Identical (45 page)

Read Identical Online

Authors: Ellen Hopkins

You need to get up now and

clean up this mess
. He gestures

toward last night’s vomit.
And I

will be waiting for your apology.

Almost a Week

Since Kaeleigh tried to off herself,

and believe it or not, she did apologize

to Daddy. She stood, head tilted toward

the floor, shoulders stooped like an old

woman. “Sorry, Daddy. I was stupid.”

She cleaned up the floor, washed herself,

her clothes, her sheets. But she couldn’t

wash away the indelible stench of Daddy.

She wore it to school. To play rehearsal.

To stolen moments with Ian. I watched

as she tried to put “the incident” behind

her. But anyone who ever noticed her

has to have noticed a change inside her.

She’s no longer afraid to die. What she’s

afraid of is living, accepting the status quo.

Daddy Acts

Like it never happened. It’s how
he deals with any trauma in his life.
The accident. The incident.
Mom’s winning the election.
Daddy simply moves forward. One
day, one night at a time.

 

Hannah has stopped by
several times to check up on Kaeleigh.
She always says the same thing:
Your daughter needs help, Ray.
The reasons behind the attempt are still
there. It could happen again.

 

Daddy’s answer is the same:
It was just the stress of the election.
Now it’s over, she’ll be fine.

 

Then he’ll change the subject,
to one he finds much more appealing.
You’ve had some time to
think things over. I hope
you’ve reconsidered. Kay and I
are married in name only.

 

Hannah remains steadfast.
You’re still married. It was a mistake
to get involved. I’m sorry, Ray.

The Last Time

She dropped by, Daddy wasn’t

home yet. But Kaeleigh was.

I listened in best I could.

Hannah pounced.
Kaeleigh, I don’t

know what’s going on in your life

to make you decide it isn’t worth

living. But I’m pretty sure it has

nothing to do with the election. If

it had something to do with your

father and me, that’s all over, and

I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt—

“No. It wasn’t that, so quit blaming

yourself, if that’s what you’re doing.”

Then she made up a half lie. “There’s

this boy who I like, but I know it won’t

work out, no matter how much I want

it to. But I’m over that now. I’m okay.”

Just then Daddy arrived. I vanished

as he stormed into Kaeleigh’s room.

But I could hear every word.

Hello again, Hannah. As you can see,

my daughter is doing well. I’d appreciate

it if you wouldn’t drop by unannounced.

Kaeleigh, please go start dinner.

He Is a Cold-Hearted Bastard

That’s for sure. And suddenly

I desperately need to know why.

Did he not see Kaeleigh, screaming

for help, the only way she could—

wordlessly, helplessly, no one to hear?

I don’t know how to get hold of my

grandmother, and considering

the reception she got from me

last time, I sincerely doubt she’ll

call back any time soon.

But somewhere, buried deep in

Kaeleigh’s journal, is an address

for Theodore Gardella. Grandpa

Teddy. (Pu-lease!) He lives less

than two hours south, in Calabasas.

I think it’s time his granddaughter

paid him a visit. But first she

has to find a ride. I easily think

of exactly one person and pick up

the phone. “Hello? Is Brittany there?”

Operative Word: Easy

Brittany is quite simply the most

easy-to-manipulate person ever.

She had planned to see a movie

with Joel, but when I told her my

grandpa was really sick, she softened.

And when I threw in the part about

filling her gas tank and buying lunch,

I almost had her right there.

Okay, but only if Joel can come

too. We’re a thing now, you know.

Yeah, and if she isn’t careful, there will

be a little thing growing inside her.

If I can persuade her this easily, her steady

“thing” should have no trouble talking

her into whatever. But hey, that’s not

my problem. And now I’ve got my ride.

I MapQuest directions, extract eighty

bucks from my private stash, pop

a single Oxy to steady my nerves,

go to meet Brittany and Joel.

Between Brittany’s Driving

And a traffic accident jam, the hundred-

mile trip takes us over two hours.

Two plus hours of hip-hop, Brittany

giggling, and Joel’s immature, totally

not sexy innuendos. Aaagh!

I’m mostly silent, filling with dread.

What if he won’t see me, let alone

tell me the things I need to know?

Not like we’ve ever done anything

but exchange a letter or two.

So what kind of sick is your grandpa?
asks

Joel.
We won’t catch something, will we?

“Well, I don’t think you want to come

inside. You can drop me off, go have

lunch—on me, remember?—and come

pick me up. I don’t have to stay that long,

just make sure he’s got his medicine.”

Hey, I know what I want for lunch,

sneers Joel.
Tuna! Got any, Britt?

OMG! What a disgusting loser.

I can’t believe Brittany actually

shrieks with laughter. This is why

I don’t maintain friendships. Friends

tell friends what they really think.

We Find the House

Arrange a meeting time, and I give

Brittany forty dollars. “But don’t

leave until he answers the door.”

Last thing I need is to sit here

on his doorstep for two hours.

Brittany waits patiently while

I idle slowly up the walk, noting

his yard is neat but not pretty.

I swallow one more pill for good

measure, steel up my courage.

Reach for the doorbell. Push.

I hear footsteps immediately.

The door cracks, leaking warm air.

Yes? Who is it?
The voice

crackles.
What do you want?

“Um. Sorry to disturb you. But

I’m your…your granddaughter.”

The door opens wider and Brittany

starts her car. I want to shout, “Wait.”

But I don’t. For the first time,

I look my grandfather in the eye.

“I think it’s time we talked.”

Long past time, young lady.

But come on inside.

The House Is Small

Gloomy, and like his yard, tidy

but not pretty. No adornments

anywhere. Serviceable furniture,

lacking comfort. Still, I accept

his offer to perch on the hard sofa.

Almost to himself, he says,

I wondered if you’d ever come.

In lieu of small talk, we sit

and stare at each other for

several skeptical minutes.

My grandfather is shorter than

Daddy, and much darker,

with weathered California skin

and gunmetal eyes. Oh, Daddy

got his eyes from his father,

whose own searching eyes slice

into me now. I swear, it hurts,

like he’s dissecting me without

benefit of anesthesia. Someone

has to break the awful silence.

But I can’t think of a single

icebreaker. Luckily, he does.

So what can I do for you after all

these years? You have questions.

It’s a statement, as well it should

be. I could tiptoe around the real

reason I’m here. But why waste

time? “I want to know why Daddy

won’t have anything to do with you.”

Well, that’s very direct, isn’t it?

Why is it important now?

I could lie, tell him I want to

know him, learn all about my

roots. But I suspect he’d know

it was a fabrication. “I need to know

why Daddy is like he is. Why I am…”

Who you are,
he finishes. Hesitates.

I’m not sure where to begin.

Oh, I can help him there.

“I don’t need to hear any

happy stuff, if there is any

to tell. I need to hear about

when everything went to shit.”

He Winces Slightly

But agrees.
I don’t know you from

Adam, but someone should hear this

story. Your father would carry it to

his grave. How much do you know

about Charlotte, your grandmother?

“Only that she walked out when

Daddy was a boy. Something

about your messing around?”

A nice way to put it. Yes, I cheated.

I was lonely. Charlotte shared most

of her time with a whiskey bottle,

and so devoted little to your father

or me. When she left, it was a relief,

or would have been, except I had to

work long hours. Your father was still

young, so I placed him in the care of

a neighbor, a woman I had known,

or thought I did, for many years.

Turned out I didn’t know her at all.

One day I came home early and

went to pick up Raymond. I knocked

but no one answered, so I went

around back, where I heard voices….

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