A chill ran through me.
“The child.”
“Me.”
“Presumably.”
“Presumably?”
Lucas looked uncomfortable.
“There’s another issue.”
Of course there was.
“What issue?”
“We requested my original adoption records.”
“And?”
“They don’t match.”
I stared at him.
“Don’t match what?”
“The records my parents were given in 1987.”
The hospital room seemed suddenly too small.
“What does that mean?”
“The birth date matches. The weight matches. The hospital matches.”
“But?”
“The name of the agency is different.”
“How can that happen?”
“It shouldn’t.”
“And the birth mother?”
Lucas didn’t answer.
“Was her name different too?”
His jaw tightened.
“My parents’ copy lists her as confidential.”
“And the official record?”
“Sealed.”
“Can you open it?”
“I’m trying.”
Douglas stirred.
His eyes opened.
“Don’t.”
Lucas turned.
“Dad.”
“Don’t start that without me.”
“You were asleep.”
“I was pretending.”
I smiled despite myself.
“Still nosy.”
Douglas looked at me.
