Putting on Airs

Knowns and Names

Putting on Airs Chapter 13: Knowns and Names

"That, Sang, is the reason the Randolfs couldn't rescue you through normal channels. It's why they couldn't find you after your family moved away. They didn't mean to let you down.

"It is also why we are so very glad we've already requested a closed adoption for you. You, Sang whatever-your-last name-is, are a ghost. You do not have an actual legal identity. If you will look at the birth certificates, you'll see they are decent forgeries—likely of another family member's legal document. It's illegal not to register a birth. Your parents could get in big trouble if this were to come to light," Owen explains.

I swallow heavily and let myself become numb as I think about both the Randolfs and my family. What do I do with this information? What can I do? Would my conscience allow me to strike at my father for all of the wrongs done to me and my sister?

Even Janine was a victim of his assholeishness. Boy, that must have been an interesting conversation when he broke the news of Marie's and my existence to her after Marie's mother died. He had to take care of selling the house and my stepmother's funeral arrangements. One of the first meetings I had with my father's new-old wife was of her demanding to know why my dad had to arrange any of his "former" wife's affairs. The man is a skilled, serial liar.

"What has you so deep in thought, Tweetie Bird?" Sean breaks into my internal rambling.

"I don't know what to do with that. I can't think about half of that right now," I say as I run my hands through my hair. When they snag at my ponytail, I yank the hair tie out and drop it into my lap. "And the Randolfs' actions are completely illogical. If you see a small child being abused, you don't keep it to yourself just so the kid doesn't go into the system. Sure, there are some really bad foster homes out there, but with the Randolfs' help and watchdogging, I could have been kept safe. I don't understand this."

I feel completely dejected.

"Unfortunately, the Randolfs probably thought they had more time. I'm not saying that what they did was right. I'm afraid they were so profoundly intent on you retaining your ghost status that they forgot you were at risk. I wish I had known you then, Sang. Sean or I would have kept looking had we known you were out there and in danger. If I'm honest, I'm rather angry with that couple. You should have been rescued immediately. What would your family have done? Reported a missing child that doesn't even exist and expose themselves? Not likely. You could have started a new life easily enough," Owen states as he walks to where I'm seated on the floor and kneels in front of me.

I look around at the boys that were my old playmates and am shocked to see guilt twisting their faces. I start shaking my head, knowing they are busily going through the 'what ifs' and 'if onlys.' A pointless endeavor that'll drive them bonkers if they keep it up. Opening my mouth to tell them so, my words are halted when Owen takes my hands in his. I search his swirling grey eyes and find only compassion.

"We can't know what they were thinking or planning, Sang. For all we know, they were behind the school counselor coming to your home. At this point, it's all supposition, as you were kept quiet within the Academy aside from a form stating their intent to adopt you. What I need to know now, for the sake of closure, is whether you wish to investigate their untimely demises. If you wish to pursue this, there is a thumb drive within that envelope containing the entire police file of their accident. We, of course, will assist you in any way we can." Owen watches me carefully as I tug my hand away and dip it into the 'gift' he has bestowed me.

I pull out the small object, and am nearly floored by the emotional weight the device carries. I'm still angry and hurt by the Randolfs, but they were decent people at the heart of it all. They wanted to help me—the first grownups to have done so. They certainly didn't deserve for their lives to be cut short like they were. I may not have been rescued, but my friends were. Who knows how many the guys themselves have saved since then. My mouth curls up slightly on one side, and I lift my eyes to meet Owen's. His impassive face twitches as if in pain before he lifts his hand to my face to brush the ninja tears off my cheeks. Darn things snuck out on me, and I didn't even feel them.

"I'll do it. I want to know. I just need you to do something for me," I say, trying to smile.

"Anything. Just ask," Owen says immediately, with several of the others chiming in with the same sentiment.

"Can someone print out all of the data on the drive? I don't have a computer to use," I say, finally able to smile fully. I bet he wasn't expecting that when he said I could have anything.

I laugh at Owen's perplexed expression and am thrilled when the others join me. This heavy business is entirely too dark for a party—not that I have much experience in that area.

I'll think about being a ghost and the symbiotic nature of that status with the Academy at some other time. Owen stands and holds his hands out to help me up. With my legs still folded under me, he uses more strength than usual to drag me to my feet. I can't hold back the grimace of pain that pulling on my shoulders causes.

"My sincere apologies, Sang," Owen almost shouts in panic. Aw, Owen. I didn't know you cared!

"No worries. I'll be alright," I try to soothe. "Tell him, Sean. I'm supposed to stretch my shoulders anyway. Preferably with the aid of someone else," I attempt to say the last part in an impersonation of Sean.

"Too right you are, Polka Dot! Let's teach the oaf how to do it properly so Owen doesn't give himself grey hairs at the age of twenty-one worrying about you," Sean teases.

Sean has Owen stand behind me and demonstrates quickly, but gently what he means by range of motion. After that, I'm left alone in the living room with Owen while everyone else heads to the kitchen to refill plates and cups with whatever they can find. Owen performs the stretches in a way that betrays his fear of hurting me again. It's really sweet of him, but it's also counterintuitive. How am I to regain my full strength if he isn't even having me rotate my shoulders as far as they can go naturally?

"Owen, you aren't extending the joints far enough. Think of how far your own arm can go, and then follow that," I suggest.

After retrieving several hardcover books and placing them on the floor for me to stand on, he  steps in closer and rings my wrist loosely with his hand so that I can still turn my arm as he rotates my shoulder. His smooth hands glide over my wrists and elbows as he guides my movements as far as his arms can extend while making concessions for my shorter limbs.

At this distance, I can smell his clean soap scent blending with a mixture of pizza and alcoholic beverages and feel his breath puff against the back of my head. I start to feel a little ashamed with how my body is reacting. Heat builds throughout my entire frame, and I feel it radiating off of myself as my breathing quickens. When Nate and Victor come back into the room, I'm afraid to see recrimination in their faces, but they simply watch with glassy-eyed curiosity.

"Mr. Griffin, if you would be so kind, I don't believe I am getting the full range of motion on the forward swing. Will you assist us with Sang's stretching?" Owen asks quietly, choosing the less wobbly of the two.

Nate sets his plate down on the coffee table and approaches. Before fully reaching us, his eyes find mine. "Is this alright, Sang?" he asks gently.

"Yes. It's fine," I whisper. He smiles down at me and listens while Owen explains how far my limbs are supposed to go.

I'm nearly vibrating with my need to do something. I don't know what it is, but I'm suddenly feeling antsy in the most frustrating way. My eyes find Nate's, and I'm mesmerized by the deep blue heat I see there. I swallow, and search for something to say. It turns out that I don't have to.

"So, how'd you get Mr. B to let you call him 'Owen?'" he whispers Owen's name like it's a foul word, and I start laughing.

Owen huffs out a silent laugh against my head, and I can finally stop concentrating on the tactile sensory input that was drowning me before.

"Sang didn't give me any other choice but to accept that she will call me Owen until I come up with an acceptable alternative," Owen explains.

"I'm taking recommendations," I say playfully.

"Good. We can all put in our votes tonight. I'm pretty sure everyone is spending the night here," Nate says with soft laughter audible. 

"Sounds like fun," I say honestly. Fun. Such a simple concept that has been so lacking in my life.