DNA DOESN’T LIE (Excerpt)

September 27, 2018 by CS Devereaux

CS Devereaux

… “Here, try this,” Lisa said from over her shoulder. She handed Celine a flat head screwdriver.

“You brought a screwdriver?” Celine looked up at her friend. “What didn’t you think of?”

“I never rummage in attics unprepared. I was a girl scout, after all.” Lisa smiled. “Hurry, open it.”

Celine pried open the lid while Lisa crouched next to her, as eager as Celine to see what was inside.

“Oooh, I’ve got chills,” Lisa said. “I have a hunch whatever’s in there is going to be good.

“Aw, come on, you and your hunches. It’s probably just a bunch of old documents and photos.” Though as intrigued as Lisa, Celine smirked. “Or Mom and Dad’s love letters. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

After applying a little elbow grease, the lid popped open. Folded yellowed papers, old photos filled the box.

“See, I told you.”

“What are those?” Lisa asked.

Cards and letters lay neatly stacked in one corner. On top lay an envelope, creased from opening and closing many times over. Next to the letters, a box with a pink ribbon around it.

Celine picked up a handful of letters. “Postmarked Reno, Nevada. That’s where I was born,” she mused. “The ones on top are addressed to Mom. Probably love letters, just like I thought.”

Lisa grasped a handful and unfolded one of them “What on earth?”

Celine, in the middle of pulling a letter out of its envelope, swung around and leaned closer to her friend. “What did you find?” She set her handful of letters to one side.

“It’s a missing person’s flyer. From 1968. Listen to this: ‘Have You Seen Me? Name,” Lisa paused and cast a long look at her friend, “Cynthia Dugan. Date of Birth, yours, Celine, 12/27/66. Missing, 02/14/68—”

Celine snatched the flyer from Lisa’s hands. “Let me see that!” She gasped. “Good Lord, that’s me! Look at the photo. The rest describes me, too.” Her brow furrowed, she read the last lines. “It says I disappeared from the Parkland Mall in Reno. Celine’s voice trailed to nothing. “I−I don’t understand.”

“I do!” Lisa blurted. “Your parents kidnapped you from the mall after they discovered your mom couldn’t have kids.

“What! How can you say something like that? You knew them. They were good people. And they loved you. Mom and Dad would never…”

“I’m just saying, good people do desperate things sometimes. She couldn’t, could she? Have children, I mean.”

“Not after she had me. At least, that’s what she told me,” Celine said slowly. “But, really, Lisa, I find it hard to believe—” Celine shook her head and dug into the mystery chest again. She picked up the tiny beribboned box, and set it in her lap. “No! I don’t believe it,” she said firmly, then gave Lisa a hard look. “Not my parents.”

“Well, here’s another possibility. Maybe they adopted you, and the adoption agency in Reno was less than scrupulous. I’ve heard of that happening.”

“But these papers prove they knew about it,” Celine said. “If they did, I can’t believe Mom and Dad wouldn’t give me back to my rightful mother.”

The little box momentarily forgotten, she unfolded an old newspaper clipping. “Look, here’s another one—two, three—clippings, begging for info about missing baby Cynthia. They increased the reward in this one.” She handed the clipping to Lisa. “Look, there was a state-wide campaign in Nevada to find me.” Celine pursed her lips. “I wonder, could it have happened the other way around—Was I kidnapped? And later found and returned?”

“That makes no sense,” Lisa replied. “Your birth parents would have called you by your given name. The adoption agency might have renamed you, but that wouldn’t have mattered. Your mom and dad would still call you by your real name. The only thing that makes sense is that the Dugans were never your birth parents. Did you or your mom and dad ever do one of those DNA tests? They’re really popular.”

“No. I wanted to,” Celine said. “But Mom was against it. There was all that bad press about genealogy companies stealing your DNA and using it for unauthorized purposes.” She shrugged, then frowned.

“That’s a shame,” Lisa said. DNA doesn’t lie.” She shuffled through the envelopes and pulled a letter from one of them.

Celine gulped back tears as she fingered the miniature box. A sense of disconnect swept over her. The thought that her parents weren’t who they seemed was more than she was prepared to handle. Her chest tightened. But I look like Mom. I have Dad’s smile, his sense of humor. This can’t be happening. With shaking hands, she tugged on the end of the faded pink ribbon and lifted the lid.

Prickles swept through her body. Inside, nestled in yellowed cotton, a pair of tiny white-beaded baby bracelet had a name spelled out. One read, Celine. The other, Cynthia.

Her face lit with wonder, Celine held out both hands, a bracelet nestled in each trembling palm, and raised tear-filled eyes to her friend.

“Lisa, look… I have a sister!”