“Okay,” I said. “Just start at the beginning. I’m listening.”
He tipped his head back, the sun making his reddish-blond hair spark in the light, and blew out a long breath. I could almostfeelhim trying to gather the courage to continue, and my anxiety ratcheted up another level.
“So, Kholt told me that he mentioned to you that we come from similar backgrounds.”
I pulled my hands back and set them in my lap, both needing to see this through and dreading every word. “He did.”
“The other day, when you told the team about your history and where you came from, it really affected me.”
“Clearly,” I said, hoping it came across as affirmation and not sarcasm.
“There are some things about me that people don’t know. And it might be best if I start there and then bring this around.”
“Okay,” I said, nodding. “I told you. I’m here for you, and I’m listening.”
He scrubbed a hand down his face and looked to his left again, seeming to gather his thoughts.
“I was raised in a close-knit community on a multi-family ranch.”
“So was I,” I said, wanting him to know that I could relate.
He merely nodded. “My dad was incredibly influential in the community, and my mom was his right hand.”
“I can relate to that bit,” I said, my shoulders tightening as thoughts of Lionel and my mom came rushing back. I felt a little sick that Turner had been in a similar situation as I had, but I just hoped that his childhood was nowhere near as horrible as mine.
He nodded again. “Mom’s been battling cancer for a while now, and it resurfaced recently. Shewasdoing better but is no longer in remission. And . . . it’s bad. She likely doesn’t have long to live. The community doesn’t like outside healthcare and believes that anything that happens to those in the inner circle can be taken care of by others in the upper echelon.”
My stomach roiled. And his choice of words made me sweat even more. What were the chances that Turner and I had belonged to two groups who were so similar? And both in Louisiana to boot? Not yet able to find words, I just looked at him earnestly, hoping he would take my look as the hint it was meant as: for him to continue.
“Before I left home the last time,” he said, “Mom divulged a big secret. Something I hadn’t known my entire life.”
I could almost feel the anxiety rolling off him in waves now and whispered a little spell in my mind to calm him and make communication easier. It didn’t come as easily as it should have, and I knew that my emotional turmoil was likely contributing to my struggles there. Still, I pulled it off and saw the change in him almost instantly. His shoulders relaxed a fraction, and his breathing evened out a bit.
“Thanks for that,” he said, flashing me a slightly sad smile. I felt it like a warm hug around my heart, but it was tempered by the scratch of worry still lingering there.
“You’re welcome,” I replied.
“So, Mom . . .” he started again, “basically telling me that it was her dying wish, told me that I have a sibling. Someone I’d never met. Then she asked me to find them.” He looked over at me.
“She told me that they’d left home before I was born, and that she hadn’t been able to locate her since. She told me the things shedidknow, which wasn’t much. And then I left. I looked for work and eventually found the job withHaunted New Orleans.”
I reached out and put my hand on his knee. “Aw, honey. I know that had to be a lot, looking for a stranger and feeling the pressure of having it be that kind of request from your mom.” That was heavy, but I couldn’t understand why him finding out that he had additional family was a bad thing.
I squeezed his knee. “But that’s great, isn’t it? You have more family out there,” I said, feeling a wave of something wash over me. I couldn’t tell if it was coming from within me or from him and it made me tense, quickening my breathing a bit.
“It is,” he agreed. “I love the idea of having a sibling. And I’ve looked hard for her. Dug into a lot of things digitally, hoping to uncover a clue as to where she is now.”
“No luck?” I asked.
“No, I hadn’t been having any luck.”
I felt abutin that statement but wasn’t sure how to interpret it, so I just let him keep speaking.
He ran a hand over his mouth. “When you told us your story the other day, too much of it was familiar. Too much of it sounded like . . . home. And when you called it a cult, I just couldn’t process. That’s why I had to get out of there.”
He seemed to be talking a bit in circles, but I didn’t want to interrupt. And I knew what coming to that realization felt like. It wasn’t comfortable. It was like being betrayed by everything and everyone you had ever known in your life. Including yourself.
Not knowing how to say that without derailing him, I could only nod. The little bit of relief I’d felt when I thought this was something that I could help him through and not something I’d done disappeared suddenly. And everything else tightened in response. My chest was so tight my breaths burned, my stomach tied itself in knots again, and a lump lodged itself firmly in my throat. I was suddenly dangerously close to hyperventilating. If I didn’t control my breathing and calm my heart, I was headed for a full-blown panic attack. I feared I knew where he was going with this, and if I was right, it would mean the end of everything—everything I’d come to love and everything that made me feel like me—all at once.