Child of Mine (30 page)

S
liding his laptop out from beneath the bed frame, Jack located several local companies that specialized in DNA testing and reviewed the general information offered. Apparently, if he didn't employ the standard DNA testing method of using a cotton swab on the inside of Kelly's cheek, he was left with nonstandard and less accurate options: hairs, toothbrush, chewing gum, etc. In short, swabbing was best, but other sources could work if collected properly.

Next, Jack called a local testing lab and asked about testing hair samples. According to Jennifer, who answered the phone, they needed at least three hairs, and preferably more, to produce a confident result.

“We need the roots,” the woman emphasized. “And be sure not to
touch
the roots as you collect them.”

Our house is full of hair,
he thought, but knowing whose hair was whose would be difficult. Fortunately, obtaining Nattie's sample, the starting point to his own test, would be as easy as swabbing the inside of her cheek.

Jack went to the kitchen and found a pair of thin disposable plastic gloves. He put them on and went through the house, examining
every chair, every cushion. Without Laura meticulously vacuuming the house, he was sure to find a couple of hairs, especially since his own housekeeping skills were sorely lacking.

He found plenty, nearly two dozen on and around the couch, but none of them had roots, and besides, determining which were whose was another matter. They could have been Nattie's, Laura's, Kelly's, or even San's, for that matter.

Wait a minute.
Jack went to the upstairs bathroom and located several hairs from Nattie's hairbrush and compared them to his samples.
Bingo.
Nattie's hairs were thinner and a different shade of brown, enabling him to eliminate hers from the others.

But he needed samples with roots, and he still needed to distinguish between the women who'd been in his house. He considered the porch swing out back. Kelly had spent hours there, but so had Laura. On the other hand, overly restless San rarely graced the swing, if ever. Good place to start.

He was immediately rewarded. The swing cushions were like hair magnets. He found ten right off the bat, eliminating Nattie's. But the remaining could have been either Laura's or Kelly's, and upon closer examination, he realized they also lacked the necessary hair root.

Jack sat on the swing, frustrated, racking his brain for a solution. Finding a hair with a root just might be impossible. They had to be plucked to retain the follicle. Then he noticed the chain holding the swing. He smiled. Nestled within the links . . . there they were . . .
three hairs,
snarled and tangled . . .
roots and all.

Extracting them carefully, he compared them to the hair from Nattie's brush. These strands were thicker and darker in color. No match. But that still left the inevitable question: Were they Laura's or Kelly's?

He would have guessed Kelly's, but he couldn't be 100 percent sure. Putting them into a plastic bag, Jack suddenly remembered his personal plane, the 182 that was never flown by anyone but him. He and Kelly had just taken it into the skies, and she'd worn
the extra headset that never left the plane. Almost certainly, he'd find more samples of her hair, easily distinguishable from his own.

But would he find the roots?
Doubtful.

He paused at the bar, stared at his bagged collection of hairs, and began to reconsider the entire strategy. Maybe San was right, and he should confront Kelly directly. Let her explain herself. And if she had evidence that linked herself to Nattie, she'd be more than willing to provide her own DNA for confirmation testing.

Jack sat on a stool and rested his forehead on his hands.
But I have to protect Nattie,
he thought, reconsidering. And he didn't want to provoke a confrontation before he knew the truth for himself.
She
's a magician,
he reminded himself. Who knew what kind of tricks she had up her sleeve?

His anger hardening into something solid, he grabbed his laptop again and surfed to her website. Sure enough, there it was: a picture of Kelly, her name, and a picture of Emily. He thought of the 182 again and made the decision.

He showered and shaved and grabbed the keys off the kitchen counter. Heading out to the airfield, he drove quickly, his mind twirling around the implications.

Once there, he went to the hangar, unlocked the plane, and slipped on another pair of gloves. Gingerly, he extracted the headset from beneath the backseat, studied it carefully, and caught a break. Five unsuspecting brunette hairs dangled from the plastic foam. They had to be hers. More importantly, three of them still had the roots attached. Carefully, he put them in a separate plastic bag and headed back.

On the way, he drove by the local coffee hut, ordered an espresso to go, and made a beeline to the testing center for their swabbing kit. Before he submitted the hair samples, he needed to extract Nattie's sample, then submit them all together.

While his heart was breaking, and his temper was struggling for dominance, he couldn't deny that a spark of hope flared. Maybe, just maybe, there was a simple explanation for the whole thing.

Later that night after Nattie brushed her teeth, Jack called her into his office.

“What's up?”

Jack showed her the swab. “I need to do a little . . . uh . . . medical testing.”

“Oh,” Nattie said, frowning at the little white stick he held. “Is this gonna hurt?”

“Not a bit,” Jack replied, forcing a cheeriness he didn't feel. Dutifully, Nattie opened her mouth, and he swabbed the inside of her cheek.

“Done?”

“Got it.”

Without a care in the world, Nattie ran off, oblivious to the storm swirling about them.

San came by in the morning while Nattie and Jack were having some cold cereal. She gave her niece a big smooch on the cheek.

Nattie grinned. “What are you doing here?”

“Do I need an excuse to see my number-one girl?”

Nattie played coy, putting her finger to her cheek, twisting her mouth as if thinking it over.

San mussed her hair. “Don't hurt my feelings, kid.”

With Nattie busy pouring a second bowl, Jack caught San's eye and gestured toward the office. In the shadow of his wall of airplane memorabilia, San closed the door for what Jack hoped wasn't another endless strategy session. San sat in Laura's chair; Jack at the desk.

San began their discussion by repeating everything they'd already discussed, coming back to her conclusion that Kelly hadn't come clean yet because she was truly invested in their lives, and that Nattie was
not
her daughter.

“She would have told you by now,” San argued. “And I still don't believe that she's a danger for Nattie.”

Jack frowned. “Maybe
you
can rule that out—”

“I just can't imagine it, Jack,” she quickly added. “She's not a criminal.” She sighed. “Why don't you just call her? Get it over with?”

Jack shook his head.

“Nattie doesn't even look like Kelly,” San repeated.

Jack frowned. “Yes, she does.”

San pursed her lips. “Seriously. Call it a hunch, Jackenheimer, but I still think she's already abandoned the idea that Nattie is hers.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I told you already . . . because she would have
said
so.”

Jack leaned back, thinking it over. His cell phone buzzed. It was Kelly texting him:
Good morning
.

Last night, they'd traded a dozen texts, with Kelly's last:
You sound really tired, mister. I'm signing off, but
I plan on dreaming of you. . . .

G'night
was all he'd texted back.

“Don't let on yet,” San now whispered. “You're not ready for this.”

No kidding
,
Jack thought. He texted Kelly back:
Good morning.
He pulled his sandwich bag out of his desk drawer, along with the swab, and San's eyes widened. “What's that?”

He explained, and San freaked out. “How do you even know those are Kelly's?”

“Three hairs from the airplane. She was the last to wear the headset.”

San narrowed her eyes skeptically, then shook her head as if dealing with a surly child. She pulled out her cell phone, thumbed a little, and peered down at it. “I need to be somewhere in an hour. I hope you know what you're doing.”

After San left, Jack took off for the lab, his mind in overdrive. Their last flight together was ever before him—the way Kelly
kept touching his arm, her implicit trust in his ten thousand plus hours of experience.

He'd been showing off, pure and simple, acting like a he-man, trying to impress his woman, and all along she'd been harboring a secret.

Mentally, he regurgitated every alternative he and San had already discussed. But considering the missing pieces, his conclusions kept changing. And he still couldn't buy San's optimistic assumption.

No, as far as he was concerned, the reason Kelly hadn't told him the truth was surely because she was trying to fraudulently insinuate herself into their lives.

And if so, when was she going to tell him the truth? On their wedding day? During their honeymoon? Five years down the line?

Could she even keep it a secret that long?
Maybe,
he thought, and that only added to the mystery. A more sinister explanation suggested she might have hoped to win Nattie's heart before enacting a legal filing for custody.

I never, ever, had reason to
trust her,
he realized, and that was what hurt the most. But it didn't matter how he felt. What mattered—what
always
mattered—was Nattie.

———

The lab was located in downtown Akron, on a side street near the hospital. Jack parallel parked out front, fed the meter, and went inside. Sitting in an orange plastic chair and thumbing through outdated
Car and Driver
magazines, he waited for a couple of worse-for-the-wear men to complete their tests. Finally, he approached the lady he'd spoken to on the phone.

Jennifer took his samples and meticulously placed them in new packets. She clarified the process as she went, examining the hairs from the swing and the plane that he attributed to Kelly.

Holding them up to a bright lamp, she smiled. “Looks good.”

Relieved, Jack ponied up the money, filled out the appropriate forms, and headed back home. After parking in the garage, he
jogged next door to Craig and Diane's to get Nattie, giving Livy an extra tip for the last-minute baby-sitting.

They traipsed into the house, and he grabbed some juice out of the refrigerator and leaned against the sink. Nattie went into the garage to attach a new blinged-out nameplate to her bike, something she'd received from San.