Chapter 1:The Beginning
―What a day. What a rotten day.‖
It was drizzling rain and chilly. The locals are used to it, the sudden summer chills of San
Francisco that surprise and catch visitors to the region rushing for their sweaters. Almost
every morning and afternoon through the months of May, June and July, a foggy, gray
soup rushes in from the Pacific Ocean to envelop the northern coastal and valley regions
of California. This was one of those days. I suppose it fit the occasion.
I was inside the local Pharmacy store, standing at the wire transfer desk for the third time
in a week preparing to send money to my brother, Adam. As I completed the paperwork,
I could feel myself getting really angry. Well, outrage is a better way to describe what
was happening with me. Bastard! Yes, outrage mixed with stomach churning anxiety
threatening to break through the brave, smiley face I was so adept at portraying to my
family, friends and what seemed like the entire planet.
Happy, happy Amelia, nothing ever bothers Amelia. Need help; call Amelia! Oh, she
may say no sometimes, but she never means it, always gives in, every time; can never say
no and really mean it. Just keep at her. After all, she is married to that rich Australian and
he is so generous. She can afford to help. They have plenty to spare. She should help. She
is family isn't she?
God, I am so tired of giving in to them, especially to Adam and that idiot wife of his,
Susan. I have had enough! This is it, the last time! Oh, I know I have said that before, a
hundred times, a thousand times probably over the last 10 years. What is the matter with
me?
Here I am again and to make matters worse my baby son, Lucas, is sick with a cold and
running a fever. I should not have him out in weather like that. It is so unlike me. I never
put my children at risk. Never! I may have been a bit overprotective, even with Abbey,
my 10-year-old, but that is how it is when you've had as much trouble as I've had getting
pregnant. I love my children.
Lucas was an in vitro baby. He only came along after nine, disheartening attempts. But,
that's me; I am just that determined. And, I am planning to have a third child even if it
takes me until I am 50 to do it.
As I stood there waiting for the receipt, my mind kept running the same old mantra about
how all of this came to be, how I allowed myself to be sucked into the vortex of my
brother's nightmare. And now, what was once a deep love for baby brother, Adam, was
evolving into a poisonous hate.The poison ran deep. Giving him money was just a symptom of the heartaches he had
caused our family.
As I said, I am married to a generous man. Jack had never come right out and said ―no‖
to Adam's incessant demands.
―We should help if we can,‖ he would always say to me.
Unfortunately, in those early days neither of us knew what a narcissistic and conniving
monster we were dealing with.
• • •
Adam was a cute kid and even though he was eight years younger than me, I loved being
with him then. We played games and went for walks. He liked that, and he had a real
curiosity. He was very intelligent. That's what was so shocking; he really could have
been whatever he wanted. He could twist me around his finger with just a look. I spoiled
him. We all did, probably because he was the only boy.
Ma loved us all, and she was a great mother. Her life was not an easy one. She was a
looker, very attractive. Two of my sisters and Adam had a different father than me. Their
father was the brother of my father. His name was Steve. I loved him and mostly called
him Dad. I was raised by him and my mother. Ma did the best, but somehow she messed
up with everyone. She even admitted that, saying to me once, ―What have I done? Why
do all of my children have problems except for you?‖ She drives me crazy with the
excuses she makes for Adam's behavior, but that's her story. He is her only son. Heck, as
I said he could play and game me every which way, why not her.
There is quite a story about how I came to have two fathers, about my real Daddy, Bill,
and Steve, who I called Dad, and I loved them both. This is one of those stories that, if
ever told at all, are usually only whispered surreptitiously within the confines of the
family clique.
Ma's first and only husband, Bill, was my father and the father of my older sister,
Margaret. I called him Daddy. When he was in Korea in 1959, and I was just a year-old,
he came home on a surprise leave and found my mother in bed with his younger brother.
Surprise! Shocking! I cannot remember anything of how the discovery played out at the
time, I was too young, but it could not have been pleasant. Mother and Daddy divorced
and Uncle Steve(Dad) and my mother got together and had three children, Adam,
Michele and Chrissie.
It would be many years before I was to hear the real story of what happened. Ma never
told me. I eventually learned the story from one of my aunts and other relatives. There are
no signs that Adam, Michele and Chrissie have a different father from Margaret and me. I
once talked to a geneticist about it when I was pregnant with Lucas. She said, ―Well, the
fathers are brothers. The DNA chain would be close.‖
Ma treated us all the same, loved us the same and taught us the same manners. She did
her best to teach us to love and respect people. By some standards, we might have been
judged a poor family, but Ma, because she never married Steve, was able to continue to
receive welfare checks. What she was doing was probably illegal because she and Steve
were cohabitating, and he was working two or three jobs.