Chapter 29

Greg was sitting in his cabin on the Amtrak train heading east; working on his third scotch. His leg ached like it hadn't since before he kicked Vicodin. The liquor and the anti-inflammatory barely took the edge off. He rubbed at his thigh, angry with himself for being a cripple, physically and emotionally. The pathetic attempt at being pleasantly human and trying to enjoy life backfired. Karma bit him in the ass and was now leaving him to bleed out slowly.

If there ever was a time he felt he really deserved to be locked in a padded room, it was now. House wanted to bang his head against the wall for a little bit or pound his fists into something - just enough to distract himself from the leg pain and the emotional turmoil he felt. But he didn't dare do any of that on the train. Behavior like that could get him labeled as a terrorist; the main reason he chose the train over a plane.

No matter how long or how much he felt he could avoid the outside world, he needed one thing: to speak to his best friend. Wilson would commiserate with him on this one. He'd understand what House needed to hear from him to make this bearable. With that in mind, he turned on his cell phone.

Once the opening notes of the re-animation of the phone finished, several tones emitted from the device alerting him to voice mail and text messages.

"God, everybody and their brother is hunting me down!"

House scanned through the missed calls noting Wilson had tried to reach him. That meant he knew something was up. But just what they had told Wilson remained a mystery. He didn't dare listen to his messages. No doubt Jo's voice would be pleading to hear from him. He couldn't listen. Not now, anyway.

So he had another drink. Maybe he should call Nolan and set something up on his return. Maybe later. It was a holiday for most people. Let them eat their dried bird. Maybe he'd call Wilson later. And then he remember the time difference. Three hours later on the East Coast. They were probably just finishing up dinner. Another hour would be safer.

Another scotch later and he was still tortured about finding out his lover was his sister.

Joanne walked backed into her house after spending an hour staring out at all of the overlook points she and Greg had shared some time at. It was crazy to think he'd stop back at one of these spots to ponder the situation. Worse yet, she could imagine him throwing himself over the precipice. Mostly because she felt like doing it herself. Surely Greg could find a million reasons not to do it. She, on the other hand, didn't have much hope.

Things were not adding up. Her father was his biological father. She and Greg had sex. And neither Blythe nor her father seemed the least bit upset by it. How could that be?

Jo walked in and went straight to her room. From the closet she pulled out her overnight case and began tossing a few days' worth of clothes into it.

"JoJo, where are you going?" Her mother walked in and sat next to her case on the bed.

"I have to leave for a while. You and dad stay here. Take my room. Let Blythe and Sarah stay. I just need some time alone."

Her mom reached out to her as Jo's hands dropped clothes into the suitcase. "You don't have to leave. Your father and I have something to tell you."

"You know then. He told you."

"Yes dear. He said you had doubts about us."

"Doubts?"

"Let's go into the living room and talk."

"No mom, airing our dirty laundry in front of guests is inappropriate. Why don't you just tell me what you think I need to know?." The situation was getting weirder by the moment.

"I guess it's best if you hear it from me, then."

Jo moved the case and sat next to her mother. She held her hand, encouraging her to speak.

"Your father and I were unable to conceive. He turned to the church in his time of crisis. I turned to God in a different way. I prayed for a child to come. Days turned to weeks, months to years. Finally someone suggested adoption. We both thought of it, but never moved forward as American adoption agencies were not as they are now. We wanted a child - a baby. White, American and preferably a newborn. That was a rarity at the time.

"Finding you was a miracle."

"Finding me?" What does that mean? You went dumpster diving? Knocking on doors looking for abandoned babies? Checked garbage cans?"

"The Lord answered my prayers. You were left at the church rectory, outside on the doorstep. We took you in and you've been our daughter ever since."

"Legally?" It sounded like a crock of bull. There was no quick answer.

"Mom, you didn't steel me, did you?" What in the hell was this nightmare? Who in the hell were these people? No wonder Greg was so fucked up. Half-truths, un-lies and cover ups were everywhere she turned.

"I've got to go." She grabbed the suitcase, zipped it shut and headed out. The only solace she could glean from this was that she was in no way related to Greg!