Page 82 of Seduction

Scheana nodded softly and said, “Yes. She also had a criminal record a mile long. Mostly identity fraud, but the personal item that belonged to your sister, which the deceased had possession of, says that at some point, the two may have come in contact.” Then she took a large brown envelope out of the thick folder and emptied the contents, which included the locket and my mother’s social security card and driver’s license, onto the table.

I fixed my gaze on the picture of the woman on the license. I couldn’t clearly remember my mother’s face, but I knew one thing for sure. “The woman in that photograph is not my mother.”

Scheana folded her hands on the table. “We are now aware of that.” Once again, she sounded remorseful.

I hadn’t noticed until then that Christine had opened the locket and was handling it like it was precious.

My aunt’s chin quivered as she looked at me. “It belongs to your grandmother.” Her voice was strained.

I leaned back, blinking rapidly, wondering if I’d heard her correctly. “You mean ‘belonged.’”

Her eyes were watery. “Belongs.”

“They’re alive?”

“Remember what I explained to you about them last night? Your mother and I are dead to them, but as far as living and breathing, yes, they’re alive.”

* * *

Silence loomed,settling in the air with the density and murkiness of a swamp creature. Christine and I were back in the car. Obviously, we had a lot to talk about.

Finally, she fell back against the driver’s seat and heaved a sigh. “Where do you want to start?”

Since I learned my grandparents were alive, I’d actually been doing a lot of thinking about that question. Although I was curious about them and oddly ashamed of how they’d treated their daughters, I’d never had an emotional tie to them.

“We have to find my mother,” I said.

“I know,” she replied then rotated her body to face me. “But I think it’s time I tell you what I know about the Christmases.”

I felt my chest cave in as I nodded.

“I’m sure you’ve figured out that the money I send you each month doesn’t come from my parents’ trust.”

I hadn’t thought about that until she mentioned it. “It makes sense,” I said.

She had to brace herself again. “So…” she began at the bottom of another breath. “Your mother was held against her will and sexually violated, repeatedly and in unimaginable ways. You can’t imagine how severe abuse changes a human being forever. And truly, only the very strong can survive it.”

I closed my eyes and pressed my lips together, trying to keep myself from crying. All I could picture was my mom as a little girl being hurt in such a horrible manner. I wanted to use my scalpel to operate on her past and remove the cancer of her experience.

Christine was a blur through my tear-filled eyes. “Is she very strong?”

Her pressed lips answered the question for me. She hadn’t considered my mother durable enough to cope with her past.

“Sweetheart,” Christine said in a gentle tone.

Unstoppable waterworks streamed down my face, but I was able to open my eyes enough to take the tissues Christine handed to me. I wiped the tears out of my eyes, blew my nose enough to clear my sinuses, and braced myself to hear more.

“Are you ready to continue?” she asked.

Unable to speak, I nodded.

“Your father could be one of two men—Arthur Valentine or Randolph Christmas.”

My eyes grew so wide that I thought they would pop out. “What?”

“I’m sorry, Pen. We should find out which of those men fathered you.”