Chapter 23 - JULIE
Julie Cole called me herself.
Four months later.
I was in the grocery store.
Frozen-food aisle.
No warning.
“Is this Ethan Harper?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Julie Cole.”
Everything around me disappeared.
Not literally.
A toddler was screaming beside frozen waffles.
Somebody dropped a basket.
Life refused to provide dramatic silence.
“I know who you are.”
“I assumed.”
I gripped the cart.
“Is Ben okay?”
“Yes.”
Immediate relief.
Then fear again.
“Then why are you calling?”
Julie took a breath.
“Because he found the folder.”
Of course.
Children and folders.
Our lives could apparently be reduced to poor document storage.
“What folder?”
“The medical history your attorney sent.”
I closed my eyes.
“Does he know?”
“He knows there are biological siblings.”
“How much?”
“Not much.”
Julie sounded tired.
“He asked why he has siblings he's never met.”
I did not answer.
She continued.
“Mark wants to wait another year.”
“What do you want?”
“I don't know.”
Good answer.
“I thought maybe talking to you would help.”
I looked at my cart.
Milk.
Bread.
Cereal Lily hated but ate anyway.
Ordinary things.
“What do you want to know?”
Julie was quiet.
Then:
“Are you going to try to take him?”
“No.”
She exhaled.
I hated that she had needed to ask.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“You didn't hesitate.”
“I've already learned that lesson with Noah.”
I told her enough.
Not Rachel's crimes.
Not every ugly detail.
Just that Noah was genetically mine and legally, emotionally, practically David's son.
Julie listened.
Then asked:
“Does that hurt?”
“Yes.”
I surprised both of us.
“But hurting doesn't make me entitled to fix it by hurting somebody else.”
Silence.
Julie started crying.
Quietly.
I stood beside frozen pizza and let a stranger cry on the phone.
Then she said:
“Ben wants to know their names.”
I didn't breathe.
“Okay.”
“Just names.”
“Okay.”
“No photographs yet.”
“Okay.”
“No calls.”
“Okay.”
She almost laughed.
“You're agreeing very fast.”
“I've learned slow is usually better.”
“Your family story suggests otherwise.”
That was fair.
I smiled.
“Point taken.”
She gave me permission to tell Lily, Noah, and Maya his first name.
Nothing else.
That evening we sat the three children down.
Lily leaned forward.
Noah tried pretending he wasn't excited.
Maya stared from the tablet.
I said:
“His name is Ben.”
Lily smiled immediately.
“Ben.”
Just a name.
Nothing more.
But suddenly the fourth child was not a code.
Not H-417B.
Not FP-88.
Ben.
Noah asked:
“Can I write him a letter?”
I almost said no.
Then stopped.
“We can ask his parents.”
Lily grabbed paper anyway.
“What are you writing?”
She looked offended.
“I can write it before they say yes.”
Fair.
At the top she wrote:
HI BEN.
Then stopped.
“What do I call us?”
I sat beside her.
“What do you want to call yourselves?”
She thought.
Then wrote:
WE'RE THE OTHER KIDS.
I laughed.
She didn't.
May you like
“It's true.”
It was.
