Mrs. Rodgers side stepped, making eye contact with me. “What she’s trying to say, Erin, is that you are Sam and Julianne Alderman’s biological daughter. Now, you’re eighteen, so I’m not sure what this means to you, but the Aldermans have been informed, and they would very much like to speak with you as soon as you’re ready.”

“They know?”

Mrs. Rodgers nodded and smiled. “And they’re eager to talk to you about it, if that’s all right. They know this is a huge shock for you, and they want to give you as much space as you need to think this over.”

“Where’s Gina?” I asked.

Kay looked to Mrs. Rodgers, then to me. “She opted out of the meeting. She has been made aware, as well.”

I thought for a moment, while everyone in the room waited for my reaction. I looked at Mr. Bringham from under my brow. “Am I free to go?”

“Of course. This must be very upsetting for you. Mrs. Rodgers and I are available to talk when you’re ready.”

Mrs. Rodgers knelt next to my chair. “If you have any questions, legal or otherwise, I would be happy to help you, Erin. Please don’t hesitate.”

I stood up and took my backpack with me. “Thank you. I appreciate it, but I have to go to work now.”

The police officer moved to the side and opened the door, and I walked out, trying to ignore the dozen or so pairs of eyes staring at me. I pushed through the side door of the building, to find Weston’s truck sitting under the overhang in the half-circle drive in front of the school.

I walked past him, but he jumped out and jogged after me. “What did they say?” When I didn’t respond or stop, Weston stood in front of me.

I blinked.

“Erin. What did they say to you?”

“That Gina Easter isn’t my mother, and Julianne Alderman is.”

Weston stood up straight and looked over my head, lost in thought. “Whoa.” He looked back down at me. “Are you okay?”

“I need to walk.”

“Sure you don’t want me to drive you? Let me drive you.”

I took a deep breath. “I haven’t walked in a while, and right now I just really, really need to walk.”

Weston nodded, and I walked around him, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other until my feet hit the familiar asphalt in front of the Dairy Queen. I yanked open the door and slipped on my apron, tying it quickly as I made my way to the front.

Frankie was taking a bite from her own concoction, leaning against the counter. “I thought maybe you weren’t coming in today.”

“Sorry. I had a meeting.”

“With Weston?”

“No,” I said, frowning.

“He was about ten feet behind you when you came into view, driving about one mile per hour, and then he turned into the ball fields and ran in to practice. Did you dump him?”