“Of course you would have. Your outspokenness is one of the things we love most about you.”
“Well, at least now we know where that trait comes from. Oh, wait a minute.” I slapped my palm over my mouth in mock surprise. “No, we don’t. How silly of me.”
Ignoring my sarcasm, Mom reached for my hand and squeezed. “Cass, listen. The goal was having you. Getting pregnant and having our baby. Someone was kind enough to help us with that. That’s just how it was done in those days.”
“How it was done?” I yanked my hand away. “You let some strange guy’s sperm in your body to make a baby and you didn’t meet him because that’s how it was done? That’s gross is what that is.”
“We didn’t question it,” Dad mumbled. The tips of his ears were red. He repeated Mom’s earlier words. “The details were a business arrangement.”
A business arrangement. I started life because of a business arrangement. Right then, my bones felt so hollow I half expected to float up from the table and fly away without even trying.
“It was something your father and I probably wouldn’t have thought of if it wasn’t for Nana and Granddad,” Mom added.
Nana and Granddad Hunt. Mom’s parents. I stared at her. “Nana and Granddad knew?”
“It was your grandfather’s idea,” Dad said.
Was that bitterness in Dad’s voice? He and Granddad had never gotten along. I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged my trembling legs. “His idea?” I repeated weakly.
There was a power surge then—a large hum followed by silence, as lights, appliances, everything, shut down. Seconds later, another power surge brought the lights back. The microwave, refrigerator and oven beeped happily as their power source wasrestored. Dad retrieved matches and a fat yellow candle from the cupboard. It took him three tries to light it, his hands were shaking so much.
“Grandad knew the trouble we were having,” Mom explained. “He knew how desperate we were to conceive our own child. Back then, we never could have afforded all the procedures without your grandfather’s support.”
“How many procedures were there?” I asked thickly. “How much did they cost?”
Mom appeared flustered. “I don’t know, I don’t remember, we never—”
“There were four, Grace, remember?” Dad reminded Mom softly. The candlelight made his freckles look blotchy against his skin. “And not procedures. Visits. Four visits to the clinic. And don’t ask me what they cost. The bills went to your grandfather.”
Jewel. Precious. My grandfather’s nicknames for me suddenly took on new meaning. No wonder he’d indulged me so. I was his own little investment. Dad, who came from a long line of frugal dairy farmers, hadn’t been comfortable with any of it. Even after Mom had come into the inheritance, Dad had been uneasy moving from our modest three-bedroom home to the luxury of the Uplands. Too pretentious, he’d said.
My mind spun as I tried to digest old memories and new information. “Where’s the clinic?”
“Vancouver,” Mom said. “West Vancouver to be precise.”
A ferry ride away. “Is it still there?”
“I don’t know.” Mom looked uncomfortable. “Cassidy, listen. Let’s concentrate on the now. On the future. We love you. We never wanted you to find out like this.”
“When did you want me to find out? Were you ever going to tell me?”
Their silence was their answer.
Tears burned the back of my throat. “Why not?” I demanded.
“We didn’t think the how of your conception was important. You were important.” Mom’s voice trembled. Her eyes brimmed. The shock of seeing those tears paled in comparison to the shock of her words. “It was just a…a thing we did…a visit to a clinic…a laboratory procedure that lasted less than an hour…and then we were pregnant. That was all that mattered. You are all that mattered. That was true then, and it’s true now.” Her voice cracked.
“Your mother and I