Identity of the Heart (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 1) Page 11

  THE TENSION IN MY ESCALADE IS so thick that you can cut it with the proverbial knife. Catching Marcus’s eye in the rearview mirror, I just shrug helplessly. The women don’t seem angry with each other exactly. But, there’s some sort of discussion going on between them that’s just out of our reach; it’s frustrating for us as guys that we can’t intercede and make it better.

  Finally, Rogue’s distress unnerves me enough that I have to say something, “Why don’t you lay the seat back and take a rest. This is a really long trip and there’s no sense in all of us staying awake. You might as well sleep until it’s your turn to drive. After what you accomplished today on Marcus’s arm, you not only deserve a small catnap, you deserve a deluxe treatment at the spa. You were phenomenal.”

  Rogue snorts as she replies, “As if I could afford something as luxurious as even a half-day at the spa. Are you out of your mind? Do you know how many boxes of macaroni and cheese that would buy?”

  She laughs at the visceral reaction that I can’t keep to myself as I give a full-bodied shudder, “Unfortunately, I ate so much of that crap that I’ll never forget what it tastes like as long as I live. While I was developing and testing my software program, I put every dime of extra money I had into equipment and paying an independent testing company. So, I subsisted on beans, rice, leftover pizza from my delivery job, macaroni and cheese and Top Ramen for longer than I care to admit. Actually, it wasn’t really all that long ago.”

  “I know; it’s so weird to think that you’re not that much older than I am. Your life is so removed from my reality that you seem like you’re from a different generation.”

  “Way to make me feel like a lecherous old man. Thanks for that,” I joke as I interlace my fingers with Rogue’s.

  “Right! Like you’ve got anything to worry about. It’s not like you’re Hugh Hefner or anything. What are you— like twenty-eight?”

  “Almost, but not quite; I’ll be twenty-seven in June.”

  “Then what are you worried about? Ivy and I are going to be twenty-two in February.”

  Rogue turns around in her seat to watch Ivy’s reaction to her off-hand statement.

  Marcus sweeps some stray hair out of Ivy’s eyes as he gently asks, “What do you say? Are we going to have one big birthday blow-out on Valentine’s Day, or do I get to spoil you guys twice?”

  I watch through the rearview mirror as she reaches up with a shaky hand and takes Marcus’s in her own. “I guess that’s going to be the tricky part, isn’t it? Figuring out where Ivy Love ends and manita begins. But, what we have is so far beyond that. What’s the Spanish word for twin?”

  Rogue flashes a grin. “Face it, you’re stuck with me, because you’re my hermana gemela.”

  “Listen to you! You make it sound like poetry. I, on the other hand, sound like I barely passed ninth grade Spanish.”

  “It’s okay Ivy. It’ll only take a couple hours around Mama Rosa and you’ll sound just like Rogue here. Her accent is contagious,” Marcus says.

  “Does anybody else think it’s completely bizarre that I’m just now meeting my mom when Rogue and I are identical twins? I’m so nervous I haven’t slept in three days. I’m not even sure what to call her. My mom doesn’t know anything about this— or, maybe she does— I don’t really know. Maybe all of this was supposed to be an open adoption and something went wrong. Or maybe it was something even worse like I was stolen from Rosa or Rosa abandoned me and moved away. The scenarios keep spinning around in my brain like some deranged inertia toy that won’t stop.”

  Rogue turns around in the seat and grabs Ivy’s hand. “Manita, I know it’s hard, but you have to stop. You’re just hurting your heart. We won’t know any answers until we talk to our parents. Torturing ourselves with thoughts about wild conspiracy theories isn’t going to give us any answers any quicker and it’s only going to cause us more pain.”

  “What if she truly didn’t want me in her life? What if this is a colossal mistake and I should have stayed away forever?” Ivy asks in a voice barely above a whisper.

  “In the off chance that’s even almost the case, you’ll always have me. But, I know there has to be some sort of explanation. My mama doesn’t throw away people—any people. She would never throw away her own daughter. There must’ve been some sort of extenuating circumstances that prevented her from keeping you. We’ll just have to wait and see what the explanation is before we decide how to go from here.”

  “What am I going to do about my mom?” Ivy implores, her voice full of emotion.

  Rogue looks positively destroyed. I can tell that she’s not only feeling her own personal pain but she’s taking on Ivy’s pain as well. She looks like she’s gone about twelve rounds with a professional boxer.

  “If I know anything about moms, generally speaking, their ability to love is pretty much infinite. I’d say the odds are pretty great that each of you are going to end up with two moms out of this situation,” I interject as I squeeze Rogue’s hand reassuringly.

  Her hand is trembling as she somberly turns back around and looks out the window. For a while, the only sounds are the soft murmuring of conversation from the back seat as Marcus tries to comfort Ivy and calm her down and the rhythmic beat of the tires on the pavement. Eventually, I hear Rogue’s raw admission over the ambient sound. “Actually, I think I may have the most to lose here. Mama Rosa may be furious that I exposed her secret and if I were to guess, I think that Ivy’s mom is probably going to be less than thrilled to learn that I work at a tattoo parlor and take classes at Santa Fe Community College. Your parents probably expect me to be almost finished at the University of Florida by now.”

  I reach out to stroke the back of Rogue’s hand as I quietly assure her, “I really didn’t get that sense of the family at all. They seem pretty solidly middle-class, but they worked their way there. I don’t think that they’re going to judge you for your position in life. They’ve both been students once in their lives too. Mrs. Montclair is a teacher herself. I would venture to guess she’s going to be supportive of your education.”

  “Still… look how worried Ivy is about disappointing them,” Rogue argues.

  I grin as I respond, “Something tells me that that might have more to do with being an only child than any harshness on the part of her parents. I was the only kid for a long time, and I know the pressure is immense.”

  “So, what happened to alleviate your pressure?” Rogue asks with a curious expression on her face.

  I grip the steering wheel a little tighter and try to organize my thoughts. There really isn’t a good way to explain the situation especially in light of what’s going on. So, I go for what I hope is a simplified version of the truth. “She adopted her grandson.”

  Rogue’s eyes go wide with shock, but before she can say anything, two voices from the backseat exclaim in unison, “What?”

  Rogue regains her power of speech and stammers, “Not that I mind, but don’t you think you should’ve mentioned you have a kid?”

  I shake my head and try to keep the SUV on the road as I attempt to concentrate on driving while I explain the soap opera that is my home life. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that Elliott is my son. When my mom was a young college student, she was about to go to a very strict Christian college and she suddenly found herself pregnant. Consequently, she gave up that daughter for adoption. One of the first things I did when I started Identity Bank was to look for my half-sister. It wasn’t hard to find Francine. Unfortunately, she and my mom didn’t have a chance to meet in person before she went in for dental surgery and had a lethal reaction to anesthesia. The courts were unable to find Elliott’s birth father and Francine’s adoptive parents were not in good enough health to take him in. But, Francine had left behind tons of letters that she and my mom had written back and forth to each other and she had recorded their Skype calls for Elliott. So the court awarded Elliott to my mom.”

  “Oh wow! That’s so sad. You mean they never even got to
meet?” Rogue asks on the verge of tears.

  “No, unfortunately my mom was having some trouble with headaches and the doctor told her it was probably better for her not to fly until she had them better controlled.”

  “Man, that sucks,” Marcus comments.

  “The really stupid irony of it all is she ended up flying all the way to Wyoming to go to the funeral and pick up Elliott anyway.”

  “How did you react to all that?” Rogue asks softly as she squeezes my hand in support.

  I shrug slightly as I reflect on the answer, “Honestly, it probably helped turn me into the person I am today. Since I didn’t really know how to deal with all the drama going on in the house and the grief my mom was feeling, I just turned to computers even more often for escape. They became my friends and confidants, as pathetic as that sounds. It was a safe world for me because everything is predictable in the world of computers. Computers don’t burst out crying for no apparent reason and they don’t lash out with unexpected emotion. Of course, now that I’m an adult, I understand a little bit more about what my mom was going through. Yet back then I wasn’t quite equipped to comprehend it all. Unfortunately, it kicked my parents’ fighting level up to a whole new level.”

  “Wait a second,” Rogue interrupts. “I thought you said you tracked down your sister as part of your business.”

  I feel my face start to turn red, like it does every time I have to talk about my extreme nerdiness. “I guess I probably should’ve mentioned that I first started helping bounty hunters track people down when I was thirteen— unofficially of course. The second I turned fifteen and could get a work permit, I opened an early version of Identity Bank. It was literally based out of my parents’ basement.”

  Marcus whistles between his teeth and says, “Wow, I was busy trying to stay out of jail and having a competition with my sister about how many spit wads we could stick to the ceiling before my mom would notice. I feel so under accomplished.”

  “Before you guys start throwing too big a pity party for Marc, he wasn’t too much older than Tristan when he became the newest rock star of the tattoo world. It seems I’m the only one who is a late bloomer,” Rogue declares.

  Marcus scoffs as he responds, “Yeah right. Try again, Ro. I’ve seen your college transcripts, remember? If you’re honest with yourself, you could probably give Super-Secret-Spy-Guy a run for his money in the brain’s department.”

  I look at Rogue and quirk my eyebrow with curiosity. She looks down and then shyly admits, “I did okay on my entrance exam, but that doesn’t mean I’m in the same league as you.”

  “Mmm hmm, it doesn’t mean you aren’t either. Just because I have a completely unhealthy obsession with computer programming, logical reasoning and spatial relationships, doesn’t necessarily mean I’m smart in other areas.”

  “Is your brother like you?” Ivy asks, bringing the conversation back to where we started.

  “Surprisingly, not really; In fact, I think he’s pretty much the opposite. He’s a senior in high school now and the quarterback on the football team. I don’t think he’s ever met a stranger. Everybody loves him. He is the quintessential Mr. Popularity—right down to being Prom King. However, school doesn’t interest him in the slightest. He does the bare minimum to stay on the team and to get recruited by the college team he wants to play for. Other than that, he couldn’t care less about school.”

  Marcus catches my eye in the rearview mirror and flashes me a crooked smile as he comments, “I’m guessing that wasn’t your high school experience?”

  Something about Marcus’s deadpan delivery cracks me up. When I finally stop laughing, I reply, “No, it’s pretty safe to say that if my brother and I had been in school at the same time, he would’ve been the one stuffing me in my locker, upside down.”

  Rogue’s body tenses as she whispers in a hoarse voice, “I thought that only happened to me because I was poor.”

  A beat or two later she says, “No, you’re right. I guess it happened to you too and from what I gather, you guys weren’t exactly destitute.”

  Marcus’s gaze collides with mine in the rearview mirror as we both ask, “What did you say?”

  Rogue sighs. “I was just telling Ivy that she had a good point.”

  It’s probably rude of me, but I can’t stop the startled burst of laughter that erupts from about belly-level. “It just gets more amazing every time it happens—”

  “Mr. Macklin if you keep laughing at me, I’m going to take away all those bonus points I gave you for good manners. What the hell is so funny?”

  Ivy pipes up from the back seat. “I’m sorry Rogue, I have to side with Tristan on this one. It is pretty funny.”

  Rogue looks at us all with confusion and frustration as she demands, “What’s so funny? Somehow I missed the joke. I’m not usually so slow on the uptake.”

  “Manita, I didn’t actually say anything out loud. You heard me in your head and answered me out loud. We totally had a twin moment worthy of a Lifetime Movie.”

  “…or the Discovery Health Channel,” quips Marcus, half under his breath.

  “Hey! I do not have eleven toes on each foot and eat car parts for lunch! We’re not quite that weird. If we were the only twins that could communicate this way, it wouldn’t be considered a phenomena, would it?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not criticizing. I think it’s totally cool. I wish I could communicate with somebody that way. In case you haven’t noticed, I seem to lack the basic ability to communicate smoothly in regular conversation let alone telepathically.”

  “I don’t know, aside from your propensity to laugh at me at inappropriate times, I think you do a pretty good job of communicating. Most times, I understand your intent just fine.”

  While I’m left to ponder whether she means anything deeper than the surface value of her words, Marcus’s stomach lets out a huge audible growl so loud that it’s distinguishable above the road noise.

  “I’m just going to take that as a sign that it’s time to pull over and get something to eat. I need to stretch my legs anyway.” I pull off the freeway and I’m shocked to find we’ve been driving for five hours. This is the most patient group of people I’ve ever ridden with. Usually with a group this large, you end up stopping every twenty minutes.

  Marcus is the first one back to the car. “You trust me?” he asks as he holds his hand out for the key.

  “Do you have any experience driving anything that has more than two wheels?”

  “I drove a FedEx truck one summer during college.”

  “I guess if you can drive one of those, you can handle this.”

  When Rogue comes out of the restroom, I nod toward the back seat and hold the door open for her. “I guess we’re playing musical chairs.”

  Rogue shrugs, but then cautions, “He’s going to insist that he doesn’t need directions, but you might want to pay attention to where he’s going, because he tends to be a little directionally challenged.”

  “Geez, thanks Ro, way to throw a guy under the bus.”

  “That’s okay Marcus, I’ll be your navigator. I’m pretty good with mental maps,” Ivy offers.

  I chuckle softly at the flirty interplay between everyone. “Well, there you go. It seems like everyone is well matched.”

  After the women climb into the SUV, Marcus expertly navigates us through traffic until he pulls up to a pretty nondescript building. It has faded turquoise and rust stucco on the outside with terra-cotta tiles on the roof. The rest of us look at each other in confusion trying to figure why out of all of the restaurants Marcus could have chosen, he would choose such a nondescript yet kitschy hole in the wall.

  “Come on guys!” Marcus urges as he tumbles out of the car. “This place has the best wings and potato skins.”

  “Wings?” I ask, my eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “Are you sure you don’t mean Mexican food?”

  “I’m positive,” he asserts. “Hurry up. All the tables with a good v
iew are going to be gone.”

  I guess his odd phrasing should have been my first clue. Unfortunately, I let that fly right over my head so, I was blindsided when we walked through the big heavy wooden door and presented with a 50s-themed karaoke bar.

  I notice that Ivy pulls her hand away from Marcus. “I can’t believe you tricked me into coming to a karaoke bar. If I wasn’t so weak from hunger, I’d smack you upside the head with my purse. But, lucky for you, I’m too tired to fight. So, I’m just going to roll with it. But, I’m not responsible for any permanent damage done to your hearing as a result of this epic experiment.”

  “Sugar, there isn’t any possible way that you sing worse than I do. So, we won’t make this a contest about who’s better or worse. This is all about being free and creating your own fun. In case you’re completely identical to Rogue and you don’t recognize this behavior, it’s called hanging out and having fun.”

  “Very funny!” the women respond in unison. They look at each other and say, “Jinx!”

  When I see the kitschy stage filled with pictures of Elvis Presley, Sammy Davis Jr., Lucille Ball, Desi Arnaz and Marilyn Monroe, my heart sinks to my toes and is trying to dig a hole through the floor to hide. This is my worst nightmare come to life.

  To say that I’m shy and awkward is radically understating the situation. You know that kid in the back of your classroom? You know him, the one you know was there but you don’t quite know his name—the smart one that you sometimes copied from in class, but before you did you had to look at your yearbook to figure out who he was? That’s me. No one ever noticed me until they needed me for something. I was quite happy being that person. I really didn’t have any social aspirations to be a popular kid or venture out of my shell. Although I’m sometimes called upon to do lectures on cyber security and Internet safety, not much has changed since junior high school when I wanted to disappear into the pale green walls of the classroom.

  Rogue notices my discomfort. She slips her arm around my waist and whispers into my neck, “Are you going to be all right? You don’t look so hot. I guess it’s my turn to tell you to breathe.”