Silverside Academy

Truth Be Told

Janet spent the next two hours digging out every file, folder, zip drive, and letter that Jared had left. She’d squirreled it all away, hoping to never need it. But…

It was all the proof, all the knowledge, that Jared had left for Eilidh.

Just in case.

As she pulled out another folder, she halted. Adoption paperwork.

Nerves rattled her, causing her hands to shake. Tears spilled from her eyes.

I knew I’d have to tell her someday, but I always hoped Jared would be here with me for it.

Once she had everything laid out, it took up most of her bed. Some of the folders even rested on one of her pillows.

She was sweaty, fearful, and raw.

Give it a once over. She told herself. Let it be like a cancer you cut out all at once. Check that there’s nothing left in there.

Janet clicked the closet light back on and found just one last box. It was smaller than the others. Momentos.

It’d been years since she originally packed that box. She couldn’t quite remember what was in it.

But taking it down was a mistake.

Inside were pictures — lots of them. Their wedding, his birthdays, Valentine’s days and anniversaries… Then…

There it was.

The only bottle she hadn’t thrown away.

Shame and temptation filled her.

For our 5th anniversary…

Jared had bought the best bottle of wine he could find. It had been a wonderful night. When he died…

“It was the only one I told myself I couldn’t drink.” She whispered, tracing the label with her finger.

Just a quick sip, something to help you get through tonight.

The voice was sickly sweet. She recognized it. It was the same voice that had told her it was okay to take just one more, just one more…

Before she knew what she was doing, the bottle was open.

The sweet, buttery citrus scent curled around her nose. Floral notes gave it a more full flavor.

The night they’d shared it, they’d promised to keep sharing a glass every anniversary ‘til it was gone.

It wasn’t even half-finished. Nowhere near.

She took a swig, and felt a vicious hunger lick through her. Not true hunger, but a yearning, a need for more.

She looked down at the bottle again.

“Oh, God.” She had never been so disgusted with herself. Sobbing, she corked it closed again. “Jared, I’m so sorry.”

Through her tears, she got up, and made it to the bathroom before she retched. And though she couldn’t bring herself to toss the bottle, she did pour it down the sink.

After a few moments, she splashed her face with cold water and dried off. It didn’t help much, but it brought her back to the moment.

I can’t get lost in that again. She looked into the reflection of her eyes, dark and brown. I’m all she has left.

She crept to the door, but as her fingers tightened on the knob, fear weakened her. Her knees buckled, and her innards felt empty. God, give me strength.

She opened the door to reveal Eilidh slumped over, fast asleep on the couch.

I should wait until she wakes up to tell her.

The thought didn't stop her feet.

She padded towards her daughter and gently shook her awake.

The talk that followed had been emotionally brutal.

Janet had struggled with how to start. What took priority? That she was adopted? Or that she wasn’t human? What was the protocol? What would hurt less?

She led a scared and sleepy Eilidh into her room and gestured towards the various stacks of papers and thumbdrives.

Eilidh stared at her, eyes wide. “I know that, Mom.” Her voice was shaky.

Nodding, Janet made her choice.

“There are two main points of discussion,” she began the conversation as if it were another team huddle at the shop. It was easier that way. “Neither are going to be easy or pleasant.”

Their eyes met, and Janet’s heart sank just a little. Eilidh didn’t even try to interrupt or ask questions. She just sat there, waiting. Listening.

Voice faltering, she tried to ignore the fact that she was about to break her daughter’s whole world into pieces.

“I think the best way to start is to let you know that you’re adopted.” She pushed the words out. The wave of sorrow that crashed over Eilidh’s face nearly broke her.

Eilidh felt like she’d been slapped. She was too shocked to cry. And for a split second, she was sure her mom was going to tell her that she was joking.

Maybe this is a new tactic? Say something so hurtful and outrageous that the real hurt doesn’t matter so much?

But then she saw the look in her mother’s eyes. The firm way she held her jaw, the pain in her eyes.

Questions bubbled up into her mouth like vomit.

“So… you and Dad?” Her heart raced, stomach turning. “You aren’t my parents?” Then… “Do you know my parents?” Confusion had spread out like fodder for her fear. Hurt began to bud and blossom. “Did they die? Or did they just not want me?”

The first nettling of uncertainty poked at her.

“You’re joking, right?” But Janet’s words caught up to her, and she blurted out, “That’s the easy part?”

Eilidh could see the way Janet wanted to hold her, but when she tried to wrap her up in her arms, she pulled back.

Janet looked stricken. She let out a controlled breath and regained her composure. “Your father is your biological dad. But I’m — ” She gulped. “I’m not your biological mother. She… she passed away when you were a baby.”

Somehow it made her feel a little better to know that her father was at least her father. It made her feel less betrayed, even though it was still new and weird. It almost didn’t feel real. “I guess that makes sense,” she tried to stabilize her emotions by clinging onto that one bit of rightness.

Janet’s heart broke all over again as she watched the emotions twist Eilidh’s face.

When Eilidh felt confident that she could control her emotions, she asked, “What’s the other thing?”

Janet’s hands betrayed her nerves. Adoption was one thing. It was common enough. Understandable. Normal. But how was she supposed to tell her that she was a werewolf?

She sucked in a deep breath, and willed herself to make it quick.

Like a bandaid, she kept telling herself.

“You — your father - the both of y’all — you’re werewolves.”

Eilidh held her breath for a moment.

Then laughter burst forward.

It wasn’t joyful, but sardonic. “Werewolves?” She practically spit the word out. “Me? I’m afraid of dogs! What kind of werewolf am I supposed to be?”

The hollow chuckle died in her throat as the memory of her recurring dream struck her.

The pup in the woods. The smoke. The large hand grabbing me… What if it wasn’t a dream, but her recollection of something true?

She couldn’t bring herself to look at Janet. Instead, she scanned the piles of papers on her mother’s bed. Waving her hand over it, she asked, “What is all this? Bigfoot sightings? Siren reports? Oh, no — let me guess. It’s the real life and times biography for Dracula.”

Anger bubbled up in her. She didn’t hate Janet for not being her biological mom. But she was struggling not to hate her for whatever all this was.

She’s drunk, she thought. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.

A part of her wished to say it.

But…

Eilidh saw the way Janet’s eyes swept across the piles before settling back on a stack of envelopes. They looked aged.

Her mother picked them up tenderly. She straightened them unnecessarily before she handed them to her. “No bigfoots, mermaids, or vampires. Just Jared.”

A sour, skeptical look crossed her face as she took the stack of envelopes.

Then…

They still smell like Dad.

His cologne hung around the papers like a haze. The stack was tied together with thin leather strips. Something he had a habit of doing. She saw that the first letter, the one right on top, was clearly addressed to her.

“I know that this is a lot, but you know me. You know your father. We wouldn’t lie.” Janet faltered under the sharp gaze of her daughter, then added, “Not about this.”

Eilidh didn’t point out that even if it were true, that would still mean that they’d lied about other things.

Without bothering to reply, she opened the first envelope.

Her father’s familiar handwriting greeted her.