Page 66 of One Bad Knight

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By midmorning,I stepped up to a house with yellow trim and sunflowers out front. The neighborhood was the definition of cookie-cutter, middle-class suburbia. My fist paused over the door.

What am I doing? I shouldn’t be here.

But the feeling in my gut propelled me forward. My knuckles rapped confidently against the door.

There was a moment of silence, but then a shuffling came from inside. The door swung open, and my heart nearly beat out of my chest as I looked at a woman with a face almost as familiar as my own.

Familiar, because the woman looked exactly like my father if someone had glued a wig on his head. She had the same round nose, and deep-set eyes. There was zero doubt in my mind that they were siblings, if not twins.

“W-Wanda?” I stuttered.

“Yes?” she asked with a frown. Then she shot a pointed look at the sign next to her door that clearly stated ‘No solicitors.’

“Wanda Hart?” I said, despite knowing she went by Wanda Schneider.

She frowned and took a step back, trying to shut the door. “No, you must have the wrong person.”

I stopped the door with my hand. “You’re… you’re my aunt?” I asked, my voice shaking.

Wanda gave me a hard look, surveying me from head to toe as if trying to decide whether to slam the door in my face still.

I rushed to speak. “Please, I want to talk to you. I didn’t know I had an aunt.” Part of me flip-flopped in joy. “I’m Kurt’s daughter.”

Her face smoothed with a coldness that stemmed from pure hatred. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

The door closed in my face.

It felt like the wind had been kicked from my chest. The shock left me stunned and rooted to the spot.

I banged on the door again with more insistence. “Wait, we need to talk. Please.”

I had an aunt, but she refused to acknowledge it. Did my dad know of her? Did my Uncle John? Of course they did. How could they not know? And if they did, why was her existence completely erased? Not even the media knew about this. I’d heard Uncle John talk plenty of times about how hard it was losing his only brother, and then having his wife leave him shortly after.

Despite my persistence, Wanda didn’t reappear.

A neighbor stepped out onto her front porch, shooting me a dirty look. She was on her phone and mentioned loudly about possibly needing to call the cops. I finally took a step back from the unyielding door, feeling like I’d run several miles.

The way Wanda slammed the door in my face had been so final, so dismissive.

She knew who I was and she didn’t care. She wanted nothing to do with me.

My feet somehow found their way back down the pansy-edged walkway, though a numbness spread through me. The neighbor retreated back into her house, though I was sure she’d watch me from inside until she was sure I’d gone.

Before I reached the mailbox, a voice called after me. Wanda had stuck her head out of the door again. “Don’t tell anyone you came here, or that you saw me,” she said in a harsh tone. Then her expression softened as she added, “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of that house. Run far away like I did and never look back.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but the door slammed again before I could get anything out.

What the hell was that about?

The hour-and-a-half drive back to Denver didn’t give me any further clarity. But my guts felt like a handful of worms were wriggling in them.

Why did Gatsby know I had an aunt, and I didn’t?

28

Kat