Page 115 - What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours

interrupt him) and an intruder in the hall. Some old black guy talking at him in

Portuguese, begging forgiveness for something.
“Did you call the police?”
Jacob was silent.
“You didn’t call the police, Jacob?”
He thought the intruder might have been his dad. “You know, my bio dad. I
got him to slow down and he seemed to be talking about how I’d weighed on his
conscience.”

“Interesting. Is he still there with you?”
“Nah . . . once I realized who he was or might be or whatever, I told him to
get the fuck out. And guess what he said—”
“He said, ‘OK, but if you tell me to leave I won’t come back’?”
“And I said, ‘Well, you’d best not!’”

“And then he said, ‘I’m leaving, but everything that’s between us will stay’?”
“No, he didn’t say that. And hang on, how did you . . .”
Jacob’s voice fizzed and wavered, stopped altogether, and was replaced by a
smoother, happier version. Audio of the second conversation they’d filmed.
“To be honest, Jill, I didn’t think you were going to get adopted. You played
too many mind games with the people who tried to take you on . . . when you
were together in public you’d act all cowed and hurry to do everything they said,

acting as if they beat you at home. And you didn’t eat at home either, did you?”
“No! I’d stuff my face in school so it looked like I wasn’t getting fed.
Looking back I was a scary kid,” Jill said, in perfect time with the recording of
her own voice.
“But the Akkermans just kept telling you they really liked you, and even when
you pulled stunts like that Sabine would say, ‘Nope, sorry and God help us, but

we still really like you,’ and she and Karel wouldn’t eat until you ate . . .”
“So then I’d worry that I’d brought them to the brink of collapse and ended
up spoon-feeding them rice, two spoons for each of them and then one for
me . . . important to keep your strength up when you’ve got parents to feed . . .”
There was no room to ask what had happened; Jacob had been there on the
other end of the line but now he was gone and it was a week ago again. The blue
wall in front of her was more pacifying than sky, its color more even. Icicles

hung from her nostrils; they were long, thin, and pearly gray . . . Like enchanted
spindles, Jill thought, but it was only mucus, so she reached for tissues. She and
Jacob were talking about the Wallaces now. Jill had always been sure that Jacob
would get adopted. It was just a question of his coming across grown-ups who