I stared at the paper in my hands wondering what the fuck I was reading. My eyes scanned the area around the mailbox and the perimeter of the house, but there was no one in sight. This had to be a joke. Any minute now, the cameras were going to come out from behind the other homes on our street, or a van would drive up and Ashton Kutcher would slide the door open, laughing hysterically at my melodramatic performance on the front porch. The longer I waited, the longer nothing happened. Kids continued to play in their yards, my neighbor still mowed his grass, and the occasional car still drove by without stopping.
The words on the page jumbled into a toxic mess my brain refused to comprehend.
Please consider this letter as a formal request to arrange a paternity test
DNA
for minor child Airy.
Airy—that was a name I hadn't heard in years. I'd gone out with Chelsea Airy once, and we'd been friends for a while after my dad's fiftieth birthday party. I hadn't heard so much as a peep from her since I'd gotten engaged. I'd reached out a handful of times, but she'd quit responding and fell off the face of the earth, and I hadn't thought about her since. There hadn't been a text, an email, a phone call, not even a Facebook message. She'd disappeared from my life as randomly as she'd stumbled into it.
Flipping the envelope over, I again read the return address and wondered who the hell sent this kind of information through the fucking mail. Clary, White, & Boyd—that's who.
“Mr. Carpenter, are you okay?"
The little girl from across the street pulled my thoughts back to the present, and my hand from my head when she tugged on my elbow. I realized I'd been standing in the same spot since I'd opened the letter and had yanked my hair by the roots since I'd begun reading.
“Oh, um. Yeah. Jamie, I'm fine."
“You look like my daddy after my mommy yells at him. Did Mrs. Carpenter yell at you?"
“Not yet, but I'm sure she will." I mumbled under my breath, “Right before she files for divorce."
“Maybe you should get her flowers. If it's really bad, my daddy buys my mommy things that sparkle. Maybe Mrs. Carpenter would like sparkles, too."
All the diamonds in the world wouldn't fix this—Cora could forgive a lot, but she'd never wanted children.
