Free Claire at Sixteen by Susan Beth Pfeffer Page A

man, didn’t show the world his dirty laundry.”
    â€œSo Nicky’s mother named him Sebastian?” Claire asked.
    â€œNick’s mother named him George Keefer,” Aunt Grace said. “It’s all in the detective’s report. Would you care to read it?”
    â€œNo,” Claire said. “I like the way you tell it.” George Keefer? Nicky was really named George Keefer? And Evvie had known for how long, four years? Sam knew, too. And Megs, and Nicky, and none of them had breathed a word. Claire couldn’t wait to go home and call her father Georgie.
    â€œSebastian Prescott was a businessman somewhere, one of those unimportant southern cities,” Aunt Grace said. “He had a cheap little affair with his secretary. Men did it all the time in those days. Presumably they still do. The secretary got pregnant, and Prescott paid her some money, a thousand dollars or so, to keep her mouth shut. She had the baby and put ‘father unknown’ on the birth certificate. I always thought that was rather honorable of her, but of course it’s possible it was a state requirement for illegitimate births.”
    Poor Nicky, Claire thought, and then realized, much to her surprise, she meant it. Poor Nicky. He must have been mortified by the whole business not to have used his illegitimacy as another charming weapon. “But she didn’t give the baby up for adoption,” Claire said.
    â€œShe boarded it out with relatives,” Aunt Grace replied. “Presumably she made up a story about who Nick’s father was and what had happened to him. After a while, she married, and the boy went to live with her. His stepfather was white trash. It’s no wonder Nick has the morals of a sewer rat. One really couldn’t have expected better of him.”
    â€œBut you did,” Claire said.
    â€œNonsense,” Aunt Grace said. “I didn’t care what his morals were, just as long as he kept away from Margaret. She was so innocent before she met him, so pure. I knew he would corrupt her.”
    â€œBut that’s not completely fair,” Claire said. She couldn’t believe she was actually defending Nicky. George. Whoever he was. “Nicky must have had some qualities. After all, his English teacher took him in, left him money for him to go to Princeton.”
    Aunt Grace laughed. “A fairy tale,” she declared. “I remember being impressed with it myself, when Nick first told us. There was no English teacher, no Mr. Wilson to open his house and his wallet to Nick. The boy blackmailed his father. He went to Prescott’s office, demanded money, and threatened to confront Prescott’s wife and children if Prescott didn’t pay. I suppose Prescott felt it was worth a few thousand yet again to keep the scandal from his family. He gave Nick some money, not enough for a full four-years’ education, but some, and Nick got the rest himself. The detectives couldn’t figure out how. Probably something illegal. It was then that he changed his name to Nick Sebastian, and made up all those lovely stories about his father dying in the war and his mother coming from a fine if impoverished background. Those stories, which I gather, up until minutes ago, you were happy enough to believe.”
    â€œIt’s hard to picture him a George Keefer,” Claire said.
    â€œI should think that would be the least of it,” Aunt Grace said. “The name change.”
    Claire nodded, although that was the only part of the story she could really grasp. “He says his stepfather hit him,” she said. “Is that true?”
    â€œIt certainly is,” Aunt Grace replied. “With a skillet once, right by the eye. He has a scar.”
    He did, although that hadn’t been the explanation he’d given when asked how he’d acquired it. Something about a dog, Claire thought. She had never wasted her time listening to Nicky’s