T.J. Klune - Bear, Otter, and the Kid 2 - Who We Are (38 page)

“Where?” I croaked out.

Erica hesitated. “Bear, you should know that this doesn’t really change anything, okay? We’re still going to move forward like we had planned, we’re still going to push and pull and fight until we get what we want. Nothing is going to change that. The only thing this means is now we know where she is, so we won’t necessarily have any surprises coming down the road. We’ve already sent a process server out to her with the paperwork showing your intention of gaining custody of Ty, in addition to supports for her to sign if she is willing to relinquish custody of him to you.”

“Dammit, where is she?”
“Coeur D’Alene.”
“Coeur D’Alene? Where’s—wait.
Idaho
?”
“Yes.”
“You’re fucking telling me that she’s only
four hundred miles away
?” “Yes.”

I saw red, and I heard Otter call out my name in a worried tone from his little office down the hall. “How long has she been there?”
“Bear, does it really matter? What matters is that we
know.
For some reason, she decided to apply for a checking account through Idaho Fidelity, and it pinged back to us off the skip-trace search.”
“How long!”

Erica sighed. “It looks like she’s been there the whole time, Bear.”

Otter came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my chest, pulling me back into him, resting his chin on the top of my head. I felt him breathing behind me as he rubbed his thumb against my sternum, and I was able to rein in my anger, at least for the moment. I glanced back up at him, and he must have seen the fear and anger in my eyes because his brow furrowed, and he took the phone from my hands and pushed a button to bring it on speakerphone. He set the phone on the counter and gathered me in his arms again, like he was trying to shield me from her words. “Erica, it’s Otter. I’ve put you on speaker.”

“Is Tyson with you?” she asked cautiously.
“He’s outside. I assume that you’ve found her?”
“Yes. In Idaho. There’s… something else you should know.” “Will it affect the outcome of the custody petition?”

“It may, though I can’t quite decide if it would be in our favor or not, especially if she decides to attempt to get custody of Tyson. Though, obviously, her absence would play heavily against her. Probably to the point that no court would award custody to her. Visitation rights, maybe, but not custody.”

For the life of me, I couldn’t think of what it could be. “What is it, Erica? Stop being vague and just fucking tell me.”

“The guy she moved out there with? Frank Taylor? They still live together in a sort of common-law relationship. They are not married, as far as we can tell, and that would have popped up almost immediately as she would have a marriage certificate on file. But… there’s a… a third person in the household. And we were able to verify it through hospital records. Even though we couldn’t access them in their entirety due to privacy laws, we were able to confirm dates.”

“Dates of what?” Otter asked, even though I already knew. I closed my eyes and wished it wasn’t so.
“Julie McKenna gave birth in May of last year at the age of forty-four to a baby girl. Frank Taylor is the father listed on the birth certificate. The child was not put up for adoption, and the process server said that when Julie answered the door, she was carrying a little girl in her arms.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I whispered.

Erica sounded miserable. “I wish I was, Bear. You’ve got a half-sister now. Isabelle Jade Taylor, born May 26. There’s no records of Child Protective Services ever having been out to the house for any reason, no records of any time police have been called to the address in Coeur D’Alene, which are lower middle-class apartments.”

Only one thought crossed my mind. “We can’t tell the Kid,” I said, my voice barely sounding like my own. “We can’t tell him about her. Any of it. I don’t want him to know. I don’t want him to know that she’s so close, that she
fucking
gave up her family so she could go have another. It’ll kill him. He’s strong, but this will kill him.”

“Bear, if she decides to fight your petition, you won’t have a choice,” Erica tells me patiently. “He’ll find out anyway.”

“No,” I snapped. “It’s not going to come to that. She’s not going to come back in some fucking last-ditch effort to get him away from me. If she wanted to do this, she’d have made good on her threat months ago. She’s not coming back. Fuck her.”

“You can’t know that,” Erica argued. “Not yet. While it’s good you believe that, you have to prepare for every eventuality, Bear. I know it sucks,
believe
me, and I was dreading this conversation for the last few hours. But what good would it do either of you if he had to find out from someone else? That we’re in court one day and she walks in? Bear, he’d need to hear it from you first. He needs to know so he doesn’t find out you’ve kept it from him down the road.”

“Erica, I know you mean well,” Otter said, “and I know you’ve got Bear and the Kid’s best interest in mind, but I’m inclined to agree with Bear on this. In the end, it is our decision, not yours. If we decide to keep this to ourselves for now, I’d hope you would respect that decision and not make this any more difficult than it already is.”

She sighed in frustration. “I just hope there isn’t a time in the future when I get to say I told you so. But honestly? My gut feeling says that she’s not going to respond. I do believe she’d have done so by now. Other than her little stunt in August, she’s made no other attempt to reach you in the last three years.”

“And we still have no idea how the hell she knew all that she did,” I said, feeling the oncoming rush of a headache. “It still freaks me out that she knew so fucking much about me and Otter. That’s the only thing I want answered.”

Something crossed Otter’s eyes right then, something that caused his mouth to open like he was going to speak, but he seemed to change his mind. I looked at him questioningly, but he just shook his head.

“And we’ve looked into your information, Bear. No one has tried to access your credit rating, made any inquiries through the HR office at the grocery store. I don’t think she hired someone to dig up information on you, because that would leave a trail. I’m as frustrated as you are on that end. I wish I had more answers, but if you haven’t spoken with any of her acquaintances and told them all about yourself, then I just don’t know.”

“Did she seem… happy?” I asked, hating myself for even caring. Otter leaned forward and kissed my forehead.
Erica laughed quietly. “It was just the process server that saw her, Bear. I don’t think he cared one way or another about her happiness. Most of them don’t. Does that bother you? If she was?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Bear, if there’s one thing I could tell you to remember, it’s this: whatever she’s got, it’s nothing compared to what you have. You have a family that loves you, a partner that thinks you walk on water, and a little brother who thinks you’re the greatest thing to have ever existed.
That’s
what is important. Do me a favor and remember that, okay?”

“I’ll make sure to remind him daily,” Otter promised, grinning wickedly at me.

I rolled my eyes at him, but even he could see I felt a bit lighter. “How long?” I asked. “How long does she have to respond?”
“Ninety days, which will put it around sometime in mid-January.”

“See?” Otter told me. “Even more to celebrate then.”
“What’s that?” Erica asked.

“My birthday’s on January 22. If we get the Kid then, it’ll be the best present, and I couldn’t ask for more.”
“The countdown begins, then!” Erica said cheerfully. “We’ll all go out for dinner and celebrate because that should be the last big hurdle we’ll face in this. Georgia’s reports have been glowing, and the therapist said he feels both you and Ty have benefited in the couple of months you’ve been in to see him. We can almost see the finish line, Bear. You’ve almost made it.”

I almost told her that’s when most people trip and fall, but quickly decided against it. Apparently, I was turning into an eternal optimist. Pretty soon, everything would have been sunshine and roses.

“Sure,” was my reply.

 

“Please let me know if you have any other questions, then, guys, and I’ll let you know if anything else comes up in the meantime.”

Then she was gone.
Otter turned the phone off and pulled me into him again, ignoring my protestations, ignoring how I told him I was
fine
, that I was
okay
, that I

didn’t need to be comforted right then, that it didn’t matter. She didn’t matter. But he would have none of it, and eventually, I sank down into his embrace and allowed him to take away all the hurt and pain because he knew I was
not
fine, I was
not
okay. There was a turmoil there, that old anger sparking with new fire, burning bright with indignation.

A daughter?
I thought wildly.
She has a fucking daughter. I have a little sister. The Kid is now a middle child. She has a new family that she’s kept, that she’s keeping, at least for now. Isabelle. Does she love her? Does she look down into the baby’s eyes and see herself reflected back? What does she think about the little life she holds in her hands?

I couldn’t wrap my mind around it, how she could so easily walk away from her sons but hold onto her daughter. It would have been easy for her to give her up for adoption, and I couldn’t understand why she didn’t.

It’s probably something I’ll never know.

T
HE
holidays came, as they do every year, but even with all the uncertainty hanging above our heads (though it did seem to be getting better day by day), it was a brighter time than it had been in years past. Thanksgiving was an unmitigated disaster, as we tried to have it at our house for the first time, which led to a suspicious accident involving the turkey that the Kid said he had nothing to do with, nor could I prove that he did. I’d prepared him an impressive spicy roasted edamame casserole which he raved about when I had him test it to make sure it wasn’t too much for him.

That led to two minutes of peace and quiet before he launched again into how barbaric the pilgrims were in taking the lands from the Native Americans, how now we celebrate that horrific tragedy by shoving bread up turkey asses and then taking it back out again and putting it in our mouths. He contemplated quite loudly on whether or not there would ever be a turkey revolt, and that he believed that one day there could be, and wouldn’t we all be sorry when we had bread shoved up
our
asses and we were put in the oven until our juices ran down our sides and our skin swelled up nice and brown. I told him that was a horrible thing to say. He told me that I would probably enjoy said treatment by turkeys because I like stuff like that now. I asked him quietly to elaborate what he could possibly mean. He told me that while researching gay history, he was able to discover that the smaller man in a gay relationship is normally the bottom, and even though he didn’t quite get the subtle intricacies that the position held, he was quite sure that I fit the bill to a T. I asked him politely to stop researching gay history because I was afraid it was going to warp his fragile little mind. He told me it was already too late, and didn’t I know that my name, Bear, was wrong because that implied that I was a big, hairy man in the gay community? And that Otter was too incorrectly named, because apparently an “otter” is a small gay man with body hair. He mused on the fact that it must be fun to be gay because you get to change your names, apparently quite often, whether you’re a drag queen or a hairy individual. He came to the conclusion that it must be even
more
wonderful to be a hairy drag queen and said he was going to keep it on his short list of prospective career possibilities, along with astronaut, physicist, and furniture store salesman.

Sometimes, it’s easier not to ask.
Other times….

“Furniture store salesman?” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “Why do you want to do that?”

“I like couches,” he said. “Duh.”
“You’re very odd, Kid.”
He grinned. “Learned from the best, Papa Bear.”
I made sure I added a couch to my mental Christmas list for him. So, somehow, the turkey caught fire, and by the time I pulled it out, it

was black and smelled like death, and the Kid sauntered into the kitchen, whistling brightly before stopping and staring at me and Otter trying to salvage anything we could that didn’t look like it was suffering from fourthdegree burns.

“Oh gosh!” he said a little too loudly. “Whatever happened here?” “The turkey burned,” I said, frowning at him. “Where have you been?”

“In my room,” he said, smiling widely. “Just… hanging out, you know? Doing… stuff. And things.”

“I guess we’ll just have to eat the edamame,” Otter sighed, dumping the remains of the turkey in the garbage. “The best part of Thanksgiving is having leftovers. I’m the saddest person in the world right now.”

“We’ll have plenty of edamame,” the Kid promised him. “I’m sure you can put it on a sandwich if you’re so inclined. Wow, wait till I tell everyone on the PETA message boards that we’re having our very first true vegetarian Thanksgiving. Huzzahs all around!”

“You did it, didn’t you?” I accused him.

He looked moderately offended, his hand coming up to his throat. “How dare you? I would
never
do anything like turn up the heat on the oven just to

burn the turkey so we could eat whatever I wanted to. That’s a little
extreme
, Papa Bear. Give me a little more credit.”

Have you ever had mashed potatoes and gravy and edamame? Don’t. It’s way gross.

Christmas approached, and Otter and I made the decision that we’d do the family thing on Christmas Eve and start our own tradition of having it just be us three on Christmas Day. We went over to his parents’ house, where the Kid was lavished with gifts upon gifts of stuff he didn’t really need but couldn’t live without. Mrs. Paquinn somehow, someway, had ironed a print of Anderson Cooper’s face onto a backpack, and the look on the Kid’s face when he saw it was one of such extreme ecstasy, I worried he’d literally just shit himself in the middle of the Thompsons’ living room. Mrs. Paquinn looked pleased with herself as she smiled at him, telling him that she’d also written to Mr. Cooper and asked for his autograph, and when it came in, she’d have it blown up into a print to iron on to the backpack as well. You would have thought that Mrs. Paquinn had gifted him PETA itself with the way he ran around the house screaming.