Chapter 3: Adopted!
NORA was still fuming when she packed her BMW in the garage and walked in with her key. Patricia had no right to put her arms around Leonard after he’d dumped her in public! Her raunchy behavior that day was meant to spark off some kind of jealous rivalry for poor Leonard in Nora and Nora knew she could never lose out in that kind of competition. Her skirts just needed to get tighter and shorter and she needed more red lipstick and nail polish. Since her enemy could afford to embrace the big fashion names, this was the only way she knew she could fight back.
The house appeared empty and she thought it best to simply go to the kitchen and ransack the fridge if Mom had forgotten to make her favorite orange juice before leaving for the mall with Gavin. Nora usually came back a bit earlier than Matthew and Stephanie, so she always had the LED to herself until they invaded the sitting room around one in the afternoon, when they generally came back home from school.
In the kitchen, she met a big jug of juice waiting for her and discovered some cakes in the fridge. She dropped her bag near the staircase on her way to the living room and carelessly kicked off her shoes when she got there. Her favorite sofa then beckoned and she could never resist, reaching out to get the remote and switch on the LED before sinking into the cushioned chair.
She must have slept off in the middle of the show because she woke up half-heartedly to hear Dad and Mom quarrelling inside Dad’s library and home office. Their voices were measured, but she could clearly hear and understand the argument from where she still lay.
“But you said you wanted another boy after Matthew’s death,” her father stressed. “You even named him Matthew against everything sensible, Lora.”
“I couldn’t help it, John. I—I was falling apart.”
“Come on, Honey. Pull yourself together. Nobody knows, and nobody will ever know. Besides, who cares if he’s adopted?” her father persuaded. “Nobody. You’re just . . . overreacting.”
“I’m not, John,” his wife wailed. “We must tell him before he finds out by himself. It’s nothing, but people . . . his classmates, might . . . start making fun of him in school. I know Mr. Crool must have spilled it all down at Frederick’s even though he told me not to tell him. The jerk was drunk, John, and you know what that means for his oath of secrecy.”
“So how are we gonna do this?” her husband asked her. “We can’t just tell him his mother left him twelve years ago to . . . die in the cold, can we?” He was getting angry.
“We’ll find a way,” Lora said.
“I bet you will, Mom,” Nora screamed and scampered from the door where she’d been listening in.
Both adults lost their composure when they realized what had happened and Lora followed her daughter as she scaled the steps. “Nora, wait! Nora,” she called out, picking up the school bag and shoes Nora had earlier discarded. “We can all talk this through.”
“No. We can’t, Mom,” Nora exploded, turning to face her mother halfway up. “For twelve years I’ve been living with a lie and you think we can all talk through this? I’m old enough to know what you guys discussed in there, Mom. My brother died a long time ago and . . . and I’m making do with someone else’s kid.”
“It’s not like that, Nora. Matthew was . . . adopted.”
“Matthew is dead, Jesus,” Nora snapped. “You couldn’t even give him another name.” All the anger she had for Patricia was now directed towards her parents. “You made me believe all this.”
“It’s not like that, Nora,” her mother repeated. “When Matthew died I—I couldn’t deal with it, and . . . and I was told I couldn’t bare another child. We had to . . . adopt.” Lora had tears in her eyes then. “Please, honey . . . I’m sorry for all this. . . . It’s not your fault . . . you’re acting this way ‘cause we kept this from you. Please . . . you must promise me he’ll still be a brother to you . . . .”
“He’s no such thing, Mom . . . and you know it.” And she ran up to her room.
Mrs. Quentin was heartbroken. This was what she’d feared all along. Now it was happening and she had already lost control. Crying, she fell into the waiting arms of her husband, who was lost for words, himself. “I’m confused, John,” she said between sobs.
“Me, too, honey.”