Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Standing there in James’s kitchen, Elena was overwhelmed with a desire to throw her arms around him and burrow her head in his chest. But something held her back.
There was a strange rage etched between his eyes, proof that this man—Sam Ellison—was not someone James liked very much.
Elena wondered if it was wrong to pry. But rather than demand more of James than he wanted to give, she surprised herself and rose on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.
“We’re going to figure this out,” she said.
“It’s a promise to you, to my mother, and to all of Millbrook. ”
James’s cheeks were pink.
But then, before he could respond, a few members of the party cried out that it was time for singing, that everyone needed to come to the living room for carols.
Elena pulled James out of the kitchen, linking her arm with his as they stood with his friends and colleagues and neighbors and loved ones, people he cared about so much, and sang favorite Christmas songs: “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” and “We Three Kings” and “O Holy Night.” Their voices carried through the house, making the windows vibrate.
Often, Elena glanced at her mother, surprised and glad that Carmen seemed to remember all the lyrics. These were memories she couldn’t escape from.
It had been a very long time since Elena had sung Christmas carols.
The emotions overwhelmed her. She remembered last Christmas, prowling down the street in Queens, buying wine at the bodega, and wishing Butros a Merry Christmas.
They’d laughed together, just as they had this past Thanksgiving.
She wondered if he realized she was gone, or if he’d guessed she’d fallen back into the fabric of New York City living.
She wondered how many people who came to the bodega disappeared one day and never came back.
And then she wondered—if she really decided to move to Millbrook, if she really made that life-altering choice—who would come with her to Queens to pack her things and turn over her keys?
Would it be James? Maxine? Her chest gushed with love for these people.
She couldn’t believe how lucky she felt.
But try as she might, she couldn’t fully picture herself back in Queens, smiling as she hauled the last of her things down the stairs. She didn’t want to count her chickens before they hatched, she supposed. That, or she was too accustomed to bad luck to imagine anything good.
They sang for nearly an hour, their voices rising and falling, until exhaustion overtook them.
“That was wonderful,” James said after a long pause, clasping his hands together. Tears glinted and caught the light from James’s Christmas tree. “It is only through communion and song that we become stronger,” he added. “I feel strong tonight.”
Everyone in the living room nodded, speechless. It was true. There was a magic to singing together that made you forget whatever woes awaited you outside the house.
But not long after the caroling finished, Carmen confessed she was too tired to stay out longer.
Elena was oddly glad, as she wanted to get out of public, put on her pajama pants, and watch a movie.
She wanted to stop thinking so much. James packed them a Tupperware of cookies and urged Elena to text him when they got home.
“Thanks for coming,” he said, kissing her on the cheek, just as she’d kissed him.
She wondered if he was embarrassed that everyone knew they were falling in love.
She didn’t care if he was.
Back at home, Carmen went to her bedroom to change and met Elena in the living room, where Elena poured her mother a glass of non-alcoholic wine and herself a glass of real wine.
They sat on the sofa and watched the snow fall gently outside.
Elena burned to know what was going on in her mother’s mind, what she could remember of the past few months.
Would it upset her to ask about Sam, about Cranberry Cove, about all that mess?
For a little while, they sat in silence.
Elena dared to open her phone, if only to check the time.
This was a big mistake. A notification popped up from CNN, with an announcement: Timothy Linklater Named Top Journalist of 2025.
Elena got to her feet, although she thought she might faint.
There on her screen was his face, the face she’d tried and failed to forget over the years.
Handsome Timothy seemed to grow more good-looking in the Syrian sun as time passed.
In the photograph, he gazed out a window at the war-torn desert.
He had a pencil tucked behind his ear. He looked like the perfect portrait of an American hero. What a terrible man.
He’d stolen everything from Elena. Had he planned it all along? And who else had he stolen from along the way? Elena imagined herself in a long line of other journalists and sources, all of whom Timothy had taken advantage of on the way to this CNN profile. She shivered.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” Carmen’s voice was sweeter than Elena had ever heard it.
She beckoned for Elena to sit on the sofa next to her, and as though Elena were eight rather than forty-two, she wrapped her arms around her and tucked her chin on Elena’s shoulder.
Elena let out a sob, then clapped her hand over her mouth.
“Honey, you can tell me,” Carmen breathed.
“At least try. I’ve been through a great deal, you know.
I remember what it was like to be your age. ”
Elena sniffed, thinking, You knew what it was like to be in love and happy and fulfilled at forty-two. You don’t know what it’s like to be me.
But instead, she said, “The stories that came out of Syria about me weren’t true.”
Carmen snuggled closer and wrapped a blanket around them both. “They said you did terrible things,” Carmen whispered. “And I knew in my heart you didn’t do them. You couldn’t have. You’re your grandmother’s granddaughter. You’re my daughter. You’re a journalist in your heart of hearts.”
Elena wasn’t sure whether her mother fully remembered what had happened in Syria or what she’d read about it. But Carmen’s words were so tender, so loving, that Elena decided to keep them close.
“I was worried that you were embarrassed by me,” Elena said. “You were already so angry about me missing Dad’s funeral.”
Carmen looked stricken, but her arms remained tight around Elena’s frame.
“It’s funny,” she said, although it wasn’t funny at all.
“I remember so much of that time. Your father… collapsing. The funeral arrangements. How I tried to contact you in the Middle East over and over again. I felt so alone here. I was angry that you’d decided to run off and seek your glory.
But when we buried him and everyone came over to eat little sandwiches and exchange memories, or whatever you’re meant to do at a wake, all I could talk about was you, about how proud I was of your accomplishments, how I was sure you were saving the world. ”
Elena had never expected such honest emotion from her mother. She wondered if it was the lateness of the hour, the influx of Christmas cookies, or the singing that had pushed her in this direction. She wondered if it was the medication, wreaking havoc on Carmen’s emotional core.
Elena showed the photograph of Timothy to her mother and explained that, once upon a time, she’d fallen in love with him.
He’d been the origin of her ruin. “Well, that’s not entirely true,” Elena corrected.
“The origin of my ruin was my desire for fame and fortune and acclaim. I wanted to be that save-the-world journalist. I suppose I still want that.” She closed her eyes and pictured Cranberry Cove.
She pictured Judge Drury pulling his Lamborghini up to the auto shop and sneering at her.
“Can I ask you something?” Elena asked.
“Of course.”
“When I say the words ‘Cranberry Cove,’ what comes to your mind?”
Carmen’s nose twitched. “I get angry when I think about that place. But I think it all relates to what my father used to say about them. You know, Millbrook residents used to enjoy Cranberry Cove as a public garden, forest, and swimming area. It was my mother’s favorite place.
But in the late fifties, through one loophole or another, they destroyed much of the natural reserve and built those awful homes for the super wealthy.
Every time a new one was built, my father wanted to drive by and get a look at it.
I remember how angry he looked, staring out the window, watching some poor construction worker hammer something into place.
And in some ways, our world has changed in just the same way as Millbrook and Cranberry Cove.
The rich have always gotten richer and taken what they wanted from good folks.
They’ve destroyed our beautiful ecosystems. They’ve taken and taken and not given us any say. ”
It was a wonderful and heartfelt speech. But Elena couldn’t help but think: she remembers everything from the past, but doesn’t she remember anything from the near-past? The past few months? The disease seemed to wreak havoc on shorter-term memories.
“Do you remember Grandma Rosa ever trying to fight the construction on Cranberry Cove?” Elena asked.
A flicker of recognition went across Carmen’s face. “It seems like Grandma was always up to her ears in something. Fighting some cause. As you know, she died before I really got to see her in action. But my dad always said she was the best fighter he knew.”
“What kind of things did she fight against?”
“She was very pro-environment, even back in the fifties,” Carmen said thoughtfully.
“There are photographs of us in the woods, decked out in warm layers, playing with snow. I can’t help but think she used the last years of her wildly intellectual mind to try to build a better tomorrow for me. ” Carmen’s voice wavered.
“That’s wonderful,” Elena said, swallowing down a moment of intense sorrow. “Do you think there’s corruption in the Millbrook government?”
“I think there’s corruption everywhere,” Carmen said, although it was clear she didn’t remember any of the research she might have conducted in the past few months.
“You just have to know how to look for it. And you can’t leave anyone off the roster.
Everyone is capable of doing evil and cruel things. If the price is right.”
Not long after that, Carmen stretched into a massive yawn and went upstairs to bed, leaving Elena on the sofa, reeling.
Was this story about to break wide open? Or, as it had since the fifties, would it continue to grow and morph and change in the shadows? Elena bit her lip and wrote in her journal: Everyone is capable of evil. In her search, Elena couldn’t leave anyone out.