Текст книги "Where They Found Her"

Автор книги: Kimberly McCreight

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Molly Sanderson, Session 16, June 12, 2013

(Audio Transcription, Session Recorded with

Patient Knowledge and Consent)

Q:    You seem extremely aggravated, Molly.

M.S.: I am aggravated. I don’t see why you’re trying to get me angry at Justin.

Q:    I’m just trying to clarify where Justin was that weekend. You told me that you couldn’t reach him when you were at the doctor’s office. But I didn’t realize he was away that whole weekend.

M.S.: Yes, at a conference in Boston. I told you, he had two conferences.

Q:    But you’re not angry at him for being away?

M.S.: Why would I be angry at him for going to a conference?

Q:    For being unreachable.

M.S.: He was working. I was the one who freaked out.

Q:    You had just received horrible news. Understandable that you were upset.

M.S.: Except I was upset way before the appointment. Oh yes, I freaked out long before then. And if you want to know why I really feel guilty, it’s because of that. Because Justin told me he would be busy. That he had three different panels and colleagues to meet with. He gave me a number where I could reach him if it was an emergency. But it wasn’t an emergency. So I just kept calling and calling his cell phone. And I don’t know if it was the hormones or what, but I got myself all worked into a panic—like maybe he was dead or something. I mean, it was so stupid. Because he was there with someone. She would have called me if he’d been hit by a car.

Q:    She.

M.S.: Oh God, seriously? Yes, Justin was traveling with his research assistant, and yes, she was young and pretty and blond.

Q:    Did he often not call when he was traveling with her?

M.S.: Oh my God, this is ridiculous! You are desperate for me to be angry at him, aren’t you? Yes, Justin was away in Boston at a conference with a pretty young colleague, and yes, I couldn’t reach him at hours when I should have been able to. And yes, I was suspicious! Because I wasn’t thinking clearly! So, I freaked out and kept calling his cell phone over and over and over again. Then I started calling his room in the middle of the night, and he didn’t answer there. And I got so upset that it—that I probably made the baby’s heart speed up. All while I should have been resting and staying calm. And so, yes, that’s probably why I feel so guilty. Because I killed her! So there it is. Are you happy now, Dr. Zomer?

Q:    But you don’t blame Justin?

M.S.: Blame him? She was inside me, Dr. Zomer. I was her mother. I’m the one who was supposed to take care of her. I’m the one who was supposed to keep her alive.

Sandy

Molly hadn’t been gone two minutes when Sandy’s phone rang. A Ridgedale number that she didn’t recognize—the police department, probably. Now that they were finally calling, she couldn’t get herself to answer. Instead, she let it ring, four times in all. Sandy was sure it would have gone to voicemail by the time she answered it. But it hadn’t.

“Is this Sandy Mendelson?”

“Yes?”

“This is Sergeant Fulton of the Ridgedale Police Department. Your mother, Jenna Mendelson, has been in an automobile accident.”

“Is she dead?” Sandy heard herself sounding like she wanted that to be true. Even though she didn’t. Even though nothing could have been further from the truth.

“Um, no, miss,” he said, sounding confused about her jumping to that conclusion. And maybe a little suspicious. “Looks like she’ll be okay. Doing pretty well, considering.”

When Sandy got upstairs, Molly and Justin were in their bedroom, the door closed. Sandy sat on the edge of the guest bed for a minute, hoping they’d come out so Molly could offer, with that nice smile of hers, to take Sandy to the hospital right now.

Sandy would have headed out on her bike, but they’d taken Jenna to Bergen County Hospital, probably close to an hour by bike, and on a highway, and she didn’t have money to call a cab. She had no choice but to knock.

Justin opened the door a crack, his body filling the doorway. “Hi.” He was trying to sound friendly, but there was definitely something wrong. His eyes were all red, and his hair was all fucked up. “What’s up?”

“Oh, sorry to bother you,” Sandy began, and she seriously hated this shit—asking people for help. Like any bad habit: Do it once, and it got way too easy to do it again. “The police called. My mom is at the hospital. They said I could come down. I would ride my bike, but she’s at the Bergen County Hospital and—”

Sandy heard Molly say something behind Justin.

“Wait, hold on.” He ducked back into the bedroom, resting the door shut without pulling it closed.

There were more voices. Maybe they’d changed their minds about helping her. They had a kid of their own to worry about, and Molly had already helped Sandy a lot, more than most people did.

“You know, actually, it’s okay,” Sandy began as soon as the door opened again. She couldn’t deal with being let down easy. But it was Molly this time, car keys already in her hand. “I’m just going to ride my—”

“No, no, I’ll drive you.” Molly’s eyes were red and shiny, like Justin’s had been. “Please, I insist.” She smiled and waved Sandy forward. “What did they say?”

“That she’s going to be okay,” Sandy said, not sure she believed it herself.

“I’m so glad, Sandy,” Molly said, and it looked like she meant it. “Come on, let’s get you to her.”

“You can go ahead on in, hon,” said the nice nurse, standing to the side in her pink flowered scrubs, holding open the door to Jenna’s hospital room. “You were the first person she asked about before she went into surgery. She’ll be so happy to see you when she wakes up.”

Sandy shuffled inside. But she hung back, near the door. Eyes on the ground. She was afraid to see how bad off Jenna was. When Sandy turned her gaze up, she saw that Jenna didn’t look great, but maybe not as bad as Sandy had been afraid of. Her eyes were closed and her skin was a grayish blue that matched the hospital bedsheets. She had bruises all over her arms, a bandage on one cheek, her leg raised in a brace.

It was a miracle that Jenna wasn’t worse, everyone at the hospital had said. She’d passed in and out of consciousness, severely dehydrated, hanging upside down, her leg pinned, bleeding internally—something surgery had corrected—for days, maybe. They couldn’t be sure how long, because Jenna didn’t remember when or how the accident had happened. But everyone had been convinced she was already dead when they pulled her out. If it hadn’t been for Monte, she probably would have been.

“Let me know if you need anything.” The nurse pulled up a chair next to Jenna’s bedside and motioned for Sandy to sit. “She just had some pain medicine, and she’s still sedated from the surgery. She’ll probably sleep for a couple more hours. But if she wakes up and you need anything, just push this.” She motioned to a call button on the wall. “My name is Terry.”

Once the nurse was gone, Sandy kept on standing there for a while with her arms crossed, watching Jenna sleep. Eventually, she did rest on the hard chair a few feet from Jenna’s bed, the whole time trying to figure out how the hell she could have ever thought, even for a second, that she might be better off without her. After a while, Sandy let herself relax a little, sinking lower in the chair as the minutes became hours, and the hours stretched on toward dawn.

“Hey, there,” Jenna said when Sandy woke up. “You’ve been out like a light in that chair for I don’t know how long. They kept coming in and offering to wake you, but I told them to leave you the hell alone.” Jenna half smiled with her bandaged mouth. “I like watching my girl sleep. Reminds me of when you were little.”

The sun was up, streaming in through the curtains. Jenna looked pale and tired but much better than she had the night before. Makeup-less and with her hair pulled back, she looked like a totally different person. A little older, but more beautiful, too.

“Are you okay?” Sandy got up and stepped closer to the bed. “Does your leg hurt?”

Jenna smiled and shook her head, squeezing Sandy’s hand. “They have me hopped up on so much shit, I feel better than I have in years.”

“That’s good.” Sandy smiled, but she felt her mouth pulling hard the other way. She didn’t want to cry. She hadn’t cried in front of Jenna since she was– She couldn’t remember the last time. And if someone was going to cry, it should be Jenna. She was the one who’d been in the accident. “What the hell happened?”

Jenna shook her head with a quivery smile. “The last thing I remember real clearly is going in to work. I was drying glasses by myself behind the bar, watching Judge Judy rip in to some prick with this ugly-ass barking dog, and you know how much I love when she does that.”

Only Jenna.

“Yeah, I do,” Sandy said, smiling. “But nothing else?”

“I’ve got some flashes of being in the car after the accident. My fucking leg was on fire, and I was so goddamn thirsty. That and the fucking quiet. You know how I hate that shit. Can you imagine me with all that time on my hands, all by myself, just to think?” As Jenna shrugged, tears filled her eyes. “I do remember hearing my phone ringing and ringing, up until the battery kicked. And I knew it was you. I swear, you calling was what made me hold on.”

“You really don’t know how the accident happened?”

Jenna frowned, shook her head. “I was definitely fucking sober by the time they found me. But before that, who knows?”

“The Palisades Parkway?”

She shrugged. “Buying drugs, I guess. I know a guy who sort of lives out that way. But not really. I got to be honest, I don’t have a clue.”

“So you don’t remember some woman you were talking to before you left work? Laurie said she had blond hair.”

“A woman?” Jenna looked as confused as Sandy had been. “Nah. But like I said, I don’t remember anything after Judy.”

Sandy was trying to stay focused on Jenna being back, but it was hard not to let her mind wander. Because even with Jenna found, there were plenty of other things to worry about—no place to live, no emergency fund. And now Jenna wouldn’t be able to work, and there would be medical bills. Jenna had insurance at Blondie’s, but only if they stayed in Ridgedale. Sandy wasn’t sure if the coast was clear for her after what had happened to Hannah. To say they were screwed was a fucking understatement. But then they’d always lived on the razor’s edge. And so far they’d managed to survive.

“Can you come here?” Jenna patted the bed next to her. “Closer.”

Sandy pushed herself up onto the bed, which was a shitload stiffer than it looked. Jenna reached forward and tucked Sandy’s hair behind her ear, staring at her the whole time, like she was drinking Sandy in, filling up on her. “You know, when you were a real little girl, you were so afraid of the dark. I mean blind-ass terrified.”

“Was not.” But how would Sandy know? There was a reason she’d blocked out so much of her childhood. Jenna wasn’t easy to live with now; for a little kid, she had been kind of a nightmare.

“I know, you’re not afraid of anything anymore. But you’d cry yourself to sleep every night lying there. I told you a million times that you could leave the light on. You know me, why beat something when you can wriggle around it. But you were like ‘Fuck, no.’ Only five or something, and within weeks you’d cured yourself.” Jenna’s voice was breaking apart, her face melting. “You are so much stronger than I ever was, Sandy. Than I’ll ever be.”

Sandy rolled her eyes.

“I mean it, baby.” Jenna’s voice was serious. “There is so much in this world you could do. Anything you want. That’s why I need you to do something for me, Sandy. But you have to promise you’ll do it. Even if you don’t want to.”

That did not sound good. Not at all like something Sandy wanted to agree to. God fucking knew what Jenna was going to ask—buy her drugs, sell her extra pain pills, steal some hospital toilet paper.

Sandy shook her head. “Um, yeah, I don’t think—”

“Sandy!” Jenna shouted. “I’m serious.”

“Okay, okay,” Sandy said, raising her hands. She could always pretend she’d done whatever Jenna asked.

“There’s an envelope in there that belongs to you.” Jenna pointed toward a hospital-issue plastic bag sitting on the little table near the windows. “All of it’s in there. I counted. It’s not worth saying, but I am more sorry about taking that money than I’ve ever been for anything in my entire life. I’d like to say I changed my mind before the accident. That I realized that only an asshole would spend her kid’s money getting high. But let’s face it, you and I both know that’s probably a lie.”

Sandy pulled out the envelope, and sure enough, there were all her twenties. Thank fucking Jesus. Finally, something breaking in their favor. Enough for food while Jenna was in the hospital and at least a week in some shithole motel after she got out. In the meantime, the hospital would probably let Sandy sleep in the room, and if they didn’t, she could go back to Molly’s.

Jenna waved Sandy back over. “You know what I thought about out there when I knew it was you calling me over and over again?”

Sandy shook her head as she sat back down on the bed, trying not to cry. It wasn’t working. All that fear, all that worry, she’d been holding back all these days was rushing in. Soon there would be nowhere left for it to go.

“I thought: There’s Sandy, taking care of me again. When all I’ve ever done is mess things up for her.”

“That’s not—”

“Yes, it is true, baby.” Jenna stroked Sandy’s cheek. “And I have to live with that. But you don’t, Sandy. You have a choice. That’s why I need you to take that money, and I need you to go.” There were tears on Jenna’s cheeks, rolling down in big fat streams. “You need to leave this town, and you need to never come back. You need to get away from me.”

“Mom, what the hell are you—”

“Do it for me if you have to.” Jenna’s voice cracked, but she was trying hard to keep it together. “And I don’t want you to call or write. You need to start a new life, Sandy. A life as beautiful as the person you are. And you need to do it without me.”

“Without you?” Panic flooded Sandy’s belly. “What are you talking about? That’s crazy. I’ll miss you. I can’t go somewhere alone.” She was starting to cry. She didn’t want to be, but she was. Because she already knew that Jenna was right. She had to go.

“I love you, baby,” Jenna whispered. “But if you stay, you won’t stand a fucking chance. I’ll destroy the both of us.”

Then Jenna pulled Sandy’s face close, kissing her on the forehead—just like the mom Sandy had always wanted her to be.

Sandy was numb when she pushed herself out into the busy hospital hall, doctors and nurses and patients moving this way and that. Life and death keeping on.

In tears, Sandy started toward the front doors of the hospital, waiting for someone to stop her. Waiting for someone to tell her that she wasn’t free to go. That she needed to go back. But no one did. No one asked her to slow down. No one stood in her way. And before long, Sandy was outside, the sun in her face, the town to her back, trying to figure out which way to go.

But forward was all there was. That was the only way to go.

Molly

I was finishing cooking dinner, Ella coloring on the kitchen floor next to me, when there was a knock at the front door. When I looked out the window, Stella was on our front stoop, arms crossed, a determined set to her jaw. I’d been avoiding her since our last awkward coffee date a week earlier. I considered ignoring the door. Stella hadn’t seen me look out, but surely she had spotted my car in the driveway. And I knew her well enough to know: If she really wanted to talk to me, she wouldn’t go away until she did.

Apart from necessities like bringing Ella to school, meeting Stella at the Black Cat had been the first time I’d emerged from hiding in the six weeks since I’d found out about Justin and Hannah. It wasn’t as though their involvement or the baby had gotten extensive coverage in the local news. Thanks to Erik, the Reader hadn’t mentioned it, but people in town knew. At least I felt like they did.

Luckily, Barbara had left town with Hannah and Cole, one less horrifying interaction for me to contemplate. They’d gone for Hannah—whose prognosis was apparently good, and Cole was much better, too—to get her rehabilitation treatment at the University of Pennsylvania Hospital. Or so Barbara was telling people. There were rumors that Barbara’s parents, humiliated by Steve’s arrest and what had happened with Hannah, had insisted she leave for an extended summer at the family beach house in Cape May, New Jersey. Steve was in Ridgedale, awaiting sentencing. He’d confessed to killing Simon Barton in exchange for a reduced, voluntary manslaughter charge. Given the circumstances, which Jenna had come forward to corroborate, the prosecutor seemed loath to pursue much jail time.

Five minutes into that first coffee with Stella, and I was glad I’d agreed to meet her. As always, I got lost in Stella’s silly color commentary on life in Ridgedale. And I was impressed by her restraint. She didn’t even mention Justin’s name. We’d never talked about what had happened between him and Hannah, and I was sure Stella was dying for details.

Ironically, I was the one who ended up mentioning Justin, offhandedly repeating a joke he’d made recently about the Black Cat barista whom Stella couldn’t stand. A joke I thought she’d appreciate.

“Wait, you’ve been talking to Justin?”

For weeks, I had hated Justin so much it frightened me. I wouldn’t have thought it was possible to hate another human being that much. The detailed fantasies I’d had about ways to inflict suffering on him—physical and mental—were so elaborate, they were alarming. But eventually, my hatred had given way to sadness and then to resignation. Justin had betrayed me in the most horrifying way, exactly when I needed him most. And I had been lost to him for so long, caught up in the worst of my depression for over a year. Both things were true. That made me sad, mostly for me and Ella, but occasionally for Justin. After all, his life was ruined, too.

He’d left Ridgedale, fired immediately by the university, and moved back to Manhattan. With the help of a loan from his parents, he was trying to get a freelance career off the ground, editing a well-respected political blog. He and I talked, but not much.

“He’s the father of my child, Stella,” I’d said that afternoon at the Black Cat, already wishing I hadn’t brought him up. “I have to talk to him.”

“Yeah, I know. But the way you mentioned him.” She looked sickened. “It seemed like you’d forgiven him. I hope you’re not blaming yourself or something. It doesn’t matter if you were depressed when he did it, Molly. That doesn’t excuse it.”

I felt a hard wave of anger that pushed me right to my feet. I was not going to sit there and be judged by Stella, of all people. “Okay, I think I’m going to go.”

“I’m sorry, Molly. I’m not trying to be a bitch here. But I am your friend.” Stella had pressed her lips together as she looked at me. “I—I just don’t want to see you make a bad situation worse by trying to pretend it’s okay.”

“Well, thanks for that,” I said, though I was pretty sure Stella’s motives weren’t nearly that altruistic. “But trust me, Stella, when I need your advice, I will let you know.”

Now I peered at Stella, standing there on our stoop. She looked awful. She had on worn jeans and an ill-fitting, unflattering shirt. Her skin was blotchy. Maybe she was there to apologize. She had sent me some texts that I’d ignored. I owed it to her to hear her out.

“Can I come in?” she asked when I opened the door. Even her voice was deflated, no trace of her usual bravado. But she didn’t sound all that apologetic. “There’s something I need to talk to you about. It’s been bothering me ever since we met last week. Longer than that, really. I just– It will only take a minute.”

“I don’t need another lecture, Stella,” I said. “I know you think you’re helping, but honestly, I’m fine.”

She didn’t say anything else as she took a couple of steps into the living room. She also didn’t sit down. Instead, she looked toward the kitchen, where Ella was conducting an elaborate play with paper bag puppets. Like she wanted to be sure that Ella was safely out of earshot before she said whatever inappropriate thing she was about to say.

“For the record, I’m not forgiving Justin, Stella.” I hated myself for launching into yet another explanation to which Stella was not entitled. I didn’t need to explain myself to anyone. But I was hoping it would keep her from saying something else that would aggravate me. “And I’m sorry if I don’t hate him the way you hate Kevin. But that’s not what I want for myself. I don’t enjoy it the way you do.”

She winced but didn’t argue. How could she when it was true?

“Maybe you could hate him just a little,” she said. She was holding out her phone to me. “You never saw these, did you?”

“Saw what? What is it, Stella?” Reluctantly, I glanced down at the screen, long enough to see that it was a comments page from the Ridgedale Reader. “I don’t read the comments on my stories. You know that.”

“Now I do. But I didn’t at the time.” She was still holding out her phone. “Please read just this one. Then I will go. And you never have to talk to me again.”

Never talk to her again? This time I squinted down at the screen, trying to make sense of the message. This baby belongs to you. And from a user name, 246Barry, that had Justin’s office number in it—246 Barry Hall—posted at the time I’d written the story, long before anyone knew about Hannah, much less Justin. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know,” Stella said ruefully. “I was too cryptic. Too clever for my own good. For anyone’s good. I wanted you to figure it out without me ever having to tell you.”

“Stella, what are you talking about?” I had the most terrible feeling. Not anger, fear. I wanted to be angry again.

“I saw a text someone sent to Justin, Molly. He went to the bathroom, left his phone there on the bar. I wasn’t snooping or anything. It was just right there. And I didn’t know who it was from at the time. It didn’t even say anything that specific—just ‘I really need to talk to you now, please,’ that kind of thing. But it was the way it was written, you know? I just knew.”

“Stella, ‘knew’ what? What are you talking about?”

“I made a joke about it to Justin when he got back from the bathroom: You get her pregnant and leave her by the side of the road? And there was just this look on Justin’s face, Molly. Like he wanted to kill me. It was obvious: There was someone out there that he’d gotten pregnant. Then after they found the baby and you told me how he was acting about the story—I just—” Her voice caught. “I couldn’t be sure it was his baby, except I was. But I was too much of a coward to tell you, so I posted some stupid messages that you never even saw. I would have told you if you hadn’t found out yourself. I swear.”

“What?” It was all I could think to say. None of what she was saying made any sense at all. “Wait, how would you– When would you have seen Justin’s texts?” The three of us hadn’t had dinner together in months, and even then they hadn’t been alone together. “What bar?”

Stella took a deep breath as her eyes filled with tears. “It was just one glass of wine, Molly. One time. Nothing happened. But if Justin hadn’t gotten the text that night? If he and I hadn’t argued right after, would something have?” She shook her head. Shrugged. “I can live with you hating me for that. I’ll have to. I can even live with you not hating him. Just don’t forgive him, Molly—not all the way. He doesn’t deserve that. And neither do you.”

Erik came in while I was clearing out my desk. He was carrying coffee and a muffin, with several papers tucked under his arm. He looked tired but happy, like the parent of any new baby. I was so happy for him that it had all worked out at last.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” he said as I gathered up the last of my files. “I’ve already said this a hundred times, but I’d love for you to keep a desk here. You can even freelance for whoever else you want.”

Erik had said this many times since I’d given my notice two months earlier, five long months since Justin had moved out, three and a half months since I’d spoken to Stella. I’d seen her, of course, Ridgedale was small, but she’d kept a respectful distance.

“Can I leave it as a maybe?” I said, even though I knew it was a no.

“Of course,” he said. “I understand, you’ve got a lot on your plate. And I can’t wait to read it, truly.”

I smiled. “Me, too. Now I just need to go write it.”

“Well, the article was excellent, I’m sure the book will be, too,” Erik said, referring to the New York magazine cover piece I’d done on Thomas Price, as well as the book deal I’d gotten in its wake. “I never had any doubt what you were capable of.”

In the end, the assaults had spanned two decades and three universities, starting with Jenna Mendelson, who’d agreed to be interviewed for my article as long as I referred to her only as JM. I told Jenna about my connection to Sandy. It would have felt dishonest otherwise. But I didn’t tell her that we were still exchanging emails. Sandy had asked me not to.

Sandy had gotten her GED with honors the first day she was able—on her seventeenth birthday—and was already taking classes at the New School while waiting tables and making plans to apply for a scholarship to attend college full-time in the fall. She and Aidan were in touch, as friends only, Sandy had been quick to clarify. She wasn’t in the market for a boyfriend, not until she got where she wanted to go.

“Steve’s allocution is today,” Erik went on. “You want to cover it for old times’ sake?”

He was joking, at least I was pretty sure he was, trying to make light of my very public situation. And I appreciated his kindness. It was a relief to have someone not ignore whom I’d been married to like it was some kind of shameful disease. In the end, Erik and Nancy had become the close friends I had always hoped they’d be. Right when I’d needed them the most.

“Thanks for the offer,” I said, “but I think I’ll pass.”

I never could have passed up writing the story on Thomas Price, though. He’d been fired swiftly, then arrested shortly thereafter for sexual assault. Finally, he was no longer in a position to threaten anyone; further violence was apparently his threat of choice. Four women, some not so young anymore, planned to press charges. Not Rose, at least not yet. She hadn’t resurfaced.

“I had a feeling about Price from day one,” Deckler had said when I’d finally caught up with him for my article. A supervisor at Ridgedale University now, he was allowed to wear khakis and a button-down shirt, which, even I had to admit, looked a little better on him. He’d been hired back, and given the promotion, after threatening to sue for wrongful termination. “Guys like that don’t bother to cover their tracks very well.”

“Why did you give me the files?”

He’d shrugged. “You were new to town. I could be sure you weren’t connected to anyone. Price had made real clear that he knew the chief of police from high school. That Steve would protect him no matter what. Same kind of lies he probably used to keep all of those girls quiet. After we found the baby and then you came around asking about Rose Gowan.” He’d glanced away, uncomfortable. He knew about Justin—that was obvious. “Turns out they’re not related, but I thought they might be. And I felt like that was enough. I had to do something, even if I lost my job.”

At least Price would finally pay for something. He’d never again work at a university and would likely see real jail time. And the publicity had thrown Ridgedale University’s procedures for handling sexual assaults under the microscope.

The door to the Reader’s offices opened again. It was Nancy, pushing a stroller. She looked elated and exhausted. Maybe a little more exhausted than Erik but also a little more elated. They’d fought so hard and so long for a baby that they seemed to be wasting not a second complaining about the less enjoyable parts of new parenthood. It was a wonder that Erik had been able to hold it together as well as he had during those first few days when I was working on the story about Hannah’s baby. The birth mother of Erik and Nancy’s baby had been having second thoughts. She’d taken off for her sister’s house, and Erik had gone after her, hoping to change her mind. Apparently, since absolute secrecy had been the birth mother’s prerequisite, Erik had been afraid to say anything to anyone about where he was or why. In the end, she’d decided to go through with the adoption.

Unable to resist, I went over to see Delilah, their impossibly chubby now-seven-month-old girl. “She keeps getting cuter and cuter,” I said, touching her little toes as she broke into an enormous toothless grin. “How is that even possible?”

“I don’t know,” Nancy said, beaming cheerfully. “But I have to say, I agree. She certainly has opinions, though.” She shrugged and smiled some more. “Like her birth mother says, I guess you’ve got to let go or be dragged.”

Let go or be dragged. It bounced in my head like the ringing of a bell. And then I remembered where I’d heard it before, in Rose’s hospital room. Stella had been the one to say it, but the words had belonged to Rose.

Ella and I went outside after dinner. The August night, fresh off a storm, felt cool and electrified. As I sat on our front steps, breathing deep the smell of grass and rain, I watched Ella race back and forth in the darkness, a long wand in her hand leaving enormous shimmery bubbles in her wake.

I was still watching her giggling in the fading light as my phone vibrated on the steps next to me. Justin, it said when I looked down at the screen. Calling again, as he did so often despite my repeated requests for emails only, and only about Ella. We’d told her the basics—Mommy and Daddy would live apart from now on, but that they both still loved her just as much. And no, Daddy wasn’t coming home soon. He wasn’t coming home ever. Civility, I was committed to that. But that was all.