Saturday, April 11, 2015
Itasca, Minnesota
“What’s going on, Moll?” Evan said, on the phone on Saturday. “Cade said there’s some issue with the family tree project, with the DNA?” Molly, at her desk in her office, wasn’t entirely surprised he’d called. In fact, she’d thought he would call sooner—that Caden would’ve sent up some alarm—because, admittedly, she’d been obsessed: calling Ancestry, studying every online article she could find, researching and reading till her vision swam. She’d asked Caden not to go ahead with writing his paper until she got some answers; she’d spoken to Mr. Rasmussen about granting an extension. Last night, Caden had actually yelled at her—How am I supposed to build my family tree when it’s all . . . all fucked up?—and she hadn’t even chastised him for his language, because it had seemed about right to her.
DNA doesn’t lie, she’d read, over and over again. As for Ancestry? They don’t make mistakes.
Even Caden was on the side of the science. Molly hadn’t realized how linear his mind was, how much he needed data to add up. That it might not was what seemed to upset him more than any ramifications of what it meant if these results actually were true.
“The tests are saying that Grandma Cecily’s not biologically related to any of us,” Molly told Evan. Even saying the words again made her queasy.
“Well, thank God they’re not saying Cade’s not my son,” Evan joked.
“Evan, for God’s sake.”
“Just trying to lighten the mood, Moll. Sorry. I’m sure this must be hard.”
Molly swallowed. “You have no idea.”
“But, Moll, even if that’s true, even if she’s not biologically related, it doesn’t really change anything, does it? She’s been actively your grandma for your whole life, almost forty years. And actively your mom’s mom for almost seventy years. I think she’s earned the titles, don’t you?”
Molly would’ve liked to see him maintain his equilibrium in the face of such news about his family. “It’s just to think that she may have been lying to my mom—to all of us—all these years. I mean, it doesn’t seem possible.”
“Have you asked her about it? If she lied, maybe she had a good reason.”
“You actually think there’d be a good enough reason to justify such a huge lie?”
A pause, then: “I don’t know, Moll. It’s just—I mean, your grandma’s one of the best people I know. A lot of people don’t tell their kids if they’re adopted, right?”
Molly sighed. “It’s just hard thinking she might not really be ours, you know?”
He was quiet a moment, then told her he was sitting on the bench near the old Trinity Church on Queen Anne Square in downtown Newport, where they’d often brought Caden when he was a toddler, and that everything was in bloom—magnolia blossoms in gradations of pink, a carpet of a thousand daffodils. She looked out the window at the gray sky, the spitting snow, and blinked back tears.
“—Listen, Moll,” he said, “I was thinking maybe I should come out there again. You’re going through so much. The construction here’s in a good place, so I should be able to get away. Moral support for you and Cade, and whatever else I can do?”
Her heart had sped up; she willed it to slow down. This was exactly the comfort she’d told herself she’d better not fall into. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” His tone was mild, but underneath was a tightness that sounded like anger.
“—Well, there’s just so much going on.”
“That’s what I’m saying. I could help you.”
It hit her like a hammer, then: she was still in love with him.
Well, duh. Of course she was. The signs had been there all along. She just hadn’t wanted to admit it. Not to herself—and certainly not to him.
She didn’t want to admit it now, either. Because she certainly didn’t want to be the only one of the two of them who still had these feelings. Nor did she want to admit to her many mistakes of these past several years; her misinterpretations, misperceptions. Her failing to see him for who he really was—or even to see herself.
All her work to become enlightened, and it turned out she’d been blind to one of the most important truths of all. Evan’s asking for more time with Caden wasn’t what had caused her world to go off-kilter. More off-kilter, yes—but the original shift had happened when they’d divorced. And realizing that now—well, it was too late. Whatever mistakes she’d made, they were done. She was just going to have to live with the world tilted wrong, from now on.
“Evan, I just don’t think it’s a good idea. I mean, what would your girlfriend think? It’s one thing to come out here for Cade—”
“What girlfriend?” he said.
Her heart gave a thud. “The one I saw you calling late at night, after the hockey games.”
He laughed. “I was calling my sister, Moll. In Seattle. West Coast time? She wanted to hear firsthand how the games went. She knew how excited I was to be there.”
Molly blinked. Right. He’d always been close with his sister. Amelie had been a great sister-in-law, too. Molly missed her. “Oh,” she said. “I see.”
There was a pause. “Hey, Moll,” Evan said then. “Have you looked at Cade’s family tree? Apparently, I’m on it. Next to you. Which is, I guess, in a way, why I’m offering to come out. Because we’re family, in a way.”
“Too bad we’re divorced,” she blurted, then could’ve kicked herself. It’s natural, she would’ve told a client, when we’re feeling uncomfortable with our strong emotions, to fend them off with humor. But—of all the stupid things to say.
But all he said, after a second, was, “Yeah. It is too bad.” She felt the weight of the tenderness in his voice land on her shoulders like a cloak, and somehow the presence of their lost children, and then she thought, Wait. Did he mean—?
No, not possible. Was it? Should she say something? Ask him—?
No, it was ridiculous to think—
But, wait, yes, she should say something, just in case—
“Okay!” he said, his tone light now, and it was too late. “So, think about my offer, okay? I need more time with Cade, anyway, and maybe this is a good way to do it, until we can iron out something else. Your grandma’s house is still sitting empty, right? Still needing a little TLC?”
She told him yes, she’d think about it, and, when she hung up, her hands were shaking.
She was getting nowhere with Ancestry or her research, and, by the following Tuesday, finally thought she’d better tell her mom. She asked Liz to meet her at Deep Woods Park near downtown—Molly had always loved the steep drive down to the river, the secret-feeling cove of tall pines—and brought two macchiatos from Jean’s Beans. They sat across from each other in their heavy coats at a beat-up picnic table, as the weak springtime sun sparkled on the river and the melting mounds of snow, and Molly reluctantly, slowly, told Liz about the DNA results.
She hadn’t realized how much she’d been hoping for reassurance, concern, advice on how to proceed, until Liz simply laughed and said, “Well, that’s impossible! Obviously a mistake! Let’s just forget about it. Caden can finish up his project without including Mom’s sample, right?”
“But, Mom, they’re really careful with the samples—I’ve called five times and checked—and I think we have to consider the possibility—”
“I disagree!” Liz said. She stood, brushing melted snow off the back of her coat. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
Molly thought, Seriously?, and watched Liz walk to her Jeep and drive away. She sat alone to finish her macchiato, and the sun was strong enough that she finally took off her hat, leaned back and closed her eyes, relishing the first warmth of the season on her skin.
Later that night—it was nearly ten—Liz called in tears. “What do you mean my mother might not be my mother? And I’m not even Norwegian? I need to see the evidence, Molly!”
Molly realized: This afternoon, the news must have simply been too much to comprehend. So Liz had responded reflexively, with standard-issue Minnesota calm.
Now that the news had sunk in, the fallout was evidently going to be bad.
Caden, on his way to bed, snapped that he’d be fine home alone for a little while (“Yeah, sure, I’ll just be sure I don’t burn the house down, right?”) and Molly, hugging him briefly, though he did not yield—why was he taking this DNA snafu out on her, for heaven’s sake?—rushed out the door and sped out to the lake. On the way, she called Evan, waking him, she was pretty sure. He denied it, but she could almost see him stretched out on the sofa, “watching the news,” pretending later that he’d heard every headline.
“Is your offer still on the table?” she said. “I think it would be good if you came out. I just told my mom about the DNA, and she is not taking it well. If you were here for Caden, to just be with him through all this, that would be amazing.” She was going to set her own feelings aside; do what was best for her family, for her son. Caden did need his father. Caden was Evan’s as much as he was hers. That was another reality she was just going to have to accept.
“Yeah!” Evan said. “Of course. It may take me a couple days to put it together, but I’ll make it work. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
“Good. Thank you. Thank you.”
Liz answered the door looking as upset as Molly had ever seen her, and they sat together in the dim lamplight of the living room to look at Molly’s laptop. “Black-and-white and lab results,” Liz murmured, finally, seeming oddly consoled by the earth-shattering information in front of her. She sat back and sighed, and a strange light was in her eyes again. “Well, even science has to be wrong sometimes. They must have mixed up the samples, right?”
So that was why she seemed consoled; she’d decided not to believe it.
“Sure, Mom, that’s probably what happened,” Molly agreed, though she couldn’t really buy that, not anymore. Still, she added, “I’ll call them again tomorrow,” because she thought, between this and the cancer and trying to care for Cecily, Liz’s well-being was in serious danger, and Molly plain didn’t know what she’d do if it turned out Ancestry was right that there was no mistake.