Rebecca Vu leaned upon a wooden post, staring up at a house on the beach. Her cousin, Maria Whalen, was on the beach with their men, Greg Vu and Nick Randazzo. “I still can’t believe their mother is dead. I mean, I know it’s been a year now, but whoa,” sighed Maria, who was clearly rattled.
“She was abusive,” sighed Rebecca, her eyes closed and her chin resting upon her hand. “Who we should miss is my father.” Remembering her father was a warm feeling, like coming home.
The skies above them still bulged with rain, but all that actually fell in the evening gloom was a dreary kind of prickle. The gathering darkness was like a mouth. A hungering mouth. “I heard she found something while cleaning out her bedroom,” explained Maria. “Apparently, Rebecca had living a lie. She’s pretty shook up. And Rebecca, I think she’s beyond the point of rage. Greg, if you’re my cousin’s lawyer, please don’t let her go to jail if she decides to murder someone.”
“What exactly did she find?” asked Greg.
“First off, that Rebecca is Greek. No traces of Irish, Scottish or Welsh in her.”
“What’s wrong with that?” asked Greg. Greek women could run from gorgeous to butt fucking ugly, like every race on this planet. Rebecca got lucky and got the gorgeous end.
“I don’t think she’s mad about being Greek, I think she’s mad about the part where she was lied to. She was always told she was born near San Francisco. No. She was born in Athens. I guess that’s why she came here. Not sure why she needed us here.”
“I am her husband,” said Greg. “I should know about her, no matter how small or large the information is.”
Maria, Nick and Greg watched as Rebecca bounded to the tall grass and brought up an old book. The cover read the words: Maria Joyce. “I think this was grandma’s!”
“Grandma…Maria?” asked Maria. Rebecca nodded and Maria rushed over. Their grandmother died when Rebecca was five months old. Maria had never gotten the chance to meet her, as she was born three years later. But she was named after her, so she figured that was a win. Rebecca opened the book. The first page, no date, read: “I’m sorry for what I have done. “What she has done?”
“I dunno…?” said Rebecca.
Greg rubbed his ruggedly handsome chin. “Did she live here?” asked Greg, looking over the backs of the girls.
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