Broken Identity (7 page)

He looked up at the black, starless sky and wondered if that’s what the inside of his soul looked like right now. Empty. He was really no better than his dad when it came down to it, was he?
Stop doing this to yourself, Drake. You know you’re tired. Get some sleep.
He had a lot to do when he woke up, and sleep would not be an option once he was typing away at the keyboard.

He closed his eyes and listened to himself breathe.
Three more hours. Maybe then, I’ll know the truth.

Andrew Tavner arrived at his mother’s house at precisely a quarter till seven with a mailbox tucked under his arm, just as he had promised.

“I didn’t know you’d go buy one tonight,” Kara said, taking the box from his arms. “Thank you.”

“Ah, no problem.”

“Such an expensive-looking one. I could have gotten along with a cheaper one just as fine.”

“Quit worrying about how I spend my money, Mom. At least your mail won’t be on the ground tomorrow.” Andrew meant for it to come across as a lighthearted comment, but it ended up sounding more irritable than intended. Was he still that angry over what had happened at his brother’s house? He found a chair and collapsed in it, guessing that he wouldn’t be leaving any time soon without first explaining to his mom why he was acting this way.

“Don’t slump, Andrew,” Kara said, seating herself across from him. “You know what that does to your posture.”

I’m sitting here stressing my mind to no end about keeping my brother away from Ronnie, and all you’re worried about is whether I’ll turn into a hunchback.
Andrew reluctantly scooted himself up higher just to be left alone. “I’ve been doing it for years, so I guess my vertebrae are still strong enough to take it,” he said flatly.
If only I could say the same thing about my nerves.

“You look tired, Andrew,” Kara said with concern. “Is everything all right?”

Andrew glanced around the room and asked where Ronnie was.

Kara paused to listen to the soft sounds of the television coming from the bedroom. “In the other room watching cartoons. We can talk.”

Andrew clasped his hands together and looked at his mother through weary eyes. “It’s about Kevin.” He snorted and said, “Course, who else would it be about? He asked to—well, no, it was more of a demand—to see Ronnie once a month. Can you believe the gall of him to ask such a thing?”

“But he can’t—”

“I know he can’t, and I told him. And boy, did I tell him. Made him mad, of course, but I wasn’t going to let his hateful stares and balled fists push me around…not like he did to Ronnie. Mom, I swear—”

“Don’t say that. I know you love Ronnie, just like I know you’ll take good care of him. Ronnie knows that too. I can see it on his face that he feels safe around you.”

Andrew could feel his blood pressure rising. “It isn’t just about that. Mom, you don’t understand. I wanted to
hit
Kevin. I’m talking about a full one-two punch in the face. I wanted revenge. A scar he could remember for life every time he looked in the mirror. I know he’s your son too, Mom, and he’s my brother, but do you ever just find yourself…I don’t know, almost hating someone?”

Kara looked away and fingered the delicate indentions of flower petals around the handle of her empty coffee cup. “I still have to love him, Andrew,” she said quietly. “I can’t hate him. I may disagree with him—”

“Oh, definitely that.”

“—and it may turn to anger, but never to hate. A mother can never hate her son.”

Andrew rubbed the palms of his hands together and said almost hesitantly, “I know in the Bible Jesus commands me to love my enemies and pray for those who persecute me, but what about the people who persecute my family? A child? Is He saying to forgive them and pray for them too? I try my hardest, but I can’t make that fit.”

His mother was silent, so he took it to be a yes.

Andrew studied the beige carpet between his shoes, unwilling to accept a response like that this soon. “I guess I know what the answer is, but it’s still hard. I can’t look into Ronnie’s eyes without seeing years of hurt and abuse there. Sometimes, I honestly don’t know if I can ever forgive Kevin for what he did.”

Kara thought for a moment. “Do you mind if I read you something I read in the Bible yesterday?”

Andrew winced. “Is it gonna make me feel like a jerk?”

Kara smiled. “Probably, but that’s OK. Good stuff to build on.” She picked up her worn, leather-bound Bible and turned to Romans chapter 12. “Repay no one evil for evil. Have regard for good things in the sight of all men. If it is possible, as much as depends on you, live peaceably with all men.”

“Notice Paul says, ‘If it is possible,’” Andrew pointed out.

“True, but you have to at least put forth an effort first and try. After that, if Kevin still refuses to be peaceable, at least you know you’ve done what’s right and that’s all God requires. The verse goes on to say, ‘Beloved, do not avenge yourselves, but rather give place to wrath; for it is written, “Vengeance is Mine, I will repay,” says the Lord. Therefore, “If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him a drink; for in so doing you will heap coals of fire on his head.” Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.’”

She closed her Bible and stared at Andrew, his face partially darkened by the shadowy lines of her staircase. “Andrew, no matter what you feel in your heart, no matter what situation you’re put through, you can’t make exceptions for God’s Word. If Jesus tells us to forgive, we forgive. He never tells us to trust that person again or make ourselves vulnerable to their attacks. He only tells us to forgive. Release Kevin from what he’s done. I’m not saying you have to trust him or open yourself up to more hurt, but release him. That way you’ve done your part, and by doing so, have untied God’s hands so He can begin to bring healing.”

Andrew nodded and massaged the back of his sore neck. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“God’s right. He always is. I’ve had your same struggle too, Andrew. You’re not alone. But when I turn to God and not to my anger, somehow the peace God instructs me to give comes naturally when I’m willing to listen and obey Him.”

Andrew turned his head as a shadow crept along the wall and saw Ronnie.

“You’re back!” Ronnie exclaimed, his eyes lighting up at the sight of his uncle. “You got my toys?”

Andrew smiled. “Everything. I also stopped by the grocery store on my way home and picked up some vanilla ice cream and lots of bananas. You know what that means, right?”

“Banana smoothie!” Ronnie shouted. He reached for his uncle’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “Come on before the ice cream melts!”

Andrew waved to his mom as Ronnie tugged him toward the door. “I’m being taken prisoner, but I’ll see if I can sneak a phone call to you tomorrow!”

“Don’t wear yourself out!” Kara called after him.

“I won’t!” Ronnie said.

“I was talking to your uncle!” Kara said, now laughing.

Andrew barely pulled the door shut behind him before being dragged down the porch steps. He felt so incredibly blessed to have Ronnie and his mother filling his life with joy at times he needed it the most.

Drake sat up suddenly, fully awakened by the jarring sound of a jackhammer breaking up concrete some fifty yards away from his truck. He blinked several times until his eyes adjusted to the light, his heart still racing to keep time with the jackhammer. Why was he surprised he had a headache? If it wasn’t caused by his dad, it would be from that idiot across the street. He lazily raised his arm to check the time on his watch.

The library had been open for nearly two hours now! Drake hurriedly pressed down his uncombed hair, shoved his keys in his pocket, and flung the truck door open. He had expected some emotion, but he was completely taken off guard by the tightness in his chest. He hadn’t found a single thing out yet, and already he felt sick.

Drake found an unoccupied computer next to the wall and jiggled the mouse to wake up the screen. He breathed slowly through his nose and ran his thoughts one last time through his mind.
Here we go, pal.

He moved the pointer to one of the search engines at the top of the Web page. He decided to use the hunt-and-peck method for typing
Stephanie Pearson, Missouri
for fear that the memory of anything beyond home-row keys would fail him. He hit the enter button and waited as the computer loaded the search results.

Fifty-two thousand, three hundred results.
What?
He quickly scanned down the list of web links.
Stephanie Pearson’s new ocean drilling program…find Stephanie Pearson, age 15, on MySpace…breakthrough made in new stem-cell research…Stephanie’s recipe book…
He let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair. Not even two minutes in front of the computer screen, and already he had run smack into a brick wall.
I can’t go through all these. I gotta be more specific.

He sat drumming his fingers lightly against the keys, wondering what he should type that would help narrow his search to a number preferably in the hundreds.
Looking for mom who left me twelve years ago? Man, what am I supposed to type? I don’t even know where she lives or if her last name’s changed by now.
Drake didn’t know his mom’s exact age and definitely had no clue as to what her maiden name was. He was literally left with nothing to go on and no one to turn to. He sure couldn’t rely on his dad for any help—that would be a joke. His situation suddenly seemed doomed to failure, and made him realize how foolish he had been for believing he could actually find information on someone he hardly knew anything about.
But if I don’t try—even if I have to go through every one of these fifty-two thousand links—I’ll never forgive myself.

Drake cleared the search and retyped
Stephanie and Ben Pearson Linhurst Peak Missouri.
Even though she no longer lived here and his dad was out of her life, it was all he had to work with. He had nothing else.

The page popped up almost instantly. Drake could feel the air escaping from his lungs. The first link captivated him, and for the longest time, he could do nothing but stare at the title.
The Stephanie Pearson trial.
With trembling hands still on the mouse, Drake leaned closer to the computer screen and read the small type beneath the headline.
Court rules death by drowning on November 14, 1997, an accident due to a sleeping disorder. Though there was substantial convicting evidence presented in the autopsy report, Ben Pearson was found innocent after presenting…

Drake felt as if his mind was shutting down. The room, the lights, the voices…everything began fading into a silent, distorted haze.

The headline drew his eyes in again. This must be talking about his mom, because there was his dad’s name directly beneath it.
Then that means she’s…

Leaving the Web page up, Drake darted outside to his truck and tore through his bag for his mom’s journal. He knew what he would find, yet he opened it anyway and frantically turned to the last written page.

Drake clamped a hand over his mouth as a surge of acidic vomit inflamed his throat.
No, it’s a lie. It has to be wrong.
He let the journal slip from his grasp and fall to the floor as he covered his face in his hands and sobbed.

In the top left corner, slightly smeared by blue ink, was the date November 14, 1997.