wanted to get hold of it and sell it illegally-people who blew up that airplane so we would be killed; but because we weren't on it, they blamed it on us."
Brett's eyes filled up. "What's my real name?"
"Brett's your real name."
"But you said I was born before you took off and got new IDs. When you lived in Massachusetts." His voice was trembling.
"We had named you Adam, but after seven or eight months we… you were… Brett." She just couldn't tell him that Brett was the name off some dead boy's Social Security card.
"Adam what? What's my whole name?" he demanded.
Laura summoned every last bit of strength to keep from breaking down. "Adam Bacon."
"What?"
"Adam Bacon."
"Adam Bacon?" He spoke his birth name for the first time in his life.
"But that was only while you were a baby."
"I'm adopted. That's what this is all about. You adopted me and my real parents want me back."
"No, no, that's not it."
"Yes, it is. That's why I'm short."
She felt the absurd impulse to laugh. "Brett, honey, I've told you the God's honest truth. You're our son. I gave birth to you. Please believe me. You can see your resemblance in Dad, the shape of your face, your eyes and features… and you're not short."
Brett looked as if he were suddenly trapped in a whirlpool and grasping for low-hanging branches. "How old am I? For real," he shouted. "How old am I?"
"You're fourteen. You'll be fifteen in November. You were born in-"
"That's not me in the photograph I gave you, is it?"
"No… it was your brother who died before you were born. His name was Ricky."
"I knew that wasn't me, but you said it was. You lied. You lied!"
Before she could explain, he jumped to his feet and cried out, "I don't believe this." His face was flushed and beginning to crumble.
"I know how hard it is coming at you all at once-"
He turned toward her, his face wild. "Dad's a freak," he cried. "He's a freak. He can't grow old like everybody else. He's a freak, and you're criminals."
Laura came toward him with arms, but he recoiled. "Don't friggin' touch me!" he screamed. "I don't even know who you are."
"I'm your mother. I've always been your mother."
Frantically he looked around the room again as if for the first time. "We're going to be put in prison. Dad's probably already in prison."
"You just talked with him. He'll be here tomorrow."
Then Brett snapped his head toward her again looking at her as if she were alien. "How old are you? The truth! How old?"