Trouble Light
:: used to illuminate obscurities and reveal the unknown
Kate
Sunday, June 4th, 5:13 am
Foster Avenue, Baltimore, Maryland
We built a fort last night.
The boys and I, in their room. We pushed beds together, stacked pillows, draped sheets. It was epic. Only I had to go and spill my soda on the mattress, and David sneezed and upturned an entire bowl of buttered popcorn, and Josh got irritated by the mess and stormed off. Which is funny in a heartbreaking sort of way because that’s how our fort nights ended when we were kids, too.
It was probably a dumb idea. We’re not twelve anymore; I just thought it would take our minds off, you know, life. And the tragic, unsettling, horrifically mind-blowing information we discovered in Elena’s envelope.
Ugh.
I stare at the ceiling as David stirs. He weaves sleepy fingers through my hair. “Don’t worry, Sunny,” he murmurs. “It’s going to be okay. Right, Josh? We’ll figure this out.”
I turn to Josh, who’s sprawled on my other side. He mutters something incoherent. They’ve been like this for hours, dozing fitfully while I lie between them, awake.
Watching.
Wishing I had one of those pills Josh flushed down the toilet.
Just one.
Whatever. I promised. It’s nice, though, the three of us, in my bed. Not under these circumstances, obviously. But I kind of wish we’d been sleeping like this all along.
Nick and Ian traveled a lot during the Brought to Light years. David practically lived with us. Josh and I had our own wing in the cottage house—two bedrooms separated by a Jack-and-Jill bath. I used to sneak through the connecting doors at night.
That’s how our fort nights started—on the floor in Josh’s room. David and I drove him crazy with all our books and messy snacks. He’d put up with us for a while, then stalk out all mad and sulk in my room. We’d eventually join him, lying there for hours sometimes, talking, watching movies, reading. Those were the best times.
And here we are, a decade later, still together. The same, yet different.
My heart is in a thousand pieces, looking at them. David told me a few days ago, the real truth surrounding our birth, and what happened to Josh’s mom. He wanted me to meet Carol with them, but it seemed fitting they do it alone. Anna and her friends showing up the other night was a God send.
And I could weep about it. Well, I did weep with David when he told me. I don’t know what’s more devastating, believing your mother abandoned you, or learning she was murdered by your father. At least now Josh knows the truth, I guess.
I worked up the nerve once to ask Vivian about my real father. It was a few months after the miscarriage. I’d been feeling lonely and kind of emotional. She told me he was a meaningless fuck she met at a hotel and didn’t even remember his name.
So, yeah. Really nothing left to say after that.
As for Nick? There’s no end to the blood on his hands. And for what purpose? What did he gain? He lost Elena, the love of his life, killed Angela, the mother of his child, and used Josh, his only son, to rid himself of Ian.
Not to mention the scores of lives he and Ian ruined, the trauma they put David and Josh through, and the abuse we suffered at his hand. Honestly, part of me wants to applaud Carol for intimidating him with those photographs. But, like, how creepy is that?
My skin crawls just thinking about him, watching us these last few months, hiding that recording for years. It’s nauseating. Why didn’t he just come forward with what he knew? He’s David’s uncle, after all. Elena’s brother.
Ian once told me we were bound by an invisible thread. I thought he meant David, Josh, and I. But now I know he meant Abigail, too. And it’s so much more than stolen identity. The four of us, connected by birth, our stories inextricably woven, tragically tied.
Because of Elena, she’s the thread.
And the contents of her envelope? Liberating. Astonishing. And absolutely devastating. Among other things, she included David and Abigail’s birth records along with our altered ones, damning emails between Ian and Nick with time and date stamps, and a distant photograph of Nick embracing a beautiful young woman—Angela Silva, Josh’s mom.
Elena printed her name on the back of the picture. David recognized his mother’s writing immediately. She also included a single sheet of paper with directions to the place where she and Ian buried Angela’s body.
A location so tragic in its irony, my mind can’t grasp it. Air literally evaporated from our living room when David read his mother’s words. Josh stumbled in his haste to yank the paper from David’s hand. He ripped it to shreds before dropping, his body wracked with sobs of agony and grief as the horrific reality settled in. Whoever said fiction is stranger than truth?
Poor Josh. He’s beyond overwhelmed. David, too.
I can’t stop thinking about his mom, the choices she made, what she was like. And Abigail, would she have been as beautiful a person as David? Would we be friends? And what about Angela, what kind of person was she?
Carol told the boys she’d been a mere child herself, not much older than me when I miscarried. Nick took advantage of her. And to think, she’ll never know the precious son she died for.
His eyes flutter open, all sleep-heavy and golden brown. He gives me a lazy, lopsided grin and runs a finger down the bridge of my nose to the tip. Kath-er-ine, he mouths.
How can this man be that same boy? The one who protected me, saved my life, gave me a child.
Zoe.
I will always love Josh; he’s life to me. I’ve had a lot of time to think these last few weeks, about him, David and I. I don’t regret what happened in college. I’m sorry for the pain it caused, and I wish I’d been upfront about the pregnancy with both boys, but I wouldn’t take it back.
Either way, Josh is my brother, blood or not. We share a special, sacred bond. I don’t want to lose that. It’s crazy, but after seven years, longing for freedom to say who we really are? Now, with the truth at our fingertips, I want the lie.
Thursday, June 8th, 6:43 pm
American Visionary Art Museum Baltimore, Maryland
It’s been a week since the boys met with Carol, and we are hanging by a thread.
I’m not kidding. We almost didn’t make it here.
“This gala is worse than the wedding,” Josh grumbles.
David and I exchange a look, although I’m kind of feeling Josh’s pain. We’re at a swanky art gala, surrounded by throngs of Baltimore elite. Don’t get me wrong, I support the arts and all, I just mean we’re not like, bougie gala people.
Which, apparently Julie and Bennett are, because they bought the tickets. Bennett’s on some theater board or council or something.
Who knew?
Anyway, they invited us months ago, paid for the tickets and everything, so we couldn’t back out. And trust me, Josh tried. Normally I love an excuse to dress up, but I’m so out-leagued here, it’s embarrassing.
Not to mention the overall cringe factor of spending an evening with Bennett and Julie, because let’s be honest, I’m sure he told her about the whole miscarriage twin thing.
Whatever.
This week has been a nightmare. We’re stuck at a crossroad, all three of us. The house, Nick, Carol’s news, work drama, David’s health…everything. Actions need to be taken, yet we remain paralyzed by indecision. Josh can’t even talk about his birth mother. I’ve hardly slept. And David?
I can’t even. There’s something wrong, I’m certain of it. But he refuses to listen. The flu, he keeps insisting. Which, I guess it could be. He’s had every symptom in the book. Headaches, nausea, dizziness. He’s a mess.
Speaking of which…
I turn to find Josh gaping at a bearded man in platform heels with two horns poking from his head. He’s carrying a tray of appetizers. The attire was supposed to be creative cocktail, which I took to mean conservative dress with a little flare.
Clearly missed the boat on that one.
As did Josh, who we literally had to drag from the house. It was like wrangling a toddler. And he insisted on wearing the dullest outfit known to man—a plain black shirt and black pants. At least his clothes are somewhat form-fitting, and I convinced him to wear these cute loafers with no socks. Between his golden, sun-streaked hair, olive skin, and contoured muscles…well, he’s not winning any creativity awards, but it’s working.
He looks pretty damn hot.
And irritated.
“Teriyaki pork belly lettuce wrap?” the horned man offers.
Josh grabs two as David shakes his head politely.
“Did you learn nothing from the quesadilla?” he whispers when the man walks off.
“What? I’m hungry.” Josh pops both in his mouth just as Bennett and Julie approach. And holy mother of creative cocktail gowns, does she look beautiful. Gold sequins, plunging neck—
“David! You’re never going to believe who we brought with us!” she gushes. A striking brunette peeks out from behind Bennett. And if I thought Julie looked beautiful—
“Tess?” David’s eyes widen as she rushes in for a hug.
I mean, of course Tessa would be here, right? Because she lives nowhere near Baltimore, and we need a little more flipping drama in our lives. I glance at Josh who might’ve just thrown up in his mouth. Probably more a result of the pork belly than seeing her, but…
“Kate, you look beautiful,” she says, turning from David to wrap me up in those tan, slender arms. She’s drenched in warm vanilla and her hair feels like silk. I sort of don’t want her to let go, but she’s moving on to Josh, hugging him with the same open affection.
And clearly, she got the creative cocktail memo because, good Lord, the outfit. Snug, sparkly bellbottoms with a white and gold sequined halter and matching stilettos. She’s stunning. And as far as I can tell? Completely unaware of her beauty.
It’s kind of impossible to hate her.
Josh and I stand there like idiots, gawking while Julie explains how they had an extra ticket and Tessa was traveling through on her way to Florida for work. She’s going on and on about a vlog or something.
I don’t know, there’s too much happening in my head to actually listen. And poor David is completely out of sorts. He’s glancing at Josh and I like he expects one of us to spontaneously erupt or something. And I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, but I swear Bennett’s eyes keep skipping between the three of us.
Picturing all the illicit sex we’re not having, no doubt. Or at least, I am not having.
It’s cringeworthy. Seriously, I’m cringing. Cringe sweats happening right here, people. It’s a thing; they should make spray for it.
The horned man interrupts our little chatter fest to announce dinner, and before I completely soak my dress, we’re directed to an ornate ballroom. Tessa walks with David, and they talk amiably, arm in arm. He’s captivated, smiling, looking brighter than he has in days.
And the friend me is glad to see him animated and carefree, like all the other entitled people herewithout our twisted past. The wannabe-girlfriend me would be glad too, except her heart is somewhere beneath Josh’s loafers and those sequined stilettos, getting trampled.
8:22 pm
I rest my cheek against David’s chest and fiddle with his shirt buttons.
A handsome older couple glides past us, dancing close. He’s whispering in her ear and she’s laughing. It’s lovely. They are lovely. This gala is a freaking convention of lovely people.
Especially Tessa.
“She’s basically the female you,” I tell David, who sighs. He’s getting tired of my going on about her, but I’ve had enough wine, I’m lacking impulse control. “Seriously, D. You guys should mate or something. Your offspring could spawn a planet of superhumans.”
“Did you really just say mate?” he laughs, but there’s a tightness in his voice and it’s more than irritation. I look up and find him wincing, pressing hard at the spot above his eye.
Another headache.
They’re getting worse. Josh and I have been hounding him to see a doctor. “David—”
“Don’t start,” he groans. “It’s a virus, I told you guys. A bunch of kids at the school are sick. It just needs to run its course.”
“I still think you should see someone,” I insist. “I could take you tomorrow. Pick you up at school?”
“Would you lay off?” he grumbles. “I’ll handle it.” Only, we both know he won’t.
Tears of frustration begin to pool, and I want to shake some sense into him. But I know David, and you can’t force him. So, I take a deep breath and focus on dancing.
It’s a slow song, and he’s holding me close, absently humming soft by my ear. I make a valiant effort to push worry from my mind and lean into him, stroke his back, loving the crisp feel of his shirt, and his earthy, intoxicating scent. Like sex and soap and cozy bed sheets.
I let my mind wander to more pleasant things, replaying the last time we were together. Like, not in a dressing room but actually together. It’s been almost a year. Does he remember? Does he even want me anymore?
Get a grip, Kate. He’s not thinking about sex right now. At least, not sex with you.
A quick glance confirms this, He’s nodding toward our table. “Think that could be a thing?” he asks.
I follow his gaze and nearly choke with laughter. Josh and Tessa are seated beside one another, just as we left them ten minutes ago, talking rather intently.
“What? Our resident toddler and Miss Brazil? Are you kidding me?” Josh has no game, and there is zero chance he’s hitting on her.
David laughs. “Well, this might be the longest conversation he’s held with a female, besides you. Maybe they’ll be friends.”
I’d like to live in David’s world, where avoidance is king, and everyone is friendly. A little spark of jealousy ignites at the thought of Josh hooking up with her, though.
David is still watching. “I think he’s going to ask her to dance.”
“No way.” Josh hates dancing. And he has never asked a girl for anything. Except Claire, and we all saw how that turned out.
No, most girls have to beat him over the head and spell it out in bold print to get his attention. Which makes a hell of a lot more sense now. I look at David and expect to see something in his expression. Jealousy maybe? Desire? But there’s nothing other than amusement. My temper flares.
“Whatever, D. It’s not like it matters. You seem to be forgetting the fact that they both want you.”
He rolls his eyes. “Well, I don’t know about that, but I know Josh, and he’s going to ask her to dance. Trust me, I can tell.”
As if I need reminding how well they know each other.
“Um, okay, Lucky Charms. And what is it you want?”
I really wish I could staple my mouth shut. This isn’t the time for that conversation. Besides, I’m not even sure I want an answer. Good thing, because he’s not offering.
He gives me a slight warning look before circling arms around my waist. “I want to hear more about this planet you have Tess and I populating.”
“Shut up, D! I’m serious! You know she wants you. She’s—”
“Beautiful? Yes, you’ve mentioned that. She’s also complicated. Painfully kind. Completely broken.” He smiles wryly and leans down to kiss my nose. “A lot like someone else I know. But even if we could spawn superhumans and take over the world? She still wouldn’t be my Sunshine.”
And before my thrumming heart can process that, he’s swinging me back toward our table. And dammit if Josh isn’t rising from his chair, offering her a hand. Moments later they’re beside us on the dance floor, and David is sporting a smug, I-told-you-so grin.
She gives his arm a little squeeze, and they exchange a knowing look which Josh, bless him, completely misses. I wonder about them, about her story, and what he’s told her, and what he thinks she and I have in common.
I don’t know if it’s his words, or seeing her with Josh, but I feel somehow less threatened. It’s oddly right, us dancing. Like apart, in couples, but still together.
She and Josh are completely awkward. Well, he is. She is perfectly at home on a dance floor. It’s cute in a cringy sort of way, him trying to keep up, more so because I know how he hates dancing.
Eventually, he leans over and whispers something to David. Only it’s a Josh whisper, so we all hear. Apparently, Tessa is writing an article about emerging trends in EMS or something, which David clearly knew, hence their secret exchange. And the pieces fall together.
She and I pretend not to listen as Josh goes on with near childlike enthusiasm about their discussion. David grins and tousles his hair, and this erotic sweetness passes between them that is impossible to miss. It’s sort of beautiful and heartbreaking all at once and makes me long for things that might never be mine.
But maybe they weren’t mine to begin with.
And the whole time Josh is hard-core blushing, whether from her or David, I don’t know. But, either way he is adorable about it. And I wonder how long my heart can withstand this roller coaster of a night.
Or a life, because, good Lord, how much more complicated can it get?
9:33 pm
The dance floor grows crowded, and the boys retreat—David with a headache, and Josh, a look of anxiety.
I grab another glass of wine—I’ve lost count how many—and decide Josh can worry for both of us. The music is loud, and Tessa is nice, and I feel like dancing.
“Brown Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison comes on, and she lets out a shriek. “I love this song!” she exclaims, threading her arms through mine.
We spin and whirl through the crowd of middle-aged mom-types, the two of us giddy and laughing like old friends. She smiles, and it’s wide and bright and reaches all the way to the iridescent blue of her eyes. The room explodes with color and this tingly, euphoric feeling envelops me. Until a bald man in heels and a gray velvet suit shimmies between us, and the moment’s lost.
We dance for another few minutes until the DJ slows things down. She and I collapse at a nearby table to gulp water and rest our feet. She pulls her hair up in a messy bun, and I watch her smile fade as she surveys the room. There’s distance in her beauty. I’m reminded of our conversation at Jackie’s ballgame, of her empathetic words, and the sorrow in her eyes.
She’s like David.
I push away from the table, suddenly desperate for him, an ominous, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. “We should find the boys,” I say, as if they’re somehow our boys now, and not just mine.
Sheesh, Kate. Get a grip.
But she’s watching me with a solemn look. “They’ll come around when they’re ready, Kate,” she says in a quiet voice. “Give them time.”
I pause halfway out of my seat and stare, dumbfounded. Either she shares David’s gift for the extrasensory, or he’s told her more than he should. Maybe both. Or maybe I’ve had too much wine, and she’s just talking about dancing.
“Don’t look so surprised,” she laughs. “I have eyes, too, you know.” She nods toward them, still seated close together at the table with Bennett and Julie. David has his head down. She covers my hand. “I never had his heart, Kate,” she says, solemnly. “Not even close.”
And there’s no malice, just a note of sadness in her voice. I feel an instant bond because it’s clear she cares for him. I want to ask like a million questions. What they did together, what they shared. Who she really thinks holds his heart.
“We had like, a moment out there,” I say, instead. “Like, really connected. There were all these colors.” I swallow. “Maybe you felt it too?”
She just stares at me, unblinking.
Oh, good Lord, Kate. Will you never learn?
“Sorry,” I mumble. “Ignore me. It’s been a rough week and I’ve had too much wine, and—”
“Blind souls,” she says. “That’s all we are, Kate. Blind souls longing to be known, to connect with someone beneath the skin, seen for who we really are. Don’t you ever feel that way?”
I have never heard a truer statement. I want to throw my arms around her and shout, Yes! Every single day of my life! But that ominous feeling has crept into my throat, and I have the sudden, strong sense of eyes on me. I turn to find Josh, now standing beside a very pale David, staring hard in my direction, waving frantically.
And I’m running.
Fear threatens to derail my every step.
We’ve let this go far too long. David looks like a ghost of himself. How have we missed that? Something is horribly wrong. I pick up the pace, dodging several groups of couples. Tessa just steps behind me. But the room is crowded, and my feet are heavy, and it seems an eternity before we are three tables away.
And then it happens.
Like some god-awful Shakespearean tragedy playing out in slow-motion, I watch David falter just out of Josh’s reach. His beautiful eyes roll back as he drops, head slamming against the table before his body smacks onto the floor with a sickening thud.
A scream cuts the dimly lit ballroom, and it isn’t mine. I can’t move, let alone make a sound—the life has drained out of me. Tessa grips my hand as we’re engulfed in a terrifying whirlwind of activity. Lights come on and people are shouting. Tables and chairs get pushed aside. I have a vague sense of being urged forward, of Bennett’s frantic voice on the phone with a 911 operator, and Josh hunched over David’s body, barking instructions.
And David. Calm, unshakable David. He’s sprawled on the concrete, jerking uncontrollably in a pool of his own blood. So much blood.
No, my heart screams, not David.
I sink to my knees in disbelief as the sea of stunned partiers watch Josh and several other men tend to his shattered body. Words like aneurysm, seizure, and bleeding out ripple, wave-like, through the crowd.
“Make it stop!” I wail. Tessa’s arms swallow me whole and I cling to her. She smooths my hair and murmurs comforting words even as tears stream down her own cheeks.
And it seems only moments later EMTs arrive, and I hear Josh talking in clipped medi-speak. I have no idea what he’s saying, but his stoic calm in the face of what I know to be his greatest fear, makes me love him so much my heart could split wide open.
And then they’re loading David’s limp body onto a stretcher and Josh is struggling over to Tessa and I. He’s covered in blood, and shaking, and David is oddly still, and I’m dying with each passing moment. I know very little about seizures, but I know people generally come out of them. If that’s what this is, why isn’t he moving?
I want to throw up. “Why isn’t he moving, Josh?” I nearly shriek, reaching for him, clawing his arm in my haste. “Why? Oh my God, this can’t be happening.”
He grasps my shoulders. “Calm down, okay? Don’t get ahead of yourself. They’re doing everything they can.”
“But what even happened? Is he okay? Is he breathing? What if he…what if…” I can’t bring myself to utter the words. “What caused him to—”
But Josh is shaking his head, and I see he, too, is inches from drowning. A sob escapes and he swallows, looking past me. “I’m riding with him to the hospital. You go with Julie. Bennett said she has a car here. He’s going to follow the ambulance in his.”
Dizzying panic nearly blinds me at the thought of being left. Of never seeing David again. “No! I’m coming too.”
“They won’t let you, Kate. It’ll be okay. They’ve got it under control, but listen.” He grips me firmly. “You guys will pass the house on the way. Run in and grab us some clothes and David’s stuff. I couldn’t find his wallet or license or anything. I don’t think he brought it. They’re going to need that to admit him.”
I want to protest, but he’s backing away, turning, running to catch up with the team of medics before I can get a word out. And then I’m being rushed alongside Tessa to Julie’s car, and we’re driving, and I can’t even because streets whirl by and the tears won’t come, and time starts skipping.
I see David as a boy, running through our house with Josh. In the yard, weaving daisies through my hair, reading books till we fell asleep, stealing kisses in the woods, hunched in front of the flames. Weeping for a dead man who never deserved to be his father.
And the horrific sin we committed.
Julie parks and I’m running, flying upstairs, tearing through their room, yanking back the covers looking for David’s wallet.
His covers.
Their bed.
And suddenly this is frighteningly real.
Tears I couldn’t shed before come pouring out. I glance around and fight the thought David might not return to this room, might not return at all. I’d sink to the floor and lose myself if Julie and Tessa weren’t waiting, if time weren’t such a vicious enemy.
I spy David’s wallet on the dresser and muster strength to lunge for it. I yank open the top drawer, grabbing whatever clothes I find.
And that’s when I see it.
Folded neatly in the corner—David’s navy baseball sweatshirt from high school. He loves that sweatshirt, a remnant from before. One of the few things not destroyed in the fire, because Josh, in the chaos of that awful night, still thought to grab it. Josh, who knows David better than he knows himself.
Blind souls.
That’s what Tessa said. We’re like blind souls longing to be seen and known, to connect with someone beneath the skin. It dawns on me, that is what they are for each other, Josh and David. What they have always been.
Because why make eyes the window if a soul wasn’t meant to be seen? And why dress it in skin if not for holding? Holding so tight, the lonely fades, and love consumes all the empty spaces.
I can’t stop the tears as I stand alone in their room, surrounded by things they love, things that make up a life. David’s books, Josh’s lists tacked to the walls, his uniform, pictures of their high school sports teams, and all those stupid balls.
And his sweatshirt.
I grab hold of it and fly down the stairs. I climb into Julie’s car and she takes off without a word. Tessa grips my hand, and time’s skipping again. I think back to that first night, watching Josh run toward me, hand-in-hand with the most beautiful boy.
And I realize that I’ve known from the very first moment.
He was never fully mine.
David avoided the question tonight, and as we pull into the parking lot, I consider that. Because I believe every word he said. I know he loves me. I’ve been his Sunshine since we were ten years old. I may even be the one he wants.
But I’ll never be the one he longs for.
And despite the pain and paralyzing fear gripping my heart, I feel at peace with that.