Page 4 of Eleven of a Kind

“I’m sorry, Riley.”

“Shit happens, right?” She took a bite of her cheeseburger.

I took in a deep breath. My phone pinged with a text from Grayson.

“Sorry, bro. I was tied up in surgery. What happened? Are you okay?”

“Just get over here as soon as you can.”

“How did you get a plane ticket to come here?”

“I used my mother’s credit card. She kept one for emergencies in the kitchen drawer. After she died, I took it in case I needed it. I booked the flight in my name using her card, then called the credit card company, pretended I was her, and canceled the card.”

“And where did you fly in from?”

“Hawaii.”

“Is that where you lived?”

“No. We lived in a small town in Georgia. After she died, social services did their research and contacted her parents. They flew in and took me back to Hawaii since they were my only family. I was only there two weeks before I got the hell out.”

“Wait a second. Are you saying you ran away?”

“I guess you could say that.” She shrugged.”

“They must be worried sick about you,” I spoke with irritation.

“They were going to send me away to boarding school.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Because they’re terrible people.”

“And what makes you think I’m your father?”

She reached into her backpack, pulled out a folded document, and slid it across the table.

“This does.”

I picked it up, unfolded it, and stared at the birth certificate that listed my name as the father.

“She told me about you,” Riley said. “She told me all about that summer she spent in Hawaii.”

I closed my eyes for a moment because I remembered that summer all too well.

“I don’t blame you,” she said. “She told me she never told you about me. She found out she was pregnant when she went back to New York. When her mother found out, she was furious, and being the pretentious bitch she is, she sent her away so no one would know she was pregnant. She told everyone that she sent her to study abroad. She really sent her to a ranch in Montana for pregnant teens. She wasn’t allowed to have any contact with anyone outside of the ranch. The plan was that I would be put up for adoption after I was born, and my mother would return to New York and move on with her life as if it never happened. But my mom was smart. She grew close to one of the ranch hands, and he helped her after I was born.”

“Helped her how?”

“He snuck us out of the hospital and drove two hours away to his mother’s house, where we stayed until she was well enough to travel. After about a week, he gave her some money and an old car, and she took me and left Montana.”

“Is that how you ended up in Georgia?” I asked.

“No. We were only in Georgia for the past two years. We moved around a lot. We mostly stayed in small towns because those people hired private investigators to find us.”

“Your grandparents?”

“Don’t call them that,” she said. “Anyway, we took care of each other. It was always just the two of us.”