Out of Left Field Read Online Free Page B

hope to have my own phone before long. Until then—
    Love from your big bro, Pat.
    *
    Phone call: Quinn on Digby Neck, to Cat in Baddeck, Nova Scotia
    Hey, Cat. You home alone?
    Good. Listen: sorry I was harsh the other day. I’m not over the breakup. But it’s more than that. This whole thing is beyond weird.
    Yeah, got the photo. Looks like Mum and this guy were an item, unless he’s some long-lost cousin. Not sure what this means. Maybe she got the date wrong?
    Not like her, I know. Anyway, there’s more. My pal Dexter and I have been looking at airfares. Cheap tickets to Puerto Rico and Cuba.
    I know it’s hot down there. Exactly what I need. Gotta get out of the fog and this funk.
    Not an invitation. Sorry. I need a passport. Twenty-seven, and I’ve never been out of the country.
    Well, I know you haven’t—but you’re only fourteen—
    Okay: fifteen! Will you listen up? I need my birth certificate to get a passport.
    Right. Not something I carry around in my truck. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the thing. I asked Mum—
    Uh-huh. So you heard her hissy fit. Maybe Dad’s right about hormones.
    Seriously, Cat. Asking for my birth certificate doesn’t seem like an odd request. You hear Mum cross-examine me, asking why I need to go to the States?
    As if. Why would I head that way? Our money’s worthless and their crazy government doesn’t tempt me. I’ve heard lines at the border are nasty since 9/11.
    Yeah, Mum was beyond weird, eh? Claims she doesn’t know where she put the birth certificate, maybe the safe deposit box, she won’t have time to look the way business is booming, yada yada yada.
    Like the world is rushing to buy homes in Baddeck. And like she’s ever misplaced anything.
    Listen up. Dexter says it’s simple: Call the hospital where you were born, ask them to search their records, they’ll send a copy.
    Antigonish. At least, that’s what Mum always told me.
    Will you pay attention? There is NO record of me at that hospital. Nada. Zip. They even took my phone number, searched again, called me back. No Quinn Blanding born on my birthday. In fact, the woman said it was an odd week: only three babies born, all on the same day, all girls.
    Very funny, Cat.
    Come on, Cat. Someone’s lying. I need to figure out who—and why. So do me a favor: Take a look in the files when Mum and Dad are out.
    Try the tall metal set, in Mum’s home office.
    Don’t know. Maybe under my name? Or something obvious like “birth certificates.” She’s probably got one for you, too. You know how anal Mum is; her files are super organized. If they’re at the bank, I’m out of luck.
    Thanks. Maybe I’m paranoid, but it makes me wonder about that photo. It’s almost like I was never born. Or maybe they lied about my birth date? I’m tied in knots over this thing.
    No, I’m not mad at you, Cat. Just confused as hell.
    I’m on the boat all day, waiting for the sun to shine, so use the cell. And whatever you do, don’t let Mum know what’s up.
    You’re right: I owe you, sis. Big time.
    Pregame Warm-Up
    “Brandon, wake up. We overslept.”
    Mom jiggles my feet. She’s still in her robe. I sit up fast and swing my legs off the bed.
    “Don’t panic,” Mom says. “I’ll give you a ride to work. I already called in sick. I need to see the lawyer.”
    She’s right, I am panicked—but not about the pizzeria. Where’s the shoebox? Then I remember: I slid it under the bed last night after reading a few letters. Cora was right: you can only digest a few at a time.
    She gives me a funny look. “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing. I’m not awake.” I stand up, check the mirror. My face is as wrinkled as my pillowcase. “Guess I won’t get the Oscar nod.”
    “You were out when I came in,” Mom says. “All the lights were on—and you didn’t twitch when I covered you up. Where’d you go last night?”
    “Aunt Cora’s. I wanted to talk to her about the letter.”
    Mom’s face collapses. “Was