Lost in Paris by Elizabeth Thompson (ebook smartphone .txt) 📕

“Actually, he was the original drummer for the Wellies, but once they started to catch the eye of A&R types, the producers thought Darius wasn’t edgy enough for the image they were trying to cultivate for the band. They basically fired him.”

A nervous hiccup of laughter escapes Marla’s throat and she clamps her mouth shut.

“Why are you telling me this now? What’s changed? And wait—if Darius Gaynor is my father, why were you meeting up with Martin and not him?”

She closes her eyes for a moment, takes a breath in through her nose, and exhales noisily through her mouth. Then looks directly at me.

“I had to make sure. This is still embarrassing to admit, but Darius wasn’t the only one that summer. I told you I went a little crazy. First I lost my dad, and then the only other man I ever loved basically ghosted me.”

“Are you talking about Darius?”

She nods. “I loved him, Hannah. As trite and starry-eyed as that sounds, I did. He and I connected. He was my first—if you can believe that. He told me he was going to get out of music, get off the road, and quit the drugs. He wanted us to have a life together. I was barely eighteen, but that’s what I wanted, too.

“Then they fired him and he left. He left me and all his stuff on the bus and disappeared. He said he hated life on the road, but I guess he’d wanted to leave on his own terms, not get fired from the band that he had founded with his brother.

“I followed the band a little while longer, mainly because I hoped to reconnect with him. I thought he’d come back—that was dumb wishful thinking, I know. When it became clear that wasn’t going to happen… like I said, I turned to other men. That was my revenge for him dumping me.” She huffs humorlessly. “When I found out I was pregnant, I felt in my heart Darius was the father, but I didn’t know for sure. I wasn’t proud of it, and I didn’t want to give you his name since I wasn’t sure. Those were the days before the internet, and I didn’t know how to find him. He didn’t try to find me.

“Because of my situation with Gram, I knew how bad it felt to know a parent didn’t want you. I thought you would be better off not knowing than to chance tracking him down and having him reject you.

“I must confess, however, that ten years ago, I googled him on a whim. I saw that he was married with two kids. That sealed the deal for me. Since I wasn’t one hundred percent certain he was your father, I didn’t want to rock his happy world. But then, on the day we saw Martin pulling out of his driveway, I looked Darius up again and saw he’s divorced. I figured I could at least try.

“You know those times recently, when I disappeared and wouldn’t tell you where I was? I was figuring out a way to talk to Martin. He seemed like the best place to start. At first he tried to blow me off, but I promised him I wasn’t after money, just answers. He said he would help me, but he had stipulations. He would take a DNA test to see if you and he were a match. If so, then he would introduce me to Darius to figure things out. That’s why I borrowed your hairbrush, toothbrush, and lipstick. I figured one of those would do it. The lipstick wasn’t any help.

“Martin got in touch with me after the DNA results were in. He said he wanted to meet. He only had a short window of time because he was leaving for a Buddhist retreat in Thailand and would be gone several months. He wouldn’t tell me the results over the phone—dramatic, I know—and I needed to know one way or the other before he left. That’s why I went to London after I went down to Antibes. Now do you understand the reason I couldn’t tell you about that leg of the trip? I didn’t want to get your hopes up only to dash them. Even after Martin told me his DNA matched yours, I didn’t want to tell you until after I had talked to Darius. I needed to make sure he wouldn’t reject you.

“But he took the news well and even offered to take a paternity test. Those are the results on that paper, Hannah. You can see it’s a near-perfect match.”

I nod incredulously.

“So if Darius is my father, that makes Martin Gaynor my uncle.”

Tears are streaming down Marla’s cheeks. She reaches into her other dress pocket and pulls out a photograph of her looking young, beautiful, and glam-punk. In the photo, her curly hair is dyed bright carrot-red and is slicked back on the sides and molded into a magnificent ’90s faux-hawk. She’s sitting in the lap of a cute preppy-looking guy who has his arms around her and is gazing at her adoringly.

“That’s Darius, Hannah. That’s your father.”

I see myself in the shape of his face, his nose, his too-full lips. I blink to clear my blurry vision.

Darius Gaynor. My father.

Marla blows out a breath, swipes at the tears. “I haven’t even told you the best part. He wants to meet you, if you’re interested. He called the night before your tour started. I knew you had a lot on your mind with everything. That’s why I waited until now to tell you. Will you please say something so I know what you’re thinking?”

“You’re sure?” I say. “He really wants to meet me? I don’t want to show up and have him be like, ‘Who are you? Get out of my life.’ ”

“I promise you. He wants to meet you.”

Okay. Whoa. Slow down. I don’t have time to run back to London right now, and we shouldn’t rush something like this.