Look Again - Lisa Scottoline [53]
“What do I think?” Her father looked mystified. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“I think you’re just like your mother.”
“What does that mean?” Ellen felt resentment flicker like an ember in her chest.
“It means you’re a worrywart. You worry too much!”
“How am I worrying too much?”
He shrugged. “You dreamed this up. It’s crazy.”
“I’m not crazy, Dad.”
“But you don’t have any facts. You only have assumptions.” Her father frowned, making deep wrinkles in his forehead. “You’re assuming lots of things that may or may not be true. I’m surprised at you, a newspaperwoman.”
Ellen hadn’t heard that term in years. “What are the assumptions?”
“You can’t tell anything from those stupid cards about the missing kids. I get them, too.”
“Did you see the last one, with Timothy Braverman?”
“Who the hell knows? They’re junk mail. I toss them out.”
“Why? They’re real people, real kids.”
“They have nothing to do with me, or you. Or my grandson.”
Ellen tried another tack. “Okay, remember that photo I showed you, last time I was here?”
“No.”
“You said it was Will. You thought it was Will. Remember?”
He frowned. “Okay, whatever.”
“It wasn’t Will, it was Timothy Braverman. You thought it was Will.”
“What was that, a trick, then?”
“No, Dad. Keep an open mind. I need you to take this seriously.”
“But I can’t. It’s just silly.”
“Dad.” Ellen touched his arm, the cashmere soft under her finger-tips, and the tight line of his mouth softened just a little. “It wasn’t a trick, but the photo wasn’t Will. It was Timothy. They look that much alike, exactly alike.”
“So the kid looks like Will, so what?” He shrugged.
“They could be the same kid.”
“No, they can’t.” Her father almost laughed. “You can’t tell anything from those police drawings. I know, they’re on TV news all the time.” He pointed to the doorway. “They look like one of Will’s coloring books, in that damn chest out there.”
“They have an artist who does them. They’re real tools the police use.”
“There’s no way in the world you can tell who a composite is by tracing a picture over his face.” Her father looked at Ellen with a smile reserved for the delusional, and for a minute, she almost saw it his way. “You adopted that little boy in there—my only grandchild—legally. You had a lawyer.”
“Who killed herself.”
“So what? What are you saying?”
Ellen didn’t even know. “It just seems strange. Coincidental.”
“Bah!” Her father waved her off, chuckling. “Forget about it, it’s crazy talk. You adopted that boy, and he loves you. He was half-dead. Nobody wanted him but you. Nobody was there for him but you.”
Ellen felt touched, but that wasn’t the point. “What matters now is whether he’s Timothy.”
“He is not Timothy. He’s just a kid who looks like Timothy. He’s not the same kid. He’s Will. He’s ours.” Her father paused, then looked at her with a half smile. “El, listen to me. Barbara’s grandkids, Joshie and Jakie, you could swap ’em out and nobody would know the difference.”
“Are they twins?”
“No, but they look alike, and they look like Will, too. They’re all little boys, and they all look alike.”
Ellen burst into laughter, and it felt good.
“Well, it’s the truth.” Her father warmed to the topic, moving closer. “Didn’t anybody ever say to you, ‘Hey, you look just like somebody I know?’ That ever happen to you, Elly Belly?”
“Sure.”
“Of course. It happens to me all the time. I look like people, who knows? Handsome men. George Clooney, maybe.” Her father grinned. “That’s all you got goin’ on here. Don’t worry about it.”
Ellen’s heart eased a little. “You think?”
“I know. They look alike but they’re not the same kid. Will is ours, forever. He’s ours.” Her father gave her an aromatic, if awkward, hug, and Ellen knew he believed he had closed the deal.
“You sold me, Dad.”
“I’m always selling somebody, kiddo.” Her father grinned again. “But it’s easy when you believe what you sell, and I believe this. Relax, honey. You’re getting all worked up over nothing. Forget all this nonsense.”
Ellen wanted to believe him. If Will wasn’t really Timothy, then it