Family matters.

Amber looks back at the registration of her birth, and suddenly understands your reaction. “Is that your brother?” she asks, fear blossoming in her voice like some botanical horror. “Am I your niece?”

The need to comfort her starts your brain working again. “That’s what it says. On the other hand, I have a strong suspicion we were manipulated here to see this—and if that’s the case, someone had to know this was here. Why? Why would they? If your mother actually slept with my brother, how come she never mentioned it? We looked so much alike, people used to joke we were twins born ten years apart. If he were the father of her child, wouldn’t she have asked if we were related? Something’s fishy here.”

Amber relaxes a little, then does a double-take and asks, “Why did you say ‘looked’?”

You sigh. “My big brother—he’s not my only older brother, but he’s the one I always thought of as my ‘big brother’—was a restless soul. Firstborn aren’t supposed to be like that, but he was a wanderer born, always chasing adventure and wanting to see what was around the next bend in the road. He had an artist’s eye—something else inexplicable, as no one else in our family has any artistic gift at all. He was a brilliant photographer, so he went to work for National Geographic, and then as a war correspondent. He ended up embedded in Iraq and died in an ambush.”

Amber sighs. “I’m sorry for your loss. I wish I could meet him.”

“I do too—not least because he could clear this up. Even if he were still alive, though, tracking him down would probably be extremely difficult. He never actually went to college, you know, though he was a brilliant man. In fact, he graduated from high school late because he left the country in the middle. It made no sense to me at the time and I never found out how he wangled it, but he spent a year in SOUTH AFRICA!”

Amber startles at your sudden shout, then stands amazed at the exultant grin on your face. You only realize how tense your body had become now that the tension is gone. You turn to her and say, “You can’t be my niece. I don’t know what to do about this record, but the most it could be is an astounding coincidence. Dave was in the States when you were born, but he only got back when your mother was something like six months pregnant, and he’d been out of the country about that length of time when she conceived you. And no, he never came back to this continent during that year—he didn’t want to. Drove my mother nuts. I can’t say for sure that Dave never had sex with your mother, but I can say for sure that he didn’t father you.”

“So what do we do?” Amber asks.

“Like I said, I don’t know. As I think of it, though, the fact that we were wangled here to see this suggests that if we’d asked for a certified copy of your registration of birth direct from the Vital Statistics Agency in Victoria, we would have gotten something different. I think somehow, somebody’s pulling a fast one. How you do that with a provincial bureaucracy is beyond me, but that’s what it feels like.”

“You know,” Amber says, “we could just get DNA testing to prove we’re not related.”

“I do know,” you reply, “but if we’re legally related, that’s all that matters as far as the law is concerned. I don’t want this hanging around for someone to use against us.”

You think about it for a moment, then decide to press your case that you’ve been presented with a fraudulent document. You spend hours arguing with various bureaucrats; they refuse all your requests to see any files or documents for yourself (beyond what they’ve given you), but eventually agree to investigate your assertion for themselves. You and Amber sit alone in a small room for a long time; you wouldn’t mind at all if the chairs were comfortable, but you’re pretty sure it’s against government regulations everywhere to provide the public with comfortable chairs in government offices. Eventually, a woman comes back with a face as white as yours must have been.

“You were correct,” she says in a strained voice. “The document on file in Victoria does not name David Michael James as the father of Amber Lynn Rose. In fact, it lists the father as unknown.” You hear an explosive release of tension from Amber, and feel a weight lift from your shoulders. She continues, looking grim. “Are you by chance acquainted with a man named Eugene Grey?”

At that, you sit upright, and a bolt of pure fury shoots through you. She nods. “I see that you are. I will not get into any details here; this is a matter for internal investigation. Suffice it to say that this Eugene Grey is alleged to be the instigator of the falsification of this document. Allegedly, he told certain individuals that it was for the purpose of a harmless prank, but that is clearly not the case. Will you be staying in Vancouver much longer?”

“We’re here through the end of next week. Why do you ask?”

“We may need a statement from you, depending on how our investigation progresses. I do not know if there will be grounds for any criminal proceedings against this Mr. Grey, but otherwise, I can assure you that those who are guilty will be appropriately punished.” She speaks in a voice like chipped flint, and you’re very glad her fury isn’t directed at you. You thank her and depart.

Once you’re out on the street, you look at Amber and say, “I don’t know about you, but I need dinner and a glass or three of wine. What sounds good to you?”

“Italian?” she ventures.

“Italian it is. We’ll go down to Giardino.”