How would anyone react in my shoes?

I don’t know if it’s seeing my moms so upset or the news itself, but I can’t take the flood of emotion for long. I phase into the Quiet. Once the world around me is still, I pick up the coffee cup and throw it across the room. It shatters against the TV, coffee spilling everywhere. I get up, grab the empty chair next to the one where my frozen self is sitting, and hurl it across the room after the cup, yelling as loudly as I can. I stop myself from breaking more stuff, though; even though I know it will go back to normal after I phase out, it still feels like vandalism.

Then I take a couple of deep breaths, trying to pull myself together.

This explains things—things that Eugene and Mira told me about. Sara didn’t lie to me. She never had my ability. She reacted to my descriptions of the Quiet as a normal person would. I should probably feel relieved. I feel anything but.

Why would they not tell me? After all, it’s not like we haven’t had conversations about being adopted. We had them all the time. Sort of. We talked about how Lucy didn’t give birth to me, but loves me just as much as Sara who, allegedly, did. This would’ve been just more of the same.

I take more deep breaths. I sit on the floor and perform the meditation I have used four times already today.

I begin to feel better—well enough to continue talking, at least. I look at the shocked expression on my frozen face. I reach out and touch myself on the elbow. The gesture is intended to comfort the frozen me, which, once I do it, seems silly. The touch brings me out of the Quiet.

I take a deep breath more demonstratively in the real world. “If you’re not my biological mother,” I manage to say, “then who is?”

“Your parents’ names were Mark and Margret,” Lucy says. To my shock, she’s crying too—something I’ve almost never seen her do. A knot ties itself in the pit of my stomach as she continues, “Your uncle might’ve told you stories about Mark.”

I’m almost ready to phase into the Quiet again. She said ‘were.’ I know what that means. And I have heard of Mark. He was the daredevil partner who worked with Lucy and Kyle.

“Tell me everything,” I say through clenched teeth. I’m trying my best not to say something I’ll regret later.

“Before you were born, we really did go to Israel, as we always told you,” Sara begins, her voice shaking. “It’s just that what happened there was different from what you know. Our friends Mark and Margret approached us with a crazy story, and an even crazier request.”

She stops, looking at Lucy pleadingly.

“They said someone was out to kill them,” says Lucy in a more even voice. “They said Margret was pregnant, and they wanted us to raise the child. To pretend it was our own.” She gets calmer as she tells this, her tears stopping. “We always wanted a child. It seemed like a dream come true. They were the ones who came up with the whole sperm bank story. They said the danger they were in could spill into your life if anyone ever found out about the arrangement. I know it sounds like I’m making excuses for not telling you, but when they got killed, just as they moved back to New York to be near you . . .”

“Lucy and Mark were close,” Sara jumps in, wiping away the moisture on her face. “Back then, they worked in the organized crime division together. Lucy and I just assumed the unit where they all worked had something to do with why Mark was killed, which is why I begged your mother to switch to another division.” She looks at Lucy again, silently urging her to continue with the story.

“I investigated their deaths,” Lucy says. “But I still, to this day, have no idea who killed them and why. The killer left no clues. The crime scene was the most thoroughly investigated one in my career—and nothing. All I know is that Margret was shot in the back in her own kitchen, and it looked like Mark was killed a few seconds later when he tried to attack the person who shot her. There were no signs of a break-in.”

My mind’s gone numb. How am I supposed to feel about something like this happening to the biological parents I never knew existed? Or about them giving me to their friends to raise, even though they knew they’d be putting Sara and Lucy in danger?

I can’t take it anymore, so I phase into the Quiet again.

Once everything is still, I walk up to Sara, whose face is frozen in concern. I still love her, just as much as I did on my way here. This changes nothing. I’ve always loved Lucy the same as Sara, despite knowing we’re not related by blood. As far as I can tell, this is no different.

I put my hand on Sara’s forearm and try to get into the state of Coherence, as Eugene called it. I’m so worked up that it’s much more difficult this time. I don’t know how long it takes before I’m in Sara’s memories.

We’re excited Darren is going to visit.

I, Darren, feel ashamed somehow at the intensity of Sara’s enthusiasm. If it makes her so happy, I should probably visit more often.

We’re devastated at having the dreaded adoption conversation with Darren, after all these years. Our own little family secret. Before I, Darren, am naturally pushed out by getting to the present moment in Sara’s memories, I decide to go deeper. Picturing being lighter, trying to focus, I fall further in.

We’re watching Darren pack for Harvard. We’re beyond anxious. I, Darren, realize that I am not far enough and focus on going deeper.

We’re on a date with Lucy. She’s the coolest girl we have ever met. I, Darren, realize how creepy this thing I am doing can get, but I also know that I can’t stop. I overshot my target memory mark and need to go back out of this depth, or in other words, fast-forward the memories. I, Darren, do what I tried before when I wanted to get deeper into someone’s mind, only in reverse: I picture myself heavier. It works.

We’ve been obsessing about Israel for months. Our heritage must call us, as our mom Rose said. I, Darren, realize that Rose is Grandma and that I am close—and I jump a bit further this time by picturing myself heavier again.

We’re in Israel. It’s awesome. Even Lucy’s initial grumpy ‘there are almost no other Asians here’ attitude gets turned around after spending a day at the beach.

We look around the beach. The view is breathtaking. I, Darren, make a note to visit this place someday.

“Hi guys,” says a familiar male voice.

We’re shocked to see the M&Ms, Mark and Margret, approach our chairs. So is Lucy, we bet. What could they possibly be doing here, in Israel? The last thing anyone expects when going overseas is to meet friends from New York.

I, Darren, see them, and Sara’s surprise pales next to mine. It’s not like they look exactly like me, Darren. But it’s almost like some Photoshop genius took their facial features, mixed them up, added a few random ones, and got the familiar face that, I, Darren, see every day in the mirror.

“What are you doing here?” Lucy asks, looking concerned.

“We need to talk,” Mark says. “But not here.”

I, Darren, picture feeling heavy again, so I can jump forward a little more.

We’re listening to the M&Ms’ crazy tale.

“Who’s after you? If you don’t tell me, how am I supposed to help?” Lucy says in frustration after they’re done. We feel the same way. We can’t believe our friends are springing this on us and telling us next to nothing.

“Don’t ask me that, Lucy. If I told you, I’d put you and, by extension, the unborn child in danger,” Mark says. I, Darren, realize that his voice is deep, a lot like the voice I hear on my voicemail. My voice.

“But what about you?” we say, looking at Margret. “How will you be able to go through with this?”

Margret, who has been very quiet through this conversation, begins crying, and we feel like a jerk.

“Margie and I are both willing to do whatever it takes to make sure our child lives,” Mark says for her. “Regardless of how much it hurts us to distance ourselves this way.”

“So you won’t come back to New York?” Lucy asks. That’s our girl, always the detective, trying to put every piece together.

He shakes his head. “My resignation is already prepared. We’ll stay in Israel until the baby is born, then come back to New York for the first year of the baby’s life to help you guys, and then we’ll move to California. We hope you can come visit us in California once the baby is older. Tell her—or him—that we’re old friends.” Mark’s voice breaks.

“But this makes no sense,” Lucy says, echoing our thoughts. “If you’re going to quit and move anyway, the child should be safe enough—”

“No,” Mark says. “Moving barely mitigates the risk. The people who want us dead can reach us anywhere. Please don’t interrogate me, Lucy. Just think how wonderful it would be to have a child. Weren’t you guys always planning to adopt?”

“We couldn’t think of better people to trust with this,” Margret says. “Please, help us.”

We think she’s trying to convince herself of her decision. We can’t even imagine how she must be feeling.

“We’ll pay for everything,” Mark says, changing the subject.

We’re in complete agreement with Lucy’s objections to the money, but in the end, the M&Ms convince us to accept their extremely generous offer—money we didn’t even know they had. We know what Mark’s approximate salary range is, since he works with Lucy, and he can’t be making that much more than she is. To someone with that salary, this kind of money is unheard of. Nor is it likely that Margret makes that much. We wonder if having so much money has something to do with the paranoid story of people coming after them.

I, Darren, however, don’t think it’s the money. Could it be the Pushers? After all, Pushers killed Mira and Eugene’s family. Could they be behind killing mine? Learning more about Pushers becomes much more personal for me all of a sudden.

I, Darren, can’t take any more of this unfolding tragedy. I might come back here someday, but I can’t handle it right now. Still, like a masochist, I progress into the memories.

We’re driving back from Margret and Mark’s funeral. We haven’t spoken most of the way. We have never seen Lucy this upset.

“Please talk to me, hon,” we say, trying to break the heavy silence.

“I was the one who found the bodies,” Lucy says, her voice unrecognizable. “And I did the most thorough sweep of the crime scene. And with all that, I have nothing. It’s like a perfect, unsolvable crime from one of your detective stories. I can’t take it. I owe it to Mark to find the fucker who did this . . .”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” we say. “You’ll figure it out. If you can’t, no one could.”

“We should have moved,” Lucy says.

She hits a weak spot—our own guilt. We wish we had told Mark and Margret not to come to New York for that first year, not if they were in that much danger. But we didn’t tell them that. We could’ve offered to come to California for a year. Something. The biggest source of our guilt, though, is that we thought the M&Ms were crazy. We didn’t delve deeper into their story because it led to the most miraculous result—Darren. But now that Mark and Margret are dead, they are vindicated. We don’t think they were crazy anymore. We just feel horrible for doubting them and not preventing this disaster somehow.

I, Darren, officially can’t take any more. I jump out of Sara’s head.

I’m back in the Quiet, looking at Sara. Much of my anger has dissipated. How can I be angry after I just experienced how this woman feels about me? I feel a pang of guilt for having invaded my mother’s privacy to get the truth, but it’s over and done with now.

I walk toward myself and touch my elbow.

Though I’m out of the Quiet, Sara is still pretty much motionless, waiting for my reaction.

“I don’t know what to say,” I say truthfully.

“It’s okay. It’s a lot to process,” Lucy says.

“You think?” I say unkindly, and immediately regret it when she winces.

“I’m sorry it took us so long to tell you,” Sara says, looking guilty.

“Even today, you told me under duress,” I say, unable to resist. I guess I still feel bitter about that—about being kept in the dark for so long.

“I guess that’s true,” Sara admits. “Like Lucy said, we had a hard time talking about this for years. Once you don’t talk about something, it becomes this strange taboo. But if you didn’t already know, what were you asking about before?” She gives me a puzzled look.

“Never mind that now,” I say. No way am I ready to spout some crazy talk about being part of a secret group of people who can freeze time and get into the minds of others. I was only going to bring that up when I thought Sara was a Reader herself. “The most important thing is that what you told me doesn’t change anything for me.”

I know from just Reading her mind that this is what she most wants to hear. I mean it, too. Yes, I’m mad and confused now, but I know with time what I just said will be one hundred percent true. It will be as though this adoption conversation never happened.

For those words, I’m rewarded by the expressions of relief on their faces.

“If you don’t mind, I want to go home right now. I need to digest all this,” I tell them. This is riskier. I know they would rather I stay and hang out. But I really am beyond exhaustion at this point.

“Sure,” Sara says, but I can tell she’s disappointed.

“We’re here to answer any questions you might have,” Lucy says. Her expression is harder to read.

Lucy is right. I might have questions later. But for now, I kiss and hug them before getting out of there as quickly as I can.

The drive to Tribeca happens as if in a dream. I only become cognizant of the actual mechanics of it when I start wondering where to park. Parking in the city is a huge pain, and is the reason I don’t own a car. I opt for one of the paid parking lots, despite having to pay something outrageous for it tomorrow. Right now, I don’t care. Anything to get home.

Once I get to my apartment, all I have the energy to do is eat and shower. After that, I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.