Epilogue
Jenny took the early Greyhound bus over the border, stared out the window at passing cars and trucks, while her reflection stared back at her.
She was thirty-three now, her skin still pale, her blond hair long, and her shape fuller from years of starchy prison food.
She was learning how to eat better. She was learning a lot of things.
She’d been working on her release for three years.
First, day parole, then the halfway house.
She’d be on parole for the rest of her life, but at least she’d been granted permission to move back to Vancouver. She had missed the ocean.
It was mid-morning by the time she arrived at the bus station in Seattle.
She took a taxi to the address she’d memorized, asked to be dropped off on the corner, then waited on the opposite side of the street, sitting on the grass strip that separated the sidewalk and curb.
She was hidden in the shade of a tree but had a clear view of the home through the gap between two parked cars. She sipped water from her thermos.
The house was smaller than she’d imagined, painted a soft yellow, and the front steps, the porch, and the iron gate were all a crisp white. The hedge that ran along the front was trimmed with a flat top. A pretty street, with leafy trees and well-kept houses.
It was afternoon when the door finally creaked open a few inches. Jenny held her breath, staring at the dark sliver of space, until the door widened. Tom, with a sports bag. His hair was streaked with gray, the sideburns gone, but he still looked fit, in shorts and a T-shirt.
He stepped off the porch, walked the brick path to a side garage, and disappeared out of sight for a few moments. The garage door slid up. A blue car backed out and drove away.
Time passed. She stretched her legs, ate her snacks. Someone was mowing. Two teenage girls walked past, listening to Walkmans. They didn’t look at her.
The door on the house opened. Alice came out. Jenny froze, scared to move in case she broke the moment. It had been so many years. But there she was, unmistakably Alice.
Her hair was a lighter brown, longer, and styled in bouncy spiral curls. She looked casual, but elegant, with sunglasses, white shorts, and a gauzy button-down, left open to reveal a striped shirt underneath. A beach bag hung off her shoulder. A rolled towel poked out.
“Katie!” she yelled, with laughter in her voice. “Hurry up!”
A girl burst out of the door—and it slammed behind her. “Sorry!”
She hurried down the stairs. Long black shiny hair. Black T-shirt, black jean shorts with rips. A belt with silver studs. Dark, smoky eye makeup and deep-red lipstick. She was carrying a little fluffy white dog. She set it down and it trotted ahead while she held on to the leash.
Her name was Katie. Jenny whispered it to herself.
Alice and Katie walked down the sidewalk, talking, their voices mixing and layering so much that sometimes Jenny couldn’t tell them apart as she followed farther behind, obscured in a baseball cap and sunglasses.
She trailed them through the neighborhood, past more stately homes, glad for the shady trees, until they made it to a beach, where they spread out a blanket.
Jenny watched from a park bench as they shared food, still absorbed in their own world. Katie’s hands were moving in the air, her face animated. Alice tossed back her head, laughing.
Jenny felt a smile dance on her lips. She could see Katie’s features better now.
She was beautiful, truly beautiful. Almost fifteen years old.
Jenny hadn’t been much older when she’d gotten pregnant.
She searched Katie’s face for traces of her own, but she didn’t look like Jenny, or Robert, other than his black hair.
She was her own person. Jenny wondered if she liked dancing or sports.
She could be a bookworm or musical. She could be so many things.
Katie stood and pulled off her shirt and shorts, revealing a red bikini.
She ran toward the water, yelling “Otis!” and the little white dog chased after her.
Katie squealed as the cold water hit her feet.
Otis barked at birds and chased waves up and down the beach.
Katie was now bent over, searching the shallow water.
She brought up a handful of stones or shells, picked through them.
Jenny’s breath stuck in her throat, her eyes stinging.
Alice carried a bag down to join Katie. They walked along the shore. Katie would find a stone, or maybe Alice, saving some and tossing others, while Otis tried to catch the splashes.
Eventually they returned to their blanket.
They spent another hour there, reading magazines, talking.
Sometimes they were quiet, gazing out at the water, or up at the clear sky.
Jenny would tip her head back too, wondering what Katie was thinking when she saw the vapor trails from jets, the puffy clouds.
Otis was resting between Alice and Katie, little feet in the air.
Jenny wanted to memorize this moment. Like she had memorized the tiny bit of time she’d had with her baby. She’d given her one bottle, admired the perfect dark swirl on top of her head, her pursed lip, her soft cheeks. She’d kissed her and whispered in her ear all her wishes for her.
Alice and Katie were rolling up their blanket, towels, putting their food containers in the beach bag.
Otis’s leash was snapped on. She imagined them back in their home, sitting down for a family dinner, their skin still smelling of sunscreen and salt air.
Maybe they would look over their shells and stones while telling Tom about their day, and he’d tell them about his.
Jenny waited on the bench for a few minutes after they left.
She wasn’t going to follow. She’d need to go to the bus station soon.
She walked down to the beach, took off her shoes, and felt the warm sand between her toes.
She found the smooth area where Alice and Katie had spread their blanket.
She lay on her back and looked up at the sky, soaking in the blue.
She smiled. Her daughter was happy. Jenny had given her the best life. She’d given her Alice.