He pulls into the driveway. He pulls in, behind a black Cadillac. His car, too is black. He stares through the window of his car, for quite some time. It's almost exactly the way he remembers it. From the front yard, to the front door. It's dark, and his headlights have been off for some time.
He turns the car back on, and backs out of the driveway. He stops at the mailbox, and drops a package inside. He puts the car in drive, and speeds away, hoping that he's gone unnoticed.
Gemma finds the envelope in the mail, the following day. Her name is written across the front of the envelope. She takes the pile of mail into the house, with her. She drops it on the counter. She opens the envelope with no stamp, or return address, first.
Inside she finds a sheet of paper, folded in half. She momentarily ignores what falls out of the letter. The piece of paper is not even a letter. She reads it to herself, and furrows her brow, in confusion. County Record:228765, is scrawled in the center of the paper. She looks at the counter, and reaches for the item that fell out of the paper.
It's a picture. She scrutinizes it. Two identical boys stand in the picture, side by side. She stares at it, in confusion. She turns it over to see if there is anything written on it. Before her brain can even process what it says, she realizes that it's written in John's handwriting. She swallows hard, and takes a second look. Thomas (L) Benjamin (R)-March 1989.
She drops the picture on the floor, and clasps her hand over her mouth. Suddenly she feels as if she's going to be sick. Then she recalls the piece of paper. She folds it up, and places it in her purse. She heads to the county municipal building.
She waits in line. Finally after fifteen minutes the woman standing out the counter is able to process her request. She waits, impatiently at the counter, for her to return. Gemma drums her fingers on the surface of the counter.
"Ma'am," the clerk returns, "I'm sorry, but I can't help you."
"I need those records."
"I understand, but those records have been missing, since 1993."
"John," she mutters under her breath, and stomps off.
Later that night, she's sitting at the dinner table, thinking of the items from earlier in the day, that are now safely tucked away in her hat boxes, along with her guns. She looks up from her plate, and notices headlights, outside the window. The stop for a moment, and then disappear, into the night. Without a word, she leaves the table, and heads for the door.
"Where are you going?" Clay inquires.
"I forgot to check the mail earlier."
"Can't it wait?"
"I'm waiting on a package," she lies.
He rolls his eyes, and continues to eat his dinner. She leaves the house. She steps outside, with her car keys, in hand. She makes her way down the sidewalk, stopping at the mailbox. She reaches in, and pulls out the envelope. She unlocks her car, and climbs in.
Once she's safely locked in her car, she turns on the dome light, and tears into the package. She pulls out a piece of paper. She stares at the copy, of the legal document. She begins to read it. The details aren't right. She looks at the name, on the copy of the birth certificate. Her heart skips a beat.
It reads; Benjamin Gabriel Teller. For a moment, she considers that it's some sort of typo, some clerical error. But, as she continues to read, she realizes that it's not. All of the birth details, are different. They are inconsistent with Thomas's.
She hides the document under her seat, and climbs out. She heads back inside. She clears the table, without a word to Clay. By the time she makes it to bed, he's already snoring.
By the time that she wakes up in the morning, Clay is already gone. She gets dressed, and starts to head for the office, but she feels herself being pulled back in. She stops in the hallway, and stares at the picture on her wall. The picture of Jackson, and Thomas. She freezes on Thomas's smile. A gap, on the bottom row. As if he's missing a tooth.
"It's not the right tooth," she says to herself.
She shakes off the sense of impending doom, and forces herself to go to the office, that morning. She remains distracted, the entire day. She is able to make it to dinner, without being questioned.
She sits down at the dinner table, and Clay furrows his brow.
"Something on your mind?" she questions.
"I could ask you the same."
"No, why do you ask?"
"You've been quiet, all day."
"So?"
"You're never quiet. You always have something to say."
"I'm just tired."
"You came to bed pretty late last night."
"Sorry."
"Did your package come?"
"Um, no."
"Gemma, what's going on?"
"Nothing," she lies.
"You're going to have to do better than that, if you're going to convince me."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Then, history says, you probably should."
"Were you at the hospital when Thomas was born?"
"No. No one but John was. We all got there afterwards."
"Why?"
"No reason."
"It was an emergency c-section, and it was over, by the time that we got there."
"Oh."
"Why do you ask?"
"I was just thinking about it today."
"Why?"
"I don't know, something just made me think about it, I guess."
"Don't you remember?"
"No," she replies honestly.
"No?"
"They put me under. They didn't want to take any chances that my heart would go into an irregular rhythm."
"So you don't remember any of it?"
"I had a terrible reaction to the drugs that they gave me. I remember waking up, when he was two days old."
"Gemma, is something going on, that I should know about?"
"No, why?"
"You don't usually bring him up."
"He's just been on my mind, lately, that's all."