Sorry about the late update! I've been caught up in guests visiting, rehearsals for the summer musical, and of course, Harry Potter (midnight premiere, seeing the movie a second time, crying over certain characters, etc. :D)! Anyway, here's the next installment!
CHAPTER 7: Mixed Emotions
I sat on the branch for what seemed like hours, even after my sobs had subsided. It was still raining, and I let the drops slide down my skin, washing away my tears. Up here, surrounded by green leaves and branches, I felt completely alone, which I was glad of. I didn't want anyone to see me like this, didn't want anyone to try and talk to me. Most of all, I didn't want anyone to ask questions.
I leaned against the trunk of the tree, saddened but a lot calmer since my mother had told me about my "father." Then came the inevitable onslaught of questions, none of which I had answers for. If Sam was not my father, who was? Why had I never met him? Why hadn't I been told about all of this? I shouldn't have been permitted to grow up not knowing my own father!
The more I thought about it, the more I realized how incredibly dense I must have been all these years. I didn't share any features with either of my parents, especially Sam, as I supposed I would be calling him now. My mother and I had always been close, and she really knew me. "Father," however, never seemed to truly understand me as a person.
I wiped the few remaining tears from my eyes and leaned my head on the rough bark of the tree. Mere hours ago, my life had been so much easier; I had been happy. It was amazing to me how a simple sentence can leave such a large impact on someone's life.
Just as I closed my eyes in an effort to relax, I heard sounds at the base of my tree. I immediately froze, absolutely silent, hoping that whatever was down there wouldn't find me. The noise came again, louder than any sound a squirrel or bird could have made. It sounded like footsteps.
I tried to conceal myself in the leaves, but it was too late. Someone was climbing up.
I turned away, planning to ignore whoever was climbing, when a familiar voice reached my ears. "Elle?" it said, curious.
I looked over my shoulder warily, and my eyes widened. "Danny?" I asked in disbelief. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing," he responded; he wasn't angry, just curious as to why I was here. I wiped my eyes again, embarrassed that he was seeing me now, of all times.
I paused for a moment, trying to think of something clever to say, but all that came out was, "I—I asked you first." He laughed ruefully.
"You probably don't want to know. Why are you here?"
"You probably don't want to know," I mimicked.
He set his jaw, and I could tell he was contemplating answering. "This is where I go whenever my father gets angry. Today, he really lost it; he's been drinking more and more lately, and everything sets him off. He started throwing things around the kitchen, and he was going to start on me if I hadn't ran out the door. Here is the only place I really feel like he won't be able to find me. Up until now, I thought no one knew about it except for me."
I found that I wasn't surprised; I knew something had to have been wrong when Danny's father treated me so cruelly on the Fourth of July. "What about Josie?" I asked, hoping that the little girl was okay. "Where is she?"
"She went to a friend's house, thank God. She hasn't met many people yet, but she's made a couple of good friends. She went over for a while to play and wasn't at home when he lost his temper; I'm so glad of it."
I nodded slowly, amazed that he had shared this information. He looked at me. "Well, I've told you my story. Now why are you here?"
I didn't want to tell him, and I didn't even know where I would begin if I did. "It's complicated."
"You can tell me."
I shied away from his outstretched hand as he reached over to put it on my shoulder. "Is it really that bad?" He asked softly. Part of me wanted to nod my head yes, and avoid telling him anything. The other part of me, however, needed to talk.
"It's my father. Or, rather, who I thought my father was."
"What do you mean?"
"My—my mother called me in to talk this morning. My 'father,'" I said sarcastically, "was standing there too. She told me to sit down, and then discussed how—how I look. She, um, pointed out how I don't look anything like either one of them, and I thought she was trying to say that I was adopted."
I paused, feeling tears well up in my eyes as I retold the story. "She told me that, though she is my mother, her husband, Sam, is not my father. Danny, they've been lying to me my whole life!"
Danny didn't say anything for a moment. Then, he said tentatively, "Elle, you shouldn't think of it as a lie. Maybe your mother was just waiting to tell you at the right time. Maybe she was waiting until you were old enough to know."
"You don't understand!" I said desperately. "At least you have an actual father! Imagine growing up under the impression that you had two biological parents, only to find out that one of them is not even related to you at all!"
"I know. I know it must be hard," He said sympathetically. "But you can't just go around feeling sorry for yourself, Elle. Did your mother tell you who your real father was?"
"No," I said shakily.
"Ask her. Give her a chance to tell you the full story; don't just take what you know and accuse her of lying."
Danny's words, though somewhat harsh considering the circumstances, made perfect sense. He was absolutely right.
I had to ask her. I had to know who my father was.
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