Only now there really was a reason for them to hate her, and the minute Spencer told them, their concern, their rare show of love, would vanish. Spencer squeezed them hard, savoring the very last moment they’d probably ever speak to her again. She’d put this off for as long as she possibly could, but she had to tell them sometime.
She stepped back and squared her shoulders. “There’s something you need to know,” she admitted, her voice hoarse from the smoky air.
“Is it about Alison?” Mrs. Hastings’s voice swooped. “Because, Spence—”
Spencer shook her head, cutting her off. “No. Something else.”
She gazed at the blackened branches high in the sky. Then the truth spilled out in rapid succession. How, after Spencer’s grandmother, Nana Hastings, didn’t leave Spencer any money in her will, Melissa suggested Spencer might have been adopted. How Spencer registered with an online adoption site and just days later received a message that her birth mother had been found. How her visit with Olivia Caldwell in New York had been so wonderful that Spencer decided she wanted to move to the city permanently. Spencer just kept talking, afraid that if she stopped, she’d burst into tears. She didn’t dare look at her parents, either, for fear their devastated expressions would break her heart.
“She had left behind her real estate agent’s card, so I called and gave him my college savings account number to cover the security deposit and first month’s rent,” Spencer went on, curling her toes inside her gray suede slouch boots. She could barely get the words out.
A squirrel scuttled in the grimy underbrush. Her father groaned. Her mother squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hand to her forehead. Spencer’s heart sank. Here we go. Commence Operation: You’re Not Our Daughter Anymore. “You can guess what happened next.” She sighed, gazing at a tall birdhouse near the deck. Not a single bird had approached it since they’d been out here. “The broker was obviously working with Olivia, and they cleaned out the account and disappeared.” She swallowed hard.
The backyard was silent and still. Now that the sunlight was almost gone, the barn looked like a ghost town relic, the dark windows like hollow eye sockets in a skull. Spencer sneaked a peek at her parents. Her dad was pale. Her mom sucked in her cheeks, as if she’d swallowed something sour. They exchanged a nervous look, then checked the front yard, perhaps scanning for press vans. Reporters had been pulling up to the house all day, grilling Spencer about whether she’d really seen Ali.
Her dad took a deep breath. “Spencer, the money doesn’t matter.”
Spencer blinked, startled.
“We can trace what happened to it,” Mr. Hastings explained, wringing his hands. “It’s possible we’ll be able to get it back.” He gazed off at the weather vane on top of the roof. “But . . . well, we should have seen it coming too.”
Spencer frowned, wondering if her brain was screwed up from inhaling residual fumes from the fire. “W-what?”
Her dad shifted his weight and glanced at his wife. “I knew we should’ve told her years ago, Veronica,” he mumbled.
“I didn’t know this was going to happen,” Spencer’s mom squeaked, raising her hands. The air was so chilly, her breath came out in visible puffs.
“Tell me what?” Spencer pressed. Her heart started to thud. When she breathed in, all she could smell was ash.
“We should go inside,” Mrs. Hastings said distractedly. “It’s awfully cold out here.”
“Tell me what?” Spencer repeated, planting her feet. She wasn’t going anywhere.
Her mother paused for a long time. A creaking noise sounded from inside the barn. Finally, Mrs. Hastings sat down on one of the enormous boulders that peppered the big backyard. “Honey, Olivia did give birth to you.”
Spencer’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Kind of gave birth to you,” Mr. Hastings corrected.
Spencer took a step back, a brittle twig snapping under her boot. “So I was really adopted? Olivia was telling the truth?” Is this why I feel so different from you guys? Is this why you’ve always preferred Melissa—because I’m not really your daughter?
Mrs. Hastings spun the three-carat diamond on her finger. Somewhere deep in the woods, a tree branch fell to the ground with an earsplitting crack. “This certainly isn’t something I thought we’d discuss today.” She took a Zen-centering breath, shook out her hands, and raised her head. Mr. Hastings rubbed his gloved hands together fast. Suddenly, they both looked so clueless. Not like the always-poised, absolutely-in-control parents Spencer knew so well.
“Melissa’s delivery was complicated.” Mrs. Hastings drummed her hands on the slick, heavy boulder. Her eyes flickered to the front of the house for a moment, watching as a battered Honda slowed at their driveway. Curious neighbors had been circling the cul-de-sac all afternoon. “The doctors told me that giving birth to another child could endanger my health. But we wanted another baby, so we ended up using a surrogate. Basically . . . we used my egg and your dad’s . . . you know.” She lowered her eyes, too demure and proper to say sperm aloud. “But we needed a woman to carry the baby—you—for us. So we found Olivia.”
“We screened her thoroughly to make sure she was healthy.” Mr. Hastings sat down next to his wife on the rock, barely noticing that his handmade A. Testoni loafers had sunk into the sooty mud. “She seemed to fit what we wanted, and she seemed to want us to have you. Only, toward the end of her pregnancy, she started to get . . . demanding. She wanted more money from us. She threatened to escape to Canada and keep you for herself.”