Page 6 of Old Secrets

A year ago, the talk would have bothered me, but after so long trying to figure out how I ticked, I discovered the discussion amused me more than anything. “I’m a very good fox,” I informed our friend in my most serious tone.

“We know,” she replied with laughter in her voice. “Believe me, we know.”

Aware that everything about my birth and identity might be a lie, I rummaged through the collection of paperwork in search of the truth. Everything after the age of six, which I could verify myself, went into one pile. Everything that lacked an associated memory went into another pile. The documents I doubted were real went into yet another pile, and everything prior to my supposed date of birth went into a final pile.

A medical record, one I hadn’t seen before and I suspected my ma had attempted to hide, indicated I’d always been behind the curve by a significant margin. At age five, I’d been closer in size to a toddler, aged two at most. I’d put on a few extra inches here and there, until I’d somehow burst up to my current five nothing around age nineteen.

At the time, I’d been thrilled with the extra height.

Now I questioned everything about how I’d developed.

“Jake? Grab the measuring tape, would you?”

While he raised a brow, he went to our toolbox we kept stashed in our bedroom closet and returned with the measuring tape.

I stood my straightest and ordered, “Measure me.” Then, realizing I’d married a pervert, I added, “My height, not my breasts.”

“I don’t need to measure your breasts to enjoy their general increase in size. You’re going to spill out if you don’t replace your bra soon.”

Damn it. I’d done a rather good job of ignoring the need to go buy new bras. “Just measure me.”

He chuckled and obeyed, and he took care to flatten his hand on the top of my head to keep my hair from contributing extra inches. “Five foot two inches.”

“I’ll be damned.” I grabbed the medical record and thrust it at him. “Fenerec age quickly and then stall. Whatever race I am doesn’t.”

“And the preliminary information we have implies you’re a long-lived species like us. What made you want to check your height?” Jake eyed the papers I’d given him, and a moment later, he said, “I see.”

“How old am I? The medical records imply I came to the United States as a newborn, but the evidence is implying I wasn’t really a newborn—not in the human sense of the word. At five, they think I was closer in physical size to a two year old, Jake.”

“I never actually monitored your height. The FBI never really checks height after the intake exam, either. I’ve been checked at the doctor’s office sometimes, but it’s not something I’ve ever paid attention to. Two inches at our height difference isn’t all that much.”

I stared at the general vicinity of his chest. “That’s an understatement. I mean, I do like the general view at this level, but it would be nice to look at your face now and then.”

Jake picked me up. As always, I squeaked, latched on to him so he wouldn’t drop me, and scowled at having been given precisely what I’d asked for. “Are you sure I’m a fox? I might be a koala instead.”

Laughing, he gave me a kiss, and rather than make me cling to him, he dislodged me and set me back on the floor. “You’re cuter than the average koala, so I’m pretty sure you are a fox. Exposure has worked. You still cling, but you don’t shriek like I’m about to kill you now.”

“Maybe I was dumped in the United States because Tibet has many tall places. My fear of heights is so bad they couldn’t keep me where there are tall mountains.”

“Or something happened when you were a baby and you’re now terrified of heights as a result.”

“Wouldn’t I remember that?”

He shrugged. “I’d go ask the resident expert on the subject, but the last time I went over there, she almost took my head off with her travel bag. It’s not safe to go to her RV right now.”

“It would suck if you were killed by our therapist. We’re almost functional people, and it would be a pity if we undid her work bothering her while she’s packing.” I eyed the paperwork. “We should be packing.”

“I threw some clothes into a suitcase for us. I figure the Chinese can help us with clothing if we need.”

“Do they actually sell clothing for giants in China?”

Jake frowned. “If not, well, I’ll be wearing four pairs of jeans and a suit for the duration of the trip.”

“You better bring a second suit.”

“But why?”

“One so you can look nice for them, one so you can look nice for me.” I stared into his eyes. “Isn’t my happiness important?”