Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 108650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“I’ll be thinking of that quiche. Or Lana Parrilla.”
After we hung up, I piled up the food and carried few bottles of water under my arms as I shuffled to the bedroom. The lack of noise made the back of my neck prickle; it was all I could do not to suddenly break into a run from something that wasn’t creeping up behind me.
Growing up in a singlewide trailer with one bedroom had pretty much freaked me out on large spaces.
I didn’t breathe until I hurried into the bedroom and closed the door behind me. I double-checked the security alarm from the console beside the bed then unceremoniously dumped my plate, knife, and food onto the powder-blue duvet cover.
The master suite in the apartment was like a very nice hotel room. Built-in mahogany bookshelves framed the enormous bed, while a settee and two armchairs grouped facing the television on the wall. I clicked that on for noise and went to the walk-in closet. Well, I guessed it was more like a walk-through closet, because the bathroom was tucked away behind it. I didn’t have to bring an overnight bag with me; despite living full-time in Sagaponack, we still had toothbrushes and toiletries here, as well as smaller—but no less functional—wardrobes. Once I was snuggled safely into some comfy cotton PJs, I headed back to my mini-feast and some late-night binge watching.
But even Once Upon A Time, my current Netflix guilty pleasure, couldn’t distract me from the unsettled feeling I’d been carrying around. Not just from the magazine or the empty apartment. From that weird encounter in Calumet.
I grabbed my phone and opened Facebook. Even though I’d known I would do this—and that I wouldn’t get another good night’s sleep if I didn’t—I had put off looking her up. I’d started to type her name into the search bar more than once. After finding Joey Tangen’s obituary, I wasn’t sure I would ever investigate the situation, again. But Joey was the least of my concerns, now that I had met Susan.
Finding “Susan Johnson” on Facebook wasn’t the easiest task. There were a lot of results. I went to my browser and typed in “Susan Johnson Facebook Iron Mountain,” though, and there she was. As the app loaded, I held my breath.
There she was. Susan Johnson, neé Tangen. She smiled out of her user pic, Lake Superior’s Pictured Rocks behind her, the wind whipping slashes of black hair across her face. How many pictures like that existed of me? I hated the way we looked alike. Not exactly alike, we both had Joey Tangen’s eyes, Joey Tangen’s hair, his chin and jawline. But her skin was darker than mine, and I had my mother’s nose. Her face wasn’t as broad as mine, and she had less forehead—not that it was a difficult achievement to pull off. My forehead always seemed massive.
I only realized I was touching her picture when I accidentally hit the “like” button.
Oh, god.
I had no idea what to do. If I undid it, would that also undo the notification she’d received? If it didn’t, would she see the notification then see I’d undone it? She would know I was spying on her and trying to cover my tracks. Oh, god. I was spying on her.
But if she was going to find out, anyway, and as long as I was already there…
I looked at every single picture. Cautiously. Pictures of family Christmases I hadn’t been a part of, family vacations that looked eerily like my childhood trips. People who were my blood, but who lived entirely different lives. Tribal events and cultural summer school programs. Hiking as a family with Joey Tangen, firefighter, smiling wide as he carried one of his daughters on his shoulders.
I thought about the last time—one of the only times—I had seen him in person. When he’d nervously approached me to thrust a graduation card in my hand and congratulate me in the parking lot of Calumet High School.
He hadn’t even made eye contact.
How could the man in Susan’s pictures be the same man who hadn’t wanted me? How could the little girl in those pictures, the woman in them, look like me but live an entirely different life?
My thumb hovered over the message button. But what would I say?
I closed the app and set the phone beside me gently, as if it were an old, unstable stick of dynamite. Whatever decision I might make, it shouldn’t be in the middle of the night after a tiring party. Plus, the timestamp would definitely out me as a creeper.
Maybe you should just let it go. I wished I could listen to myself. I made pretty good points when I actually did. I’d lived my entire life without knowing about the existence of Susan or any of my other… Any of Joey Tangen’s children. And my life had been great so far. I’d met my soul mate, we lived in a seaside palace, I could have any dream I’d ever wanted.