The Moment We Fell Read online

  “Tanner, put that phone away and say hello to Paige,” Jay instructs. The boy glances up at me with a blank expression and a flat, “Hey,” then his eyes drop right back to his phone. Jay leans down and scoops up the little girl. “And this is Lily. Your—sister.”

  That brings me up short. I mean, I know how it all works, biologically speaking, but that one word said aloud throws me off somehow. I have a sister. And a brother. I’m not an only child as I’d believed. That’s a lot to digest.

  “I’m five.” Lily extends one of her small hands, and I instinctively shake it. “Do you like to play Barbies?”

  “Um…I guess?”

  “We’ve got plenty of time to talk dolls,” Jay says, setting Lily back on her feet. “Right now, let’s get you out of here. I’ll go get the car and pull around up front. Connie, can you and the kids take Paige to baggage claim and get her luggage?”

  “Of course,” Connie replies, placing a gentle hand on my back.

  When we reach baggage claim, crowds of people are gathered around several large carousels, patiently waiting for them to spit out the contents of their flights. We find the correct carousel, and I’m trying to figure out how to insert myself into the perimeter of people hovering around the edges when luggage begins sliding out of the large metal shoot.

  Connie’s cell phone rings, and she quickly digs it out of her purse. “George! Tell me you have good news.” She covers the receiver briefly with one hand and says, “Paige, I have to take this.” Then she snaps her fingers harshly at Tanner, who glances up briefly from his phone. “Help Paige get her suitcases. I’ll be right over there.” She grabs Lily’s hand, and despite the little girl’s protest, Connie tugs her toward the wall beyond the crowd, already immersed in conversation with George, whoever that is. I glance at Tanner to find that his mother’s instructions bounced right off him. His nanosecond of alertness is long gone, and he’s engrossed in his phone again. Okay, I guess I’m on my own.

  There are a lot of black suitcases, and so many of them look nearly identical to mine. As bodies move in and hands begin grabbing at the contents on the conveyer belt, I can’t seem to get near it. Finally, I spot a small opening and slip through. Just as I reach the edge, I catch sight of what looks like one of my suitcases rounding the bend—away from me. Politely, I push my way back through the crowd and quickly work my way around to the other side of the carousel. Just as I extend my hand to claim my suitcase, the bag is swiped right out of my reach. What the—? I whirl just in time to see a guy walking away with my suitcase. The dude just stole my suitcase!

  “Hey!” I shout, breaking into a jog and hustling after him without any thoughts about my actions. “Stop!” The guy slows and turns just as I reach him. I lunge for the handle, only he doesn’t let go. “That’s my suitcase,” I say, a little breathless from the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

  The guy’s eyes narrow in confusion. “I don’t think so.”

  “Whether you think so or not, that’s my bag,” I say, tugging on the handle. The stranger still refuses to let go, and I end up yanking the guy awkwardly closer than intended. “Drop it!”

  “Look, I don’t know who you are, but this is not your bag,” he says firmly, and he has a strange expression on his face, like he’s not sure if I’m kidding around or if he thinks I’m legit crazy.

  “It is my bag,” I insist.

  His confused demeanor transforms again, and one corner of his lips lift in amusement. He thinks this is some sort of a game. “Prove it,” he says.

  “Fine. I will,” I retort. Okay, so that wasn’t my wittiest comeback, but this guy has me flustered. He doesn’t look like he’s much older than me, but he’s a good half a foot taller. His intrigue-filled eyes are glued to my face, waiting for me to make the next move.

  With my free hand, I reach for the red ribbon that’s tied around the hard leather handle of the case. “See this? I put this on here so that I would know without a doubt that this is my suitcase.” Actually, Aunt Faye had done that. She’d explained that she uses the ribbon when traveling so that she can spot her bags more easily. And probably prevent thieves like this guy from pilfering her belongings.

  I stare up at the guy triumphantly and wait for him to apologize for the mix-up. Only he doesn’t. Instead, he chuckles.

  “What’s so funny?” I demand.

  “Take a look behind you. Half the suitcases over there have colored ribbons or tape on the handles. Everyone does that.”

  “Well—I’m telling you, this is my bag.”

  With his free hand, he turns over the luggage tag and holds up the suitcase closer to my face so I can read it. “Is this you?”

  The tag reads “M. Sinclair.” I don’t bother reading the address below the name because—well, because I am not M. Sinclair and the blood is rushing to my cheeks so fast, I seriously think my head might explode from sheer embarrassment. Kill. Me. Now.

  My mouth opens, but it takes a few seconds for any sound to come out. “I’m—so sorry,” I sputter. “I thought—um, it’s been a bizarre day and—I’m not trying to make excuses or anything, I honestly thought—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says. Then he just stares at me. Why is he staring at me? Because my hand is still wrapped around the handle of his suitcase. Oh my gosh! I immediately release the bag and step back.

  “Sorry,” I say again. “Can we just agree that this never happened? I’ll back away slowly, and you can forget all about the crazy girl who just accosted you in the middle of baggage claim. What do you say?”

  “No problem.” His smile is friendly, but as I turn and head back to the carousel, I pray I never see it again. I’m pretty sure the epic dose of awkward shame that I’m practically choking on will have a long enough shelf life to keep this memory alive and kicking for years to come.

  I nudge my way back into the crowd, in part to retrieve the suitcases that actually belong to me, but also to put a barrier between me and the guy who I will, from now on, associate with “The Great Oregon Luggage Fail.” Yup, that’s what I’m calling it.

  The wall of bodies has thinned, and as I scan the suitcases sliding past me, I’m now acutely aware of how many do, in fact, have ribbons or string or some other paraphernalia attached to their handles. A burst of heat flares once more against my cheeks. I’m not sure I could be a bigger idiot at this moment. At least Connie and her kids didn’t see the spectacle I just made of myself.

  I spot another black suitcase with a red ribbon and cautiously reach for it. But just as I do, a hand swoops in and yanks it from the conveyer belt. Seriously, not again! I clamor after the bag just as the guy I’d nearly assaulted sets it down at my feet, and the air in my lungs swooshes past my lips in a stunned exhale.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I say.

  “I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t any more confusion. You know, for the sake of all the other passengers,” he says, that familiar smile of amusement still dangling from his full lips.

  I blanch. “Funny.”

  “Are you sure this one is your bag?” he asks.

  I want to ignore his comment, but just to be safe, I check the luggage tag. “This is it,” I confirm. “Thanks for your help. And again, sorry.”

  He nods once. “I hope your day gets better.”

  As he turns and walks away, I dumbly stand there, replaying the last five minutes over and over in my head and cringing a little deeper each time the scenario plays out in all of its humiliating glory.

  “Did you get all of your luggage?” Connie asks, stepping into my line of sight.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Your suitcases. Do you only have one?” She eyes the lone bag at my feet.

  It takes a moment for me to forget about the guy who’s disappeared through the crowd behind her and focus instead on her words. “Oh! No, I have one more,” I say. I turn once again to the carousel, spotting the matching piece of my luggage—double-checking the luggage tag—then return to
Connie’s side. “Got it.”

  “All right!” she says with a level of enthusiasm that seems to indicate she was the one who’d single-handedly managed this baggage retrieval. “Let’s go find Jay.”

  Fifteen minutes later, and still reeling from the mortifying encounter at baggage claim, we’re in the Chapmans’ SUV and on our way. Apparently, the town of Mystic Shores, Oregon—known merely as Mystic to the locals, or so I’m told—isn’t big enough to have a commercial airport, and because the family was in Astoria this weekend visiting Connie’s parents, they’d arranged for me to fly into Portland. According to Jay, it’s about a two-hour drive from here to my new home—120 minutes stuck in a car with my new guardians and their offspring, fumbling over clumsy conversations and occasional moments of stilted silence. What a treat.

  Lily talks for a good portion of the time, filling most of the voids that surface. She gives us an earful about her pet frog, Mr. Lily Pad; her best friend, Sophie; and how she loves sour-cream-and-onion potato chips.

  “Do you like chips?” Her eyes harbor genuine interest.

  “Of course,” I assure her. That’s all it takes to satisfy her, and she’s rambling away again. Jay keeps his eyes on the road, periodically changing the radio station. Occasionally, he glances at me in the rearview mirror and smiles; then his attention goes right back to driving.

  Connie eases what silence Lily manages to allow by asking me questions. What do I think of Oregon so far? What subjects do I like most in school? Do I have any hobbies? I answer each one like a baseball player swinging at consecutive pitches. I remind her that, so far, I’ve only seen the airport, but I heard from the woman next to me on the plane about the rain and the beautiful fall colors. I share that I like science, but I’m not a fan of math. And I’m about to tell her that I’m a dancer and I’ve had ballet slippers strapped to my feet since I was three, but I abruptly stop myself, biting my lip to barricade the words.

  For one thing, they know all about that. Aunt Faye had filled Jay in on most of the details of my life before my arrival here. She’d told him about my mom’s ballet studio, her career as a principal dancer before making the switch to teaching and focusing a lot of her time and effort on training me. But aside from that, I don’t mention it because—I’m not a dancer anymore. That part of my life abruptly imploded the night my mom died, and that’s not something I plan to share with Connie or anyone else for that matter. For the record, omitting information is not technically a lie, or even deceitful for that matter. Sometimes, it’s just better to keep things unsaid. So, instead of spilling my guts, I tell her that I enjoy reading and going to the beach, and I hope that’s enough for now.

  “You’ve come to the right place!” Connie claps her hands. “We love the beach, isn’t that right, kids? Our favorite spot is not far from the house. Maybe we can take you there this weekend.” I wait to meet Jay’s eyes in the rearview mirror but find myself oddly disappointed when he doesn’t glance my way.

  Leaning back against the headrest, I stare out the car window and watch the thick jungle of scenery whiz by. There are a lot of trees here. As the road winds, the canopy of foliage thickens, providing a patchy green shield to the midday sun. This place looks nothing like home and—that’s all it takes. Within moments, I’m sucked under, missing the house I grew up in and wondering what will happen to it. And the bedroom I’ve had for as long as I can remember—I’ll never sleep there again. One depressing thought spins into the next, and then the next, until I’m swallowed up by a jumbled mess of memories and misery.

  I think about the lawyer whose job it was to deliver the stipulations of my mother’s will, those dreaded pieces of paper with their big, fancy words that changed my existence in a single day. The lawyer—“Just call me Howard,” he’d instructed me—is a short, stocky man who’s balding on top but tries to make it look like he isn’t by combing a long section of hair across the top of his scalp. Why do men do that? Does he honestly think he’s fooling anyone?

  I had no idea my mother even had a lawyer. Why would she? She didn’t have a regular doctor; she would just pick one at random from a Google search when it was necessary. Unbeknownst to me, she’d found an attorney and paid him money to document her final wishes. I learned about this a week after Mom died. Seven days after my entire world exploded, the next bombshell hit hard.

  Aunt Faye contacted the lawyer through the information my mother had left her and headed out on a Thursday morning to meet with him. She told me she expected it to be a short meeting, which is why I nearly paced a hole in the front hallway carpet before she finally pulled into the driveway well after six o’clock that evening. She’d barely managed to stick her key in the lock when I’d flung open the door.

  “Where have you been?” I demanded, shaking from a combination of anger and relief that formed a large, barbed knot in my stomach.

  Dropping her keys and purse on the small table in the entryway, Faye immediately began apologizing. “I’m sorry, Paige. I never intended to be gone so long.”

  “You could have called or at least sent me a text. I was worried sick!” I hadn’t realized just how upset I was until a well of adrenaline burst somewhere inside me, slathering every panic-stricken word. “After everything that we’ve been through—after Mom—you just should have called!”

  Aunt Faye’s arms were around me in a split second, so tight I could hardly breathe. She held me for a long time, and when she finally released me, I took my first good look at her, from her slumped shoulders to her dark eyes and deflated spirit. Faye was always so calm and sure in any situation, but at that moment, she appeared almost catatonic. I was frightened for an entirely new reason. What had happened in the last eight hours to make her look like that?

  Taking her by the arm, I’d led her into the living room. “Please tell me what happened,” I begged. “You’re really scaring me.”

  Call me naïve, but I honestly thought my life couldn’t possibly get worse after Mom died. Turns out, the life-changing tragedy of losing the one person I loved more than anything was just the beginning of my spiraling downfall. With a single sentence uttered from Aunt Faye’s trembling lips, my entire being, soul and all, was drop-kicked off its foundation.

  “My—father?” I sank onto the couch. “That’s not possible.”

  Faye lowered herself onto the edge of the coffee table, lightly touching her hands to my knees, which I hugged tightly to my chest. “I know, honey, I know. It’s a shock.”

  If what she meant by shock was an electrical jolt so huge and wielding enough force to obliterate me, then yeah, this was a shock.

  “I didn’t see this one coming either,” she confessed, stroking my cheek. As she pulled me close, my feet dropped to the floor, and our foreheads pressed softly together. I can still hear her heartbreaking sigh. When she pulled back, her eyes glistened.

  “What does this mean? I’m gonna live with you,” I said. “I’m gonna finish my senior year here and graduate—” Any additional explanation escaped me.

  I’m not stupid. Ever since I was little, I’d been aware I had a father out there somewhere. I was the product of a high school romance that went too far and ended abruptly when the guy bolted. He became just a faceless part of a story my mother would occasionally tell me when I was younger to explain why our family was different from my friends’ families. They had a dad who was there to play with them and pick them up from school. I didn’t. My biological benefactor was long gone, and somehow, Mom convinced me he was not essential to my story. She’d been so convincing, in fact, that I’d never questioned it. My world was simply about Mom and me, and that was enough, and I’d never felt the need to try to find him. As far as I was concerned, my mother filled the role of parent just fine, and I’d accepted long ago that the man whose name I didn’t know but was apparently recorded on my birth certificate, was a memory I’d never have. He didn’t want us and, therefore, I didn’t need him.

  Mom told me in no uncertain terms that even
though she never planned to have me when she was so young, I was the best thing that ever happened to her. She’d looked me right in the eyes when she told me that, and left no doubt in my mind that she meant every word. The uncertainty that’s oozed into every facet of my brain since her death is fueled by all the things she apparently chose not to tell me.

  “Paige, Abby made out her will to say that if anything happened to her—she wanted you to live with your biological father and his family.” Her voice broke on her final words as tears pooled in her eyes. “His name is Jay Chapman.”

  As long as I live, I will never forget that moment. It was as if someone had sucked all the air out of the room. All at once, the thoughts swirling in my brain detonated, and I couldn’t make heads or tails out of any of them. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs that I didn’t care what his name was. Instead, all that managed to cross my lips was a weak, “No.”

  “I know, Paige, this is unexpected. I had no idea that Abby was even thinking of doing this. I can’t even imagine why—I don’t—I don’t understand.”

  “Are you really gonna let her do this?” I demanded, desperation spilling off every syllable. This had to be the part where Faye would laugh and say, “Absolutely not!” This would be the moment when she’d tell me that she’d dismissed the lawyer and the man to whom I was about to be handed over, and that she fully intended to go to court and end this craziness.

  Faye brushed a strand of hair from my forehead. “Oh, sweetie.”

  My heart plummeted into my stomach. “You don’t want me?” The words passed my lips, but it took a moment for the full weight of the rejection to drop on top of me.

  “Of course I want you!” Faye exclaimed. “More than anything!” Piercing quiet hung between us for a long moment before she said, “When the lawyer broke the news to me, I lost it. I yelled. At him, at your mother. I felt deceived.” Faye’s watery eyes locked with mine. “You know how much I love you. I’ve been a part of your life since the day you were born. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.”