‘Do you want me to go with you?’

‘No, Jeff. Thanks but no. I have to do this by myself.’

After changing my clothes and taking a quick shower I head to my dad’s. Is he my dad? I think about what I’m going to say to him. ‘Dad, am I adopted? Dad, did Mom abduct me?’ What if she did abduct me; what if Dad doesn’t know? What if it happened when he was away in the army? What if she lied to him too?

But the photos, my birth, the happy smiles, Mom, Dad, me, all huddled together on that hospital bed. Nothing is making sense.

The rain slows me down, making it twice the usual time to drive to Dad’s. Sitting at traffic lights I consider going back to Jeff’s. This is probably all a big mistake – it happens all the time in hospitals, I’ve seen it on TV, things get mixed up in the labs. People get diagnosed with diseases they don’t have or given the all clear when they’re practically dead. I should have waited, asked Dr. Reilly about it, asked her to do the test again.

Dad’s truck isn’t in the driveway when I pull up at the house. He’s probably down in Sam’s bar. Across the street Bert’s house lies empty. Pulling my hood over my head I get out of the car and rush to the front porch, my slippery hand struggling to get the key into the lock, like I’m not welcome. Like the house does not want me to enter, does not want me to discover its secrets.

When I get inside I take my jacket off, shake like a dog and go to the kitchen where Mom is standing by the stove singing ‘Mad About the Boy’. Dad is sitting at the table, screwdriver in hand, replacing the back cover of a Sony Walkman. Danny has his schoolbooks spread all over the floor in the corner and is kneeling down reading. I’m not here, I can’t see me. Opening the window to let the steam escape, Mom smiles. She is still singing when she goes to the cupboard, takes out some plates and calls Danny to the table. Dad shoves his tools to the side, making space. One, two, three – three places, three plates, three glasses. No Becca.