Serves Me Wright

I scrolled to the next picture of a teenage girl in cutoff jean shorts and a crop top. Her long black hair nearly reached her waist. She was a dead ringer for Sutton, even a decade younger.

Looks like there’s a daughter, too. Harley Wright, age seventeen, upcoming high school senior. Didn’t dig too much on her, but she has the same last name. So, I’d guess that’s as much as you need to know.

The email went on with more pictures and more explanations of his methods. I didn’t need it all. I didn’t need any of it. I had everything I needed to know right here.

Our dad had other kids. Three other kids. Weston and Whitton being twins would have made sense. That was the same time frame that our parents had split up. It could have been an accident. Something we’d hate him for hiding from us, but at least he’d provided for them. Or something.

But Harley.

She was five years younger than her brothers. She was still in high school. Our parents had been together then. I’d been twelve. Jordan had been fourteen, a freshman in high school. Dad had still come to all of my soccer games. He’d attended everything Jordan had at school and in debate and all that. And he’d also cheated on Mom.

He’d cheated on Mom.

He had this other family.

These two boys and a little girl.

In Seattle.

He’d had them this whole time.

And he was still seeing them.

Still around them enough to have our PI take pictures of him with them.

And he’d lied about it.

He’d cheated on Mom and lied about it.

We’d asked him point-blank if Weston was his kid, and he’d looked us in the face and lied.

He’d fucking lied.

“What is it?” Jennifer asked softly, as if she could see I was about to explode.

“You have a brother and sister,” I said to Weston.

Jordan jumped when he realized who was standing in front of us. “What are you doing here?”

“This is Jordan,” I said by way of introduction. “Jordan, our brother Weston.”

Jordan stared in confusion. “But what are you doing here?”

“He had a gig in Abilene and drove over because we hadn’t written back.”

“Why do you suddenly believe me? And how do you know about Whitt and Harley?” Weston asked, equally confused.

“I hired a private investigator,” Jordan explained.

“What?” Weston squawked. “What for?”

“We didn’t believe you,” I said.

“Oh,” Weston said. “I, uh…why not?”

“Our dad said that you didn’t exist,” Jordan said indignantly.

“What?” he asked again. “He didn’t say that. I saw him two weeks ago!”

“Yeah. So, you can see why we didn’t want to take you at your word.”

“But you hired a PI anyway?” Weston asked.

“Always better to get the truth,” Jordan said. “And now…we know.”

Weston blinked. “You’re ruthless.”

“That would be our father,” I drawled. “And I think it’s time that he’s in on this family bonding.”

“Wait…he’s here?” Weston asked.

“He’s here,” Jordan confirmed.

“Why? What did he tell you he was doing?”

Weston crossed his arms. “He…he works in Vancouver, like, every other weekend. He sits on boards and stuff. He was going to be up there. That’s why I figured it would be good to see you. I didn’t even know you were all still talking. He told us that he was divorced.”

“He is,” Jordan agreed. “But he doesn’t live in Vancouver anymore.”

I shrugged. “Or maybe he does. Why don’t we finally find out what’s a lie and what’s the truth?”

Then the three of us turned as one as Owen Wright—our father, resident liar—materialized out of the crowd to stand before us with terrified, wide eyes.

36

Jennifer

“West?” Owen said.

My stomach turned over at the sound of that voice. I’d been a silent witness to everything that had happened. I’d been rooted to the spot, unable to move or think or breathe. I certainly couldn’t walk away as it all came out. All the bullshit and lying that Owen had gotten away with for more than two decades.

He had another family. Three kids and a mistress at the very least. He’d told Jordan and Julian that it wasn’t true. He’d spun some believable tale, thinking the boys would sweep it under the rug. But the problem with lying was that, eventually, the truth always came out.

“Dad,” Weston said, his voice uncertain.

“What are you doing here?”

“I keep getting that question,” he said. “I think by now it’s obvious.”

“You lied,” Jordan snarled. “You lied about everything.”

“I didn’t.”

Julian shook his head. There was fire in his eyes. “Don’t try to deny it. We hired a PI, and now, we know the truth.”

Owen Wright paled to translucent paper. His veins were visible. His skin leeched of color. “You hired a PI?” he said, as if it were inconceivable.

“I did,” Jordan said. “And I’m fucking glad I did since you’re a lying bastard.”

“Jordan—”

“I trusted you! I put my neck out for you. I told Julian that we should give you another chance. And you spit on that.”