Blackthorn

by J.T. Geissinger

“I want to meet my daughter. Stonewalling won’t change that. It’s up to you if we do this the hard way or the easy way.” That makes me scoff. “You’re threatening me with legal action?” “I don’t want to have to do that, but what’s mine is mine. Let’s do this on good terms.” I can’t help the small laugh that passes my lips. “God. The arrogance is astounding. You’re really something else.” “Is that a yes?” “It’s a no because your child doesn’t exist. I miscarried shortly after I left. Bea’s father is an ocular surgeon who lives in Los Angeles. Dr. Brett Lattman.” Ronan stares at me with thinned lips, narrowed eyes, and an air of raging doubt. “I can tell by that constipated expression you don’t believe me, but all you’d need to do is see her. She’s nine, Ronan. The math doesn’t work.” When I tire of him staring at me in doubtful silence, I pull my cell phone from the pocket of my coat and enter my passcode to unlock it. I navigate to a recent picture of Bea, then turn the screen toward him. “That’s Bea. Notice the date on the photo is from a few weeks ago. Also, notice how she looks nothing like you, especially those unnerving colorless eyes that peer from under the Neanderthal foreheads of everyone in your family. Finally, notice how small she is. Satisfied?” He stares at the photo so long, my arm starts to ache. Then he says, “Only the men in my family have those eyes. And she could just be small for her age. That picture proves nothing.” I drop my arm to my side and sigh. ...