Nothing but the Truth

“Min kärlek, I must tell you something.” My mother was sitting at the kitchen table, her blonde hair a mess around her face. She was wearing a big gray sweatshirt, and had her eyes on the coffee mug in her hands.

Immediately, I sat down next to her. She had been working like crazy the past two weeks, and with me in school, I'd hardy seen her. I wondered why she was wearing such a heavy shirt in mid-April, then wondered why in God's name she was home and what in God's name had happened. “What's wrong?”

She cleared her throat, still staring at the dark liquid in her cup. “Your grandmother called this morning, from California. It seems that Dean... your pappa, he had an accident this morning. Han gick bort. Your father is dead.”

For a minute, I just stared at my mother. I almost didn't understand why she was telling me this. After Miranda died, my father fled town. Rather than have a big court case to convict him, Mom chose to flee herself, but to Maine. I hadn't seen him since I was eight, and I didn't care to. As far as I was concerned, he was my sperm donor and that was it. A bizarre rush of relief ran through me, knowing that he was gone for good.

“Good riddance,” I finally said quietly.

Mom finally looked at me. “That is not all I must tell you.”

Never before had I seen my mother like this, not even when my sister killed herself. She was barely trying to disguise the thick Swedish accent, and her eyes were so haunted, I could see the ghosts of her family in them. I took a deep breath and nodded, ready to listen.

“You know that I moved to America when I was fifteen, from Sweden. I lived with my grandmother in Augusta until she avled when I was seventeen. I was young and mycket poor. A friend of mine lived in New York City, so I went there. Within six months, I had become en hora... a prostitute. I went to men's houses and apartments, often while their wives were not home, and had sex with them for money. Many of the kunder were regulars, and I got to know a few of them. Dean was one of them. One of the men got me pregnant, and I was mycket rädd – very scared. I did not know how to raise a baby. I told Dean, and he said he was in love with me and wanted to marry me. I accepted, and we moved to Humboldt to raise my bebbis. My Miranda. A few years later, we had you.”

Unable to look into her eyes, I closed my own. “What your saying is... Miranda was only my half sister? She wasn't his child?”

"Ja. Jag är så ledsen, Marina kärlek."

Her apology didn't matter to me. I wasn't angry at my mother, necessarily, though I wished she would've told me years ago. I was too shocked to be angry. This changed everything.

“Miranda wanted you to have this.” Mom slid an envelope across the table and towards my hands.

To Marina, when she is old enough to understand. The words, written in my sister's neat penmanship, had faded over the years, but it was still dark enough to make my heart contract painfully. Why was this happening? Mom and I hadn't discussed Miranda or my father in years, but now everything was out in the open. I felt like I was going to throw up.

“I have to go to choir practice,” I mumbled, standing up. After walking quickly to my room, I placed the letter on my bed. Reading it now was impossible. Instead, I left the house and ran all the way to Mercury Theater, hoping to God that nothing else would surprise me on the way there. I wouldn't be able to handle it.