Crisis of Identity

Beyond the front picket fence at 14, a late model midnight blue BMW sat in the Evans’ drive, beside manicured lawns and neatly maintained gardens. Iceberg standard roses lined the fence and drive, under planted by low, square cut shrubs.

The front blinds of the white weatherboard home were open. Lights were on inside. Furnishings suggested a formal lounge room.

My pulse rate quickened as we strolled the drive to the front door. I wiped my perspiring hands down my board shorts, aware this could go one of two ways; well received or end in tears.

A security door separated us from the front door. Sarah rang the doorbell then stepped back beside me. After a brief wait, the front door opened exposing the silhouette of someone through the security door.

‘Can I help you?’ A female voice inquired.

‘Yes. Good afternoon, Mrs Evans…?’ Sarah said.

‘Yes…’

‘My name is Sarah Fox…’ She gestured to her right. ‘I live with my parents Jackie and Max down at 26…’

‘Ah, yes. Sarah. Of course. How are you? What can I do for you, dear?’ The security door remained closed.

Sarah nervously rubbed her hands together. ‘This is my friend Kade Miller. He’s over from WA on holiday…’

‘Right…’ I could feel her inquiring gaze through the screen.

‘This is a little awkward…’ Sarah began. ‘But, there are people…police actually… who believe Kade could be Jayden, which we know to be absurd…so we wanted to come and talk to you about it, to warn you…so you didn’t get hurt by it all.’ Mrs Evans didn’t respond. After an awkward pause Sarah continued. ‘Do you think you could spare us five minutes of your time?’

‘Why do people think that?’ The door remained closed.

‘Because they think Kade resembles the computer generated photos the police created for an older Jayden.’ Sarah’s questioning eyes flicked to me when there was no response.

The door lock clicked and the security door opened out towards us. Mrs Evans regarded me.

I recognized her from the funeral. In her late fifties, she was a petite lady; 5-3 in the old money. Short silver-blonde hair framed her tanned complexion. Her teal coloured designer-brand t-shirt and white pants suggested elegance, while her jewellery screamed affluence.

‘What was your name again?’ she asked.

‘Kade Miller…’ I said.

‘How old are you, Kade…?’ she said, all business-like.

‘Twenty-eight.’

She nodded as she repeated the up and down assessment. Her eyes narrowed slightly. It was difficult to get a read, but I suspect she was assessing any resemblance. ‘And you’re from…WA…?’ she said with an upward inflection, looking to Sarah for confirmation.

‘That’s right,’ Sarah said.

Mrs Evans nodded. She flicked me one last cautious gaze before stepping back from the doorway. ‘Come in, please,’ she said.

Once inside, we followed her across polished timber floorboards into a tastefully furnished lounge room. Tan leather two-seater lounges, separated by a timber coffee table, sat in front of an open fire place. A Persian style rug under foot complimented the décor.

In the corner near the kitchen, a white fat candle burned brightly on a small table in front of a large framed photo of three year old Jayden. I’d seen this photo during my internet research.

On the same shrine table was a smaller head shot photo of a smiling Graham Evans.

‘This is lovely…’ Sarah said while glancing around the room.

‘Thank you,’ Mrs Evans said. ‘Can I get you a drink…? Coffee, tea, water?’

Sarah looked to me, as if seeking guidance whether we were staying long enough for a drink. ‘Ah, a coffee would be great, thank you,’ I said.

‘That would lovely,’ Sarah added.

Mrs Evans gestured to the lounges. ‘Please… Take a seat. I won’t be long.’

As Mrs Evans left the room, Sarah took a seat while I checked out the many framed photos scattered around the room on anything flat.

Jayden must’ve been an only child, either that, or his siblings were too ugly to photograph. I was admiring the many photos on the fireplace mantel, particularly one of Mr Evans on a cabin cruiser, when Mrs Evans returned carrying a tray of coffees.

‘That was my husband’s pride and joy…’ she said. ‘He loved that boat.’ She placed a tray on the coffee table then glanced towards the small shrine. ‘I lost my husband and my best friend last week,’ she said behind welling tears.

I slid in beside Sarah. ‘I was aware of that. I’m sorry for your loss,’ I said. Mrs Evans moved to sit opposite. She forced a gratitude smile.

With our coffees in hand, Mrs Evan took control. She held a commanding presence as she fired off an interrogation style interview about my life, presumably to help her decide on whether or not she was talking to her missing son.

After 10 minutes, she finished her bombardment and said, ‘Now… Your turn. What can I do for you today?’

My head was still spinning, but that was my cue. It was my opportunity to mention Brent Dawes and his case of mistaken identity. It was my chance to reassure her that, contrary to other opinions, I am not her missing son. It was important to me that she was aware of that, to avoid Dawes creating a false high, followed by a crashing low.

My turn was over in less than five minutes. Mrs Evans returned her cup to the table. She regarded me in silence as several beats passed before saying, ‘OK… Firstly, I appreciate you thinking of my wellbeing and coming here today. Given we have never met, that is very thoughtful of you. Now… Do I think you are my Jay…? I can see a slight resemblance… But from what I have learned here today, I have my doubts. Tell me this… Do you have any birth marks, Kade?’

The question caught me off guard. ‘No, I don’t, actually.’

‘OK… Well, Jayden did. He had this cute little heart shaped birthmark on his right rib cage…about here,’ she gestured to an area on her ribs, below her right breast.

I lifted my t-shirt to expose my ribs. No birthmark.

‘Well…’ she extended open hands. ‘There’s your proof right there…’ Mrs Evans said after examining my ribs. ‘You can’t possibly be my Jay, can you…?’ she asked rhetorically.

Sarah and I exchanged a relieved smile. The tension left my shoulders. It was so pleasing to hear her declare I was not her missing son. She, of all people should know. To finally be free of being accused of someone I’m not, was liberating. ‘Do you mind if I tell Detective Dawes about our meeting today…?’

‘Of course not. And if I ever meet him, I’ll also tell him, if that will help you.’

I caught Sarah’s eye, then stood from my seat. ‘We’ve taken up enough of your time here…’ Mrs Evans also stood. ‘I appreciate you speaking to us…I really hope we haven’t upset you by coming here and dredging up the past…’

Mrs Evans waved a hand. ‘In my mind, my Jay is living a happy life with another family somewhere… a family who loves him… a family who are giving him a good life.’ She smiled as her eyes fell heavily. ‘That way I smile when I think about him. When I wonder what he looks like now. What type of man he’s grown into…’ Her focus remained on the floor while several beats passed, before lifting to meet our gaze. ‘So, don’t be silly… Meeting you today took me to my happy place with my Jay… more than you probably realize.’

Twenty minutes after nervously strolling up Mrs Evans’ drive, wondering if I was doing the right thing, she was waving to us from her front door as we left.

I floated down Woodlands Drive as we returned to Sarah’s, ahead of meeting up with Mitch & Bec. In my mind, I was fist pumping. I am Kade Miller. Shots on me.