Chapter 2
David Foster.
My old college roommate, the only guy who had my back when my whole world fell apart. He was a lawyer, too.
But by the time he stepped in, all the evidence had been destroyed and every dollar I owned was long gone.
But this time, things were going to be different.
I hit the dial button.
After three rings, he picked up.
"Hello? Michael Carter?" David asked.
David's voice was still young. In 2003, he'd only had his law license for two years.
"David, are you busy?" I asked.
"Just got off work. What's up? Linda's having the baby today, right? Congrats, man!" he said.
"Thanks," I said, pausing for a couple of seconds. "I need a favor."
"Go ahead," he replied.
"I need you to find me a paternity test lab. Reliable, and super discreet," I said.
There was a five-second silence on the other end.
"Michael, what do you mean by that?" David asked, sounding a bit uneasy.
"Just look into it for me," I said.
"Alright," he replied.
After hanging up, I slipped my phone back into my pocket.
Outside the window at the end of the hallway, the August sunset blazed across half the sky.
In my last life, I was grinning like a fool, calling every single relative to brag about it.
But this time, the first number I dialed was my lawyer.
Linda.
You once told me, "So what if you know?"
This time, I'll show you what happens.
Three days after Linda was discharged from the hospital, she was recovering well.
She was a master at putting on an act. Even though she'd just given birth and looked pale, her eyes always held that perfect mix of dependence and tenderness whenever she looked at me.
I warmed up some milk and brought it to her bedside.
"Honey, you look like you've lost weight these days," Linda said, taking the cup and giving me a worried little frown. "Emily cried a bunch last night, but you didn't wake me up."
"Just focus on getting better. I'll take care of Emily," I replied.
"Thanks for all you do," she said softly.
Linda reached out, wrapping her warm hand around my fingers.
Back then, I would've thought this was happiness.
But now, all I could feel was a chill in my fingertips.
In the living room, eight-year-old Henry was bent over the coffee table, working on his summer homework and muttering the multiplication table under his breath.
I walked over and sat down beside him.
Henry. I found myself staring at him as he worked, lost in thought.
And yet, he looked nothing like me.
Back then, I always thought Henry looked more like Linda, soft features, nothing like me. People always said, "Daughters take after their dads, sons after their moms," and I just believed it without a second thought.
Man, I was such an idiot.
But Henry had no idea about any of this.
He called me "Dad," waited for me to come home every day, got nervous when his grades slipped, and whenever he came in first, he would run to show me his test.
Eight years.
For eight years, he truly saw me as his real dad.
But I also knew that in my previous life, when Henry grew up, he stood next to Linda and looked at me with eyes that were cold and distant, like I was just some stranger.
Linda could shape him into someone like that.
Twenty years together, and all it took was her words to ruin it.
"Dad, how do I do this problem?" Henry asked.
I tore my eyes away and looked over his workbook.
"Hmm. Try to figure it out yourself first. If you can't, I'll help you," I said.
"Okay," he replied.
He kept his head down and went back to crunching numbers.
I got up and went out to the balcony, lighting a cigarette.
Last time around, I managed to quit, but right now, I really needed that nicotine hit to steady my nerves.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
It was a text from David.
[Got the lab. Central City Forensic Lab. Results in three business days, and privacy's solid. You really want to do this?]
I shot back: [Yeah.]
David texted again: [Let's meet up tomorrow. Some things are better said in person.]
I stubbed out my cigarette and replied: [Okay.]
*****
The next day at noon, I told Linda I had something urgent at work and drove over to David's law firm.
He was waiting for me in his small office on the second floor. As soon as I closed the door, he just stared at me for a long moment.
"Alright, spill it. What's going on?" David said.
David never beat around the bush.
"I think Henry might not be my son," I said.
David frowned.
"Got any proof?" he asked.
"Just a gut feeling," I said.
No way I could tell him I'd lived another life.
David opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, then thought better of it.
"Alright. What kind of sample do you need?" he asked.
"Just some hair with the follicles attached," I said.
"Did you bring it?" David asked.
I pulled a sealed bag out of my pocket, it had a few hairs I'd taken from Henry's pillow that morning.
David glanced at the bag, then back at me.
"Michael, what if the results aren't what you're hoping for?" David asked.
"Honestly, that'd be the best outcome," I said.
He took the bag and nodded.
"I'll get you the results in three days. Just don't do anything crazy until then," he told me.
"Relax," I replied.
I stood up, ready to leave.
But as I reached the door, I paused.
"David," I said.
"Yeah?" he replied.
"If the results show he's not my son, I need you to do something for me," I said.
"What is it?" David asked.
"I need you to check my wife's bank statements," I said.
David's expression shifted.
"Michael, what's this all about?" he asked.
"I'll tell you after you check," I said.
I didn't stick around for more questions, just turned and walked out.
On the way back, I pulled over to the side of the road and just sat there, leaning on the steering wheel for ten minutes.
All those memories from my previous life kept replaying in my head.
Linda and Peter.