An Unwitting Discovery Ch. 02

Notes [Last revised October 11, 2018]:

• ○ We apologize for our long hiatus on this story line.
• ○ The previous chapter should be read first, since this picks up right where it ended.
• ○ The narrators change periodically throughout this lengthy chapter.
• ○ All characters are the product of the authors' imaginations, and are eighteen years of age or older.
• ○ Although this is a standalone series, there are tie-ins to our other stories. We don't think there is a particular order to reading these since the reveals make it more interesting in the order published. However, chronological order is mostly Love Interrupted, Unintended Consequences, Empty Nesters and then An Unwitting Discovery.
• ○ This story involves characters from those and some reveals may precede or follow events in those story lines.
• ○ Any spellin' errors should be attributed to the use of 'Texas jargon', which roll across the pages of this story like wandering tumbleweed.
• ○ Thanks to our editors: Ciguardian and Skye4Life.
• ○ Special thanks to Ciguardian for his assistance getting progress on this chapter restarted and completed.
• © Copyright 2018 by MindsMirror. All rights reserved.

As he lay next to me, Tommy's warmth soothed me to the core of my jangled being. His soft breathing and calming presence gave me something solid I could hold onto, as I attempted to right myself. Seeing his mother's results next to mine, Tuesday evening, had flipped my world on end. I couldn't believe this was happening, had already happened.

As a curious youngster, I'd asked my dark-haired, brown-eyed parents how I'd wound up with my green eyes and strawberry blonde hair. After they'd admitted I was adopted, there were naturally times when I'd wondered who my biological parents were. Perhaps my entry into biology was even a result of that, but it wasn't ever something over which I obsessed. At that moment, even with Tommy spooning close behind and holding me, it was all I could think about. Was she really my mother, or had something gone wrong with the test? Atop that profound question were more.

How could THE ONE be my half-brother? I repeated, interspersed with a myriad of related conundrums. The idea that My Tommy is my brother, simply didn't compute. A jumble of emotionally turbulent thoughts rampaged through my mind, rending asunder everything I knew to be true. Equally confusing was his uninterrupted, unwavering, and continued love and attraction to me. How is he alright, with this? Does he really still love me? Who finds out that they've not only fallen in love with their sibling, but have also been committing incest, and still wants that relationship? My answer to that last question was painful to admit. I did! I wanted my Tommy, no matter what our relationship was!

In the predawn hours of Wednesday morning I found myself at odds with everything I'd been brought up to believe. Facing my admission, threw me into a whirl of questioning admonitions. I was certain Mom and Dad would completely disown me, if they knew. Would God? Would God damn me to hell for these acts? I hadn't done anything intentionally wrong but, if I gave into my continued desire, I would be. Was this a test from God? Why would God let me love someone with all my heart, and then make our love forbidden? For that matter, God was supposed to have infinite, omniscient foreknowledge. If He knew that Tommy and I were half-siblings, why would He even have let us fall in love with each other, in the first place?

What if I hadn't been in BIO 310, and had never discovered the genetic relationship? Would I still be damned if I'd married Tommy, had a long life together with him, and never knew? What if we'd had kids, and then found out? Would a loving God expect us to then divorce and break up a loving union, with all of the ripple effects thrown onto the kids? Was there any difference between the two main scenarios? Knowledge was the only difference I could see and I couldn't comprehend how that would change the nature of our actions.

The foundation of my religious feelings had been repeatedly tested, and often pushed aside, as a preacher's kid. Being so close to the running of a church, I'd seen my fill of hypocrisy, and it clouded my thoughts with doubt. In part, I'd been drawn to science specifically because it was just facts and data. If a theory couldn't support those observable pieces of information, it was discarded. Tommy had said something to me that had struck my feelings like a resonant note, early in our relationship, "The scientific method has a mechanism to fix errors in their beliefs (or theories), but most religions do not." What if areas of biblical translation were wrong? What if the translator or scribe inserted their opinion for what God had passed down? If people followed those instructions, but they were against God's will, would they, too, be damned? What if the laws of the Old Testament were just fences which could be crossed, under certain circumstances?

"How can LOVE that feels so RIGHT be WRONG?" I vented my utter frustration aloud.

Tommy stirred at the sound, and I tried to go back to sleep. He'd already stayed awake so long, comforting me. I'd awakened in starts, throughout the night, only to have him soothe me back into slumber. My dreaming mind wouldn't let me be at ease for very long. He settled back and I just lay there, contemplating what we should do. We were supposed to go to see his dad and aunt, over the Christmas and New Year's holiday. We'd both been looking forward to it. I'd been certain that I was going to meet my future father-in-law, in the only place Tommy truly considered 'home' -- Corpus Christi.

That night, as I'd run through the cold air, crying, all I could think about was what I was going to lose. My discovery had me feeling angry and depressed but also something familiar, although somewhat unexpected. I felt myself rebelling against those repugnant boundaries that religion and society placed upon us. Who could tell me this was wrong? God hadn't told me I shouldn't do this. In fact, I'd believed there was a guiding hand steering us together, throughout our initial courtship.

There'd been so much more than simply a sexual attraction between us. Tommy had been the one who'd stopped us from having sex, the first time I'd made a move on him, when I'd worried he might not stay interested after I'd told him my dad was a preacher. He'd been the one to suggest that we wait until we knew each other better -- until we were sure that it was love, and not just infatuation, that existed between us. In every way, he'd been diametrically opposite of what I'd come to expect, based on the boys I'd dated. That single action, his saving me from myself, alone had convinced me that he was THE ONE for me.

Tommy took a little longer to be persuaded that we were meant to be together. However, during our trip to Myrtle Beach, we finally gave ourselves to one another and we became completely devoted to our eventual union. I believed that same guiding force was present when he asked me to move in with him, and that had me convinced even further that we truly belonged together. As I lay there, Tommy's desperately uttered words to calm me, Suz, we haven't done anything wrong, legally or morally, rang true. My adoption papers were sealed, and no one would be able to find out we were related, and thus prevent us from legally marrying. This, too, felt like that unseen force not just bringing us together, but reinforcing our love with every passing day, even as that evening's discovery threatened to unwit me.

We weren't married, but -- given the way we'd conducted our lives, together, over the past two months -- we might as well have been. Stubbornly, I wanted God, if there was one, to give me a sign. If my love for him was somehow wrong, there should be something besides fear of damnation to tell me that it was. If those Old Testament rules were simply to prevent genetic birth defects, then I knew there was as little chance of that happening with us, as that between married cousins. The fact that cousins could legally marry in the two states I was most familiar with, Virginia and North Carolina, was a compelling argument that we would be alright. I knew that amniocentesis testing was common for expecting mothers over thirty-five or who have a family history of genetic risks like sickle cell disease or cystic fibrosis. As a biology major, it just made sense that we'd do something similar, if we did marry.

I could feel Tommy stirring, and I turned to him. The love I saw, in his eyes, had me love him that much more. I couldn't restrain my love for him. That love drove me forward and my first decision was made; we were going. There might be trouble, but I wasn't giving up. I wanted to meet his dad, and maybe I'd have the courage to meet my mom -- our mom.

"I love you," I told him. "We need to get ready to leave."

"You still want to go?" He asked. His face was full of concern and hesitation -- and just a hint of surprise -- at my words. I could understand those emotions, in him, especially the surprise. Given our unwitting discovery, he'd have likely been expecting me to want to cancel our trip.

I tried to reassure him, returning the support he gave me so freely, "They're expecting us. We've been planning to go for almost two months. I don't know what we're going to do, but I feel we should go."

In a mindless fog, I got out of bed and showered first, upon his unwavering gentlemanly suggestion. When I returned to dress, I could feel tears leaking from my eyes, and he came to kiss me.

I sadly stroked his cheek and told him, "You need to get your shower, so we can go."

While he was gone, I packed as well as I could and, when he returned, Tommy began doing everything for me, waiting on me hand and foot as I continued to worry and cry. He loaded everything into the car, and we headed out the door into the cold with our winter coats. He walked hand in hand with me, as if I might fall, and then helped me into my seat. Where would I find anyone that could instinctively love, care for, and adore me so utterly as he did?

Our apartment slowly disappeared in the Taurus' rear-view mirror, as I pulled away from the curb. The shock from Tuesday night's events had left me with the notion that additional effort was required to draw air into my lungs and, when released, my breath wanted to catch, periodically sighing out as if following a long spell of crying. I'd refrained from giving in to the flow of tears, that night, but the mood in the car loomed on the edge of an outpouring of emotion. Both of us remained silent, subdued by our thoughts, and I couldn't help wondering if our relationship would ever be the same.

Suzan sat, nearly motionless, in the passenger seat, her head resting gently against the pillow. Her long strawberry blond hair hid most of her face, but her breath periodically fogged a small area of the window. There was a near-imperceptible bite in the chilly air of the early winter morn. I knew I was imagining an ominous foreboding settling upon us; nevertheless it sapped the warmth right out of my heart. I flicked both seat warmers to 'high' and hoped there was no such thing as fate, while I pondered the premonitions I kept having about the future of our relationship.

At the end of our street, I found myself checking my mirrors and path forward for the umpteenth time. The traffic was fairly heavy, that morning, but it had likely been clear enough for me to proceed more than once, during the moments I'd sat there, lost in thought and emotion. I shook my head in an attempt to clear the cobwebs and doubt. I didn't know what the future held, for Suzan and me, but I was resolved to see it through to the end -- whatever it turned out to be. I took the next break in traffic and joined the stream of student vehicles leaving early on the first day after finals.

Clearly, Suzan and I weren't the only ones starting long treks homeward for Christmas break. By the time we got to the main highway towards I-40 west, the seat warmers and heater had removed the chill. In fact, it was quickly becoming too toasty, and Suzan had begun squirming in her seat. I reached over to lower her seat warmer, and was heartened to see the faintest smile slip across her mouth. She removed her seatbelt, slid forward in the seat, and then slipped off her coat and tossed it into the back. I eagerly allowed my spirits to be lifted a bit by this good sign.

Once she was safely buckled in again, I asked, "Would you help me with mine, please?"

"Sure," she nodded, again with another brief hint of a smile.

I undid my seatbelt at the next light. It took me a bit of wriggling, even with her assistance, to get my arms out of the sleeves and the tail of the coat out from beneath me. When I was finally free of it, she tossed it in the back seat to join hers. I'd glanced at her repeatedly, during the interaction, and had seen the inner turmoil of the struggle pervading the conflicting points of view in her mind. Interpreting every perceived action as positive, yet unspoken, acquiescence, I tried to convince myself that she wanted to love me, and felt certain that the previous mental image of love she'd had for me was still strong within her.

Things were far from settled; her unwitting discovery had changed everything in a flash. The flicker of a smile disappeared into pouting disappointment as she snuggled back into the pillow and closed her eyes. The cars in front of me finally started through the light, and we nearly made it through. I opted to avoid going through on yellow, and we'd be first in line for the next round at the four-way alternating intersection.

My vision was again drawn to her; the longing in my heart desperately searching for something, anything, that might give me hope for us. I continued assuaging myself, without evidence, that her vision of us hadn't been irrevocably altered. Right now it was clear that she couldn't or wouldn't allow herself to feel the way she'd felt -- the way we'd both felt, for the last few months. I did a double-take, though, when I saw the edge of the pillow, where the case had crept upward to reveal the old blue and white striped feather ticking material beneath. Warmth spread through my body like a prairie fire in high wind. The realization that she'd brought my pillow nearly snatched my breath away and I swallowed a lump forming in my throat.

She didn't like feather pillows, or at least she hadn't, yet she'd chosen it over her foam one. Observing the way she held it made my heart rate trot right up to a gallop, as it offered me that glimmer of hope for which I'd been looking. Her left arm was on top with her right beneath and her face nestled into it. As she drifted back off to sleep, her deep inhalations reminded me of my own behavior. In times of stress I'd often breathe with my face buried in it so its fragrance permeated my sinuses, to soothe me off into a deep and restful slumber.

To the casual observer it certainly wouldn't seem like a big deal, but the seemingly unsophisticated pillow carried some nostalgic history for me. It'd been something I'd clung to, when my parents divorced and I moved from Corpus Christi to Austin. Then I'd brought it to NC State, with me, when I moved to Raleigh. Its aroma had always reminded me of safety and security.

I'd forever loved the way it smelled. It had been Dad's, and I'd found it at the bottom of a cedar chest while playing hide and seek, in my youth. The pillow had been relegated there for reasons similar to Suzan's; Launa thought it was old and musty, and didn't want it in our home. Dad secluded it away because he'd used it from a young age, too, but he'd given it up to have the matching foam pillows that Launa wanted.

When he saw my interest in having it, that day, there was no stopping Dad telling me the pillow's story. Hearing it retold every summer, when I brought it with me to visit him, made me certain that it held fond memories for him, too. There were really only a handful of things he seemed comfortable relating, regarding his upbringing. According to his lore, he'd helped them make it. He and his father had gone hunting for geese, and come back with about ten. The number never grew, as he retold the story over the years, so I was pretty sure he wasn't embellishing it.

His mother had plucked the outer feathers, to harvest the down that lay beneath them. Afterward, he'd helped clean and dry it. They'd frozen all but one of the birds, which they dined on that evening. The next day his sister, Katie, had taught him how to sew and, together, they'd sewn yards of feather ticking into several pillows on an old metal Singer table. Maybe the memory was tied to those activities, or maybe Dan had relived them when they roasted other birds for Thanksgiving or Christmas dinners.

Dad didn't seem to have much besides the pillow and that old chest, that'd belonged to my grand parents, not even pictures. So his eyes had lit up when I wanted it. Mom insisted upon washing it that first time, before she'd allow me to keep it. Its aroma always brought me back to the good memories I had of home and family, when my parents were still married and life had felt stable. It easily transported me to a time and place where I'd felt safe and loved. It'd been washed, periodically, over the years, but that smell never went away.

Suzan's initial reaction to the pillow, when she'd moved in, had been fairly negative. Plain facts were that she'd thought it was grosser than milk 'n' lemonade. She'd wanted to get rid of it, but had thankfully relented after I'd explained its history and meaning to me. Together, we'd washed it in the sink with a gentle detergent, hung it to drip most of the way dry in our shower, and finally fluffed it in the stacked dryer of our shared apartment. As always, the esthesis had remained. Now she was clinging to it, like a life preserver, on our voyage to my childhood home.

Yes, there was an inkling of hope -- perhaps fading, or even likely to become a distant inclination. For me, however, it meant some hope still remained. Within that moment, there was solace; symbolically, she held a piece of me.

When the light turned green, I wiped a tear from my face and proceeded through the intersection. The busy traffic opened, briefly, when someone kindly left space for me to ease over into the lane that would lead us to the interstate. At the next light, I found myself thinking about returning to Dad's place. It had been that safe and loving spot, for the early years of my life. After the divorce, it had become a summer refuge where I could escape the discord that seemed constant at the trailer, with Mom and Pete.

Staying with Dad always meant I got the opportunity to read, because there were always cool books, throughout his place, that he'd accumulated. A quote by Laozi, that I had read a few summers earlier, seemed to keep echoing in my head. "Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage." I loved Suzan with all my heart, but my emotional strength was waning a little, that morning.

Being agnostic didn't give a man much to hang his hat on, and I found myself struggling with various fundamental concepts of fate, destiny, temptation, and redemption. The whole situation still didn't feel very fair, or even make a lot of sense to me. The discovery left me feeling like the universe was testing us. The dichotomy of my warring thoughts put me in a light fog, and my emotions kept overriding my rationality.