Okay, I randomly thought of JD having a sister and this is what happened. Don't judge me. As for JD's and Dr. Cox's relationship, it sort of ties in with my other story, The Question That Begs an Answer. You know, the sort of love/hate what/am/i/doing sort of thing. Anyway, enjoi (I will NOT warn of lemons, if I even have any in this story, for personal reasons. Deal with it. Report me, and I will exurt my right to bitch. If you see any errors, tell me and I'll try to fix them. Or not. I gots shit to do.
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I received the letter three days ago. I shouldn't have been surprised. I'd seen this coming for a very long time. But I had reacted as though it was the biggest shock in the world.
Like a fool I'd brought my mail with me to work, as I normally did, and was looking over it during lunch. Perry was sitting beside me, as was his newer habit since we began our strange relationship, and the rest of the gang was opposite of me. Laughing. Talking about nothing and everything. Perry was silent, sipping his coffee and reading his newspaper, but I could feel the heat of his skin even through my scrubs.
The envelope had been plain stock, white, black script creating the flowing letters of my name. I didn't even glance at the return address. I should have. It would have given me some sort of warning.
Dearest Brother. That was how it began. She always began her letters with those words.
I should have stopped reading then and there, but I didn't. As far as I knew, I was the only member of our strange family that Emily bothered to contact. My illegitimate sister. My best friend. Even closer to me than Turk, even though I'd had to keep her a secret all these years.
Emily lived under an assumed name, far away and safe. I'd helped her pack that bag all those years ago. I'd given her my life savings, a whole three hundred dollars, which was impressive for a fourteen year old. She was only twelve. Just a baby. And that had been the only way they could think of to get her away.
Nobody knew about Emily.
Well, I suppose that wasn't true. I guess I should say I was the only one who gave a damn about her.
Dad had an affair with a woman I came to know as The Blonde Slut. That little betrayal hadn't been all that unexpected, since he and Mom had never been on good terms from as far back as I can remember. I found out about her quite by accident. We met in the winter, at a park.
But that wasn't the point. The point was that Emily had been cold, miserable, and completely alone. Dan had been content to forget her as soon as he learned about her, much like he did me, and Mom thought she was little more than guttersnipe.
Little Emily. With her brown hair and blue eyes. She could have been my twin. She was small. So very small. With a druggie whore for a mother, and a dealer for a stepdad or whatever you would call that abusive addict, there hadn't been much happiness in Emily's young life.
Until I found her. Until I used a friend of a friend's connections to get her far away, with a legal new name and someone to actually take care of her.
She made me promise, though, to keep her a secret. If that man ever found her… I wasn't the only one with connections.
At first, I smiled. We only communicated by letters, but for some reason she'd hadn't replied in the last few months.
My blood ran cold as I continued to read. I could honestly feel the warmth turn to sharp ice in my veins as her neat little words coursed through my mind as though she'd screamed them.
Dearest Brother,
If you're reading this, then that hotshot lawyer did right by me. You were always there for me, Jay, and I can never thank you enough. You're my favorite, you know that, right? I'm not sure if it's been a while since we last wrote to each other. I don't know when Eddy will send this. That's Edward Lawrence, my lawyer. Or attorney. Whatever you call it.
Jay, I'm sick. Really sick. But you knew that, didn't you? You were always patching me up back then, back when I was still with Them. You couldn't protect me back then, so you did the next best thing and stitched me back together. Literally. Remember how much we both cried that Christmas when you had to suture my arm? I don't know which one of us felt more pain; me, with a needle going through my skin, or you, sweet little Jay, who would do anything for me even though it killed you to be the one hurting me, even if it was helping me.
But I'm not talking about that, Jay. I am really, very truly sick. The doctor says it's a miracle I've survived even this long. It's November as I'm writing this. I'm at my kitchen table, staring at the yellow daisy you sent me. It's so bright and warm-looking even as the snow continues to fall. I have no idea how it's survived this long. New York can be so cold. Too cold for a delicate yellow daisy with no business to be so bright and in full bloom while snow blankets my world.
Oh, my mind wandered again. That happens a lot. I've always been scatterbrained, but the tumor, I think, makes it a little worse than usual.
Ah, there I go again, saying the worst things without meaning to and getting ahead of myself.
Jay, I'm dying. There's nothing anybody can do. I never told you this in any of my letters because I knew you'd try to fly out to see me, and even now I can't risk that. He's still alive, you know. I've checked with that, uh, PI you sent me to all those years ago. He's still looking for me.
Ah, but now I'm dead, aren't I? Sorry to be so nonchalant, Jay, but I've had a while to think this through. I'm at peace with this. Please forgive me for doing this to you. I hope it won't hurt you too much, Jay. I love you too much to want you to hurt for me.
But there's a reason I'm writing this letter. A very special reason that you don't know about. I was too afraid to tell you, too afraid that if I put this joy into words it would be taken from me.
I'm looking at her now. She's three months. Born September twenty-third, twenty-eleven. I named her Julie. She looks just like us. Brown hair. Blue eyes. She's so pale and tiny. I have her in a little basinet by the table. She's playing with my finger. I'm trying not to cry, but I'm not really winning this battle.
Jay John, I need you to take care of my baby. I love her more than anything. More than my own life. I can't stand the fact that she may go to a home. I won't allow it. I know there's some truly good people out there, but there's too many perverts, too much harshness and hate for my to try it.
She needs family, John, and I remember how you helped me all those years ago. I hate to ask anything more of you, my dearest brother, but I must ask one final favor. Please, please take in my daughter. Love her. Kiss her bruises whenever she falls like you used to do for me. Love her unconditionally and without question. Care for her as though she were your own daughter.
I was so afraid, John. Afraid I would die before I could give birth to her. I was given three wonderful months with her so far. I can feel it in my bones that I don't have much longer. Not much longer at all. There should be another letter, from Eddy. He should contact you sometime soon.
Forgive me, dearest brother. I really wish I could have seen you hold her. I wished you were in the delivery room with me, holding my hand, telling me everything was going to be alright because you were a doctor and you knew when things were going right. I was so scared. So scared. But I'm not anymore.
Our, uh, friend was the one who brought me to Eddy. Her papers are one hundred percent legal. Julie Johanna Dorian. I wanted her to have your last name. Can you tell I incorporated you in her middle name too?
I have plenty of money saved up for her, now for you. It's not really all that much, but it's enough for a few years' supply of diapers, which is really saying something because those things are expensive.
I love you Jay. I put a picture of her in the envelope. I taped it to the inside so it wouldn't slip out. You can never be too careful.
Love, Your Sister
I'd reached inside, careful to keep my face neutral as I stood from the table and mumbled something about the bathroom. Perry had given me a strange look, and I prayed he wouldn't follow. He didn't, thank god. I don't know what I would have done if he cornered me in the hallway.
When I looked around and saw I was indeed alone, I took out the picture of my niece. I wondered how Emily… she said she looked like us, but she's only three months…
The baby in the picture had a head full of thick, surprisingly long brown hair curling cherubically around a chubby white face. A fist was stuck in her pink, gummy mouth and her blue eyes, the exact same shade as mine, looked up at the camera with cute little crinkles in the corners.
My heart had melted even as it plummeted to my stomach.
My sister was dead. Of a brain tumor, of all things. And I have a niece. Named Julie.
On the back of the Polaroid was an unfamiliar, blocky writing that stated a number and for me to call it. I did, right away.
And that's how, three days later, I was in New York and holding my precious niece, watching a plain black box being buried in the ground as a stranger says a few priestly things then leaves. It has been over fifteen years since I've seen my sister's face, and I only caught a glimpse as she lay in her casket. Surprisingly, she looked much the same. Fuller in some areas but still small, still pale, still fragile.
''I need you to sign some papers,'' Edward Lawrence's deep baritone cuts through the somber shoveling of dirt and my niece's quite rustling. She doesn't make a sound other than the whisper of fabric as she looks around the bright graveyard, her guileless eyes only taking in vague shapes and colors. She seems to realize the solemnity of the situation.
''After that you can take little Julie's things to airport. They're at Emily's apartment; packed and ready to go.'' I nod, turn, and follow him through the graves to his shiny navy blue Sedan.
He may seem brusque and almost apathetic to my grief, but he knows I can't stand sympathy right now. I can also see the hunched set of his shoulders, the quiet look in his dark brown eyes that tell me he liked Emily. That was mourning her loss too, in his own way.
Vaguely, I wonder if he's the father to the child I'm now holding, but if that were the case Emily would have given him custody. Emily had a strong vision of family, and believed a father should be in the picture. Not for the first time, I wonder who the father is or if he's even around somewhere here, in Albany. If he knows about the baby.
But as I look down at Julie, watch as she takes my finger and swings it around carefully, as if taking careful note of the movement, I don't give a damn. She's mine now, and will make an excellent sister to Sam.
I don't think about how no one at Sacred Hearts knows where the hell I am. I don't think about how pissed Perry will be when I get back for being gone without a trace for the past three days. I don't think about the questions I'll have to face, the pain of relieving every grueling detail now that there's no secret to keep anymore.
I just think about moving my hand to sign the custody papers. I just think about putting one foot in front of the other to get up the iron steps to Emily's apartment. I just think to feed Emily and set her in the bassinette beside the bed before I flop down and close my eyes. And the I think about nothing, because the darkness has taken over, and all I have to do now is forget.
