Authors: Shelena Shorts
“Wow. I would’ve never thought,” I replied, and I knew instantly that was a mistake, because he wasted no time with the obvious follow-up.
“What
would
you have thought?” he asked, leaning back, taking a break from his sandwich. I had to think for a minute.
“Well...” I looked him over, contemplating deeply. “Maybe finance?”
He laughed. “That’s a good one, but no.”
We were finishing up our food by then, and he started gathering our trash to throw it away. I would’ve wanted to prolong the afternoon but I, unfortunately, had to go to work. It was the first time I wished I didn’t have to go in. I had more questions.
“Why chemistry?” I asked, as we threw our trash away. He didn’t seem like the chemist type, although it did run in the family, so I don’t know why I found that so surprising. It could’ve been because I kept envisioning him on a magazine cover and not in a lab coat.
“My uncle piqued my interest. He was working on some medical breakthroughs that could have cured many people when he died, so I thought I would continue on for him. We’ll see.” He shrugged, opening the door for me.
It was hard to keep my eyes on him because we were walking by then, but I could tell he was trying not to boast too much about it, but there was no way he could hide it. I added compassion to my list of good qualities about him.
I daydreamed all afternoon at the register, and my curiosity grew by the second. There were things that didn’t make sense to me, and I wanted to resolve them. I had met a guy, who I liked more than I should, and yet there was so much left unknown. He had more money than even a middle-aged person would responsibly know how to manage, and yet he had no family to help him. He was incredibly kind and open, but complex at the same time. I couldn’t decipher whether I was overthinking things, as usual, or if there were missing pieces that I should try to locate. If I hadn’t liked him so much, I probably wouldn’t have wasted my time, but I
did
like him.
In fact, if I believed in love at first sight, I would have said I loved him already, but I refused to go there. So many things were too mysterious for me to allow myself to fall hopelessly for someone who may not reciprocate my feelings. I wanted to know everything about him and more so, I wanted to know why he was interested in me. He could have had anyone he wanted. It didn’t make sense.
I went into an insecure abyss that afternoon and made it my mission to fill in the missing pieces before getting deeper into a situation that could be potentially painful.
T
here were a couple of things I already knew, and I ran through them in my mind. He said his dad died many years ago; his mom died a few years ago; and his uncle died last year. He also told my mother that his uncle was a renowned scientist. I knew their names, although I had neglected to ask his mother’s name, I did have two names to go on, so I figured I would start there.
I felt like I was sneaking around behind his back, and it really wasn’t a good feeling. He had never been anything but kind to me, and here I was checking up on him—but I had to find out more about him if I was ever going to understand him, guilt or no guilt.
I typed Weston Wilson II in the search box on my computer screen. Four links popped up right away. I clicked on the first one. It was an article from the
California Chronicle
:
Millionaire Heir Presumed Dead From a Plane Crash Over Australia
July 19th 2008
Authorities discovered the crash site of millionaire Weston C. Wilson II, Monday afternoon. His son is reported to have been the last person to see him take off in his KR-2, personally-crafted, single-engine airplane from a secluded airstrip at his Australian home. Officials say that no one would have been able to survive the crash. Although no body has been discovered, personal objects were found in the charred wreckage confirming the aircraft was the one manned by Wilson. Authorities also searched the area and found no sign of survivors.
Wilson was well known for his work in aircraft design and for helping fund the California Blood Research Center throughout the 1980s. He is survived by one son.
I looked back over the article, because something didn’t make sense. The first detail I noticed was the one indicating that he was survived by one son. I knew that had to be Weston, but Weston told me his father died
many
years ago, and this article was dated just last year. Wes also made it seem like his father had died before his mother, but there was no mention of her in this article. I tried to do other searches to see what else came up, but there was nothing contradictory. All of the articles were similar.
I spun around in my desk chair and stared at the wall. It just didn’t make sense. There was no reason for him to lie to me about his father’s death, but for some reason I was sure he had. I went over the article several times looking for some other explanation. I got nothing. This man was a mystery to me, just like his son. Frustrated, I decided to go downstairs and grab a snack and a drink while I pondered the information.
I knew I didn’t want to keep asking him about his family, and I knew I didn’t like the idea of him not telling me the truth. I started to feel very foolish, both for liking him so much without knowing him and also for looking up something I probably shouldn’t have. I mean, I was prying and going behind his back investigating his family without him knowing. It wasn’t like he deserved my mistrust, but at the same time, I had to protect myself. I wasn’t stupid.
When I got downstairs, my mom was in the kitchen, too. She turned away from the pantry.
“Great minds think alike,” she said, dangling a package of cookies.
I smiled. “You have the munchies, too?”
“Yeah, I do,” she said, pulling one out for herself.
I grabbed one from the package as she held it out to me and headed over to the fridge. I liked milk with my cookies, so I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and began pouring my milk and chewing.
“How are things with Wes?” she asked.
I almost spilled my milk. Her question was simple and not really out of the ordinary, but it still took me by surprise. That meant I was definitely feeling guilty for my insecurity. “Fine,” I replied, still chewing. I wasn’t in the mood to go into details, or admit to my mother that I had already suspected him of lying. She was just barely okay with me seeing him, so I figured my best bet would be to tell her I had work to do and get out of there as fast as I could. I wasted no time grabbing a few cookies and giving her a kiss on the cheek before disappearing.
Back in my room, I pondered the conclusion that there was no reason for me to be uptight. It was just dates mixed up. So what? Maybe he didn’t want to tell me his loss was so new. Some people just don’t like sympathy. I resolved myself to being content with that explanation, so when I finished my snack, I brushed my teeth and got in the bed.
The getting in was the easy part, but actually falling asleep was a whole other matter. I lay there tossing and turning from one side to another for about an hour. The question of why kept bouncing around in my brain, and I couldn’t shake it no matter which way I lay.
He was nineteen years old, and if his father died last year, he would’ve been eighteen. There would be no need for him to live with his uncle for a while, unless he just wanted to stay with family, but he said his uncle
cared
for him. Why would an adult need to be cared for? Why even mention the uncle?
The uncle
, I thought. I threw back my covers and slid into my desk chair again, hoping for some sort of resolution.
He said his uncle was a renowned scientist. Surely there would have to be something else I could find. It was the only other name I had to go on, so I searched his name, too. My first couple of searches for Thomas Oliver brought back too many results, and none of them sounded anything remotely doctor related, so I narrowed it down to “Dr. Oliver Thomas.” An article from the University of Berkeley popped up. I straightened my posture in interest, because I knew that had to be him. I quickly double clicked on the link.
It was a university article dedicating an academic hall to Dr. Thomas for his research in blood and cell structure for the university. The article described Dr. Thomas as one of the first scientists to discover blood typing, ways to store blood, as well as innovative cell research in his later life. According to the article, the hall was named after him shortly following his death on December 1, 1959.
My eyes narrowed as I reread 1959. I dropped my head down on my arms in frustration. I was only making the situation worse. I was reading about people for no reason. It wasn’t even the right person. I closed out of the web page and tried another search.
I typed in “Dr. Oliver Thomas Renowned Scientist.” This time, I was referred to a medical journal discussing experimental cures for cancer. I almost closed it out, but I saw a line again about blood research, which was a phrase I’d come across far too often for it to be a coincidence. I paused, let out a tired sigh, and kept on reading. This article had been written by another doctor who was working on finding cures for cancer and HIV with the use of alligator blood. The article said Dr. Oliver Thomas was first known to have tried such blood transfusions on patients in 1916, only to abruptly cease his research due to the poor outcome of the patients—who all died within 24 hours of receiving the blood.
With the help of new methods of obtaining antibodies from alligator blood, scientists were now able to conduct new studies in hopes of finding a cure for many diseases. I scrolled down to find anything relevant to what I was looking for, and I saw the same date of death listed for the doctor: 1959.
I tightened my lips together and closed out of that web page as well. I searched Dr. Oliver Thomas’ name every other way I could imagine and each time, the only doctor going by that name had died in 1959 at his home outside of San Francisco, which would be at right about the location Wes said he had lived. I built up more air than needed in my chest, and I let out a huge sigh, which sent my bangs flying away from my eyes. I turned off my computer screen.
Ridiculous,
I thought.
I went back over to my bed; it was midnight by then. One thing I didn’t like was being misled, and for some reason, that is exactly what Wes had done. I didn’t understand why. He had been so nice, so perfect. I didn’t know what I was going to do about the new information. Telling my mom wasn’t an option, because she was just starting to like him, and I couldn’t tell Kerry because I didn’t want to listen to her talk bad about him, which is what she would do. Even though I knew she’d be trying to make me feel better, it would only make me feel worse. I didn’t want people to mistrust him. The thought of that made me roll my eyes in the darkness. It was like I was protecting him undeservingly. Why would I care if people thought he was a phony? It made me angry to care so much.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was telling myself to leave well enough alone. There had to be a reason he told me that story, and whatever the reason, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to find out. I certainly wasn’t about to call him and tell him I had played the part of private investigator behind his back—and by the way, tell him he’d lied about his dad and an uncle who died before he was even born. No, I wasn’t going to tell him that. My only other two options were to ignore it and keep things as they were or to stop seeing him. Neither choice appealed to me. So, for the time being, I decided I would avoid the situation altogether.
I played up having projects and homework for over a week. I only saw Wes on my way from having lunch with my mom. I could tell he sensed that I was trying to keep my distance a bit, but he didn’t question me on it. He seemed content to give me as much attention as I wanted. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. I was glad he didn’t ask me what was wrong every five minutes, but I was worried about why my distance and lame homework excuses weren’t bothering him either.
Aside from seeing him once for almost two weeks, we talked just about every day on the phone, but other than that, I buried myself in my school work and used it as an excuse to stay home. At first, I was proud of myself for whatever internal mind game I was playing, but after a while, I realized I was fooling myself. I couldn’t keep up the schoolwork façade much longer. I had to decide to see him or just break it off altogether.
I told myself that I didn’t want to be bamboozled by him, but it wasn’t working. I needed to see him—bamboozled or not. I justified my submission by vowing to demand the truth from him. If he wasn’t going to be honest, then I was fairly sure I would be able to walk away. I was content with my decision except, I had spent so much time racking my brain about Wes and what I was going to say to him, that I was blindsided by other issues in my own house.
I was having breakfast with my mother when I noticed she was acting a little nervous. I sat at my normal spot at the table, eating a bowl of cereal, and she sat down with a cup of coffee and nothing else. That meant she wanted to talk.
“Sophie?” she said, as if she wasn’t sure I was sitting right in front of her.
“Yes,” I answered, bracing myself for whatever talk she was about to have with me. I hoped to goodness it wasn’t going to be the boy talk.
“Sophie, I met someone,” she said hesitantly. “A man. He’s really nice,” she clarified. It was worse. It was a man talk. I kept looking at my bowl and chewing so I wouldn’t have to look her in the eye. I should’ve known something was weird with her when I saw her digging in my cookies the other night. That was out of the ordinary for her, but I was so wrapped up in my own problem, I didn’t even notice.
“And,” I said, between bites.