8. Liv
Liv
“Tessa,” I wailed into the phone. “Can you believe this? I mean, it figures, doesn’t it? The one time I take a walk on the wild side, and this is what happens. I knew he was too good to be true. Maybe I should’ve stuck with Mustache Man.”
My best friend sighed. “Never mind him, Liv. What are you going to do?”
“I admit, it’s a long shot,” Tessa said. “But he said this Susi person was still alive, right? If this were your sister, wouldn’t you want to know?”
Her question struck home. The only time I’d questioned whether Grandma Ella could’ve been Lily Dressler had been when I was sixteen, desperate to find my birth parents and furious that my mother and father refused to consider any reality other than the one that existed within the hallowed halls of their home.
As far as they were concerned, I’d been born the day they adopted me.
They’d been so stubborn about it, it made me wonder what other notions they were loath to entertain, just because it didn’t fit their vision of the way the world should be.
When I’d voiced this, my father had bellowed that I didn’t recognize how good I had it, and there was no excuse for impugning our family’s honor by insinuating they’d stolen another woman’s child.
I’d snapped back that I was unaware we were living in the eighteenth century, and what was next, pistols at dawn?
He’d yelled that the subject was closed, that Carters were loyal above all else, and he hadn’t raised me to be a traitor.
Then he’d grounded me for a week. I’d gotten the message, and never brought it up again.
“Yes,” I said at last, in answer to Tessa’s question.
“I know what it’s like to suspect that somewhere in the world, there’s another set of people connected to me by biology.
To wonder who they are and how we’re alike, or different.
I hate the idea that if Theo’s right, then I’m robbing Grandma Ella of the chance to get to know her sister.
It’s not like they have a lot of time left.
And last night…I didn’t tell you this, but I saw the weirdest thing. ”
I gave her a summary of the Grandma Ella mirage.
“That’s what I saw when I got off the phone with you,” I concluded.
“And later, I saw her again, inside. You know I’m not a big believer in the woo-woo, but what if seeing that woman at Atomic was fate?
If not for that, I might never have gone inside. ”
“Now that,” Tessa said, “is weird. You sure Mustache Man didn’t roofie you, or something?”
“Very funny.” I scrubbed at the stain even harder. “Maybe it was just some bizarre coincidence. But either way, because of what I saw, I went inside and met Theo. And now here we are, in this mess.”
He was wrong. He had to be. My whole family history was based on that premise.
And his was based on the opposite conviction.
“The thing is,” I told Tessa, moving to the laundry room and dumping the wet clothes into the dryer with excessive force, “even if he’s completely off-base, his family believes it. They’ve been impacted by it, generation after generation. I feel for them. And I handled it so badly.”
The way Theo had lashed out at me when he’d talked about being smacked around, how his parents hadn’t shown up for his graduation because they were too busy drying out...
he was in pain. He was suffering because of what had happened to his great-grandmother nearly a century ago.
If anyone should have empathy for that, it was me.
I dealt with clients every day who paid for the sins of their fathers and mothers.
I shouldn’t have been so short with him, even if his theories were misguided.
Tessa scoffed. In the background, her girls were arguing about something; the noise retreated as she moved away.
“You weren’t in therapy mode, Liv. You were just reacting.
And your family didn’t have it easy either.
Didn’t you tell me that your great-grandmother had a bunch of miscarriages and then a bout of depression when her daughter vanished? ”
“You’re right.” I turned the dryer on and walked back into the kitchen, opening the window and taking in deep lungfuls of fresh air.
“But somebody’s wrong, Tessa. And a family built on lies is like a house of cards; it’s only a matter of time until it crumbles.
A family built on secrets is the same. What if I can figure this out once and for all, and help the Dresslers heal? ”
“It’s possible,” Tessa said, her tone careful. “But talk about kicking a hornet’s nest. If you ask your grandmother to take that test, there’s a chance you’re digging up the most painful memories of her life for no reason at all. You have to be sure it’s worth it.”
That wasn’t all I’d be risking. If I questioned my great-grandparents’ integrity and dredged this all up again, risking potential media attention given Carter Industries’ high profile, my parents would be furious.
I’d risk creating a rift between me and the only family I could remember.
The thought tightened my chest, making my breath come short despite the open window.
How could I even consider going down a road that might lead to losing two sets of parents—first my biological ones and now my mom and dad? Where would I be then? Was it worth taking that kind of risk just because a sexy near-stranger had begged me to?
But what if the Carters hadn’t done it on purpose? What if it had been an accident? What if they themselves had been unaware that Ella was really Lily? Was that possible?
The wind gusted through the window, blowing my hair across my face. Brushing the thick strands out of my eyes, I shook my head, as if to jar the thoughts out of it by force. Of course this wasn’t the case. They’d done nothing wrong, and a DNA test would prove that.
But what if it didn’t? What if my grandmother took the test, and spent the last few years of her life overwhelmed with guilt over something she couldn’t change?
Of course, then she’d have her sister back. There were no good answers here.
“Listen, Liv,” Tessa said. “I have to go. The girls are starving. But keep me posted, okay?”
I told her I would. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Theo as I gave my mother a truncated version of my date with Mustache Man, rage-cleaned the house, and baked brownies in preparation for Chloe’s arrival.
When Gray dropped her off—fifteen minutes late, which translated to ‘on time’ in his lexicon—I was in no mood to deal with him.
I didn’t bother to step into the driveway when he pulled up, especially because he had a woman in the car.
Instead, I stood on the porch, conveying what I hoped was the perfect I’m-thrilled-to-see-my-child-but-I’d-prefer-you-keep-your-distance vibe.
Gray lifted a hand in greeting, hugged Chloe, and then drove away without a word.
I’d thought his silence was a good thing.
But maybe not, because now Chloe and I were sitting in our living room after dinner, and she hadn’t said two words since she’d come home.
I could practically see the thunderclouds massing over her head, but knew from experience that asking her what was wrong before she was ready to talk would result in a meltdown.
So instead, I waited. And waited. Until I couldn’t take it anymore.
“What’s the matter, honey?”
“Nothing,” she muttered.
I was facing away from her, focused on building up the fire. Taking a deep breath, I tossed another log on top of the others and waited for it to catch before turning around. “I can tell something’s bothering you. Maybe you’d feel better if you talked about it.”
Chloe huddled in the oversized, navy-blue armchair, her long, wavy hair flickering gold and cinnamon in the firelight and a notebook open on her knees. She regarded me, propping her chin in her hand. And then she slammed the book shut.
“Fine,” she said, sniffing. “Daddy doesn’t care about me. And before you ask how I know, I’ll tell you. Did you see that woman in the car?”
Oh, no. “What about her?”
She stabbed the pencil she’d been using into the cushion of the armchair, and I bit back an admonition. I’d never liked that chair much, anyway; it had been Gray’s favorite.
“She was there all weekend,” my daughter went on, poking at the hole she’d made. “The whole time I was with him. And he never even asked me if it was okay!”
My heart sank. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even. “I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding. Did you talk to him?”
She looked at me like I’d suggested wakeboarding naked down the Cape Fear.
“What for? He doesn’t listen to me. It’s all Luna, Luna, Luna, all day long.
Luna likes banana peppers on her pizza, so that’s what we have to have.
Luna doesn’t like scary movies, so we can’t watch them.
Even her name is stupid. Who names their kid after the moon? ”
I went out of my way to never say a bad word about Gray in front of Chloe.
No matter how it made me look, given that I’d kicked him out and kept our house, I would never tell her how he’d behaved.
Still, there were moments like this one when I wished Chloe were eighteen instead of eight, so I could at least allude to the truth: her father wasn’t a bad guy, but he was a hopeless womanizer.
The only constant in his life was change.
“Do you want me to talk to him?” I said instead.
She rolled the dark eyes she’d inherited from Gray. “Like that’ll help. He doesn’t listen to you, either.”
Abandoning the fire, I went over to Chloe and crouched in front of the armchair. She clutched her notebook tighter, her fingers stained with blue and green from the sketch she’d been working on for science class. At the sight of them, my heart clenched.
“Sweetie, no matter how your father might’ve acted this weekend, he loves you. Maybe,” I said, scraping the bottom of my altruistic barrel, “Luna is really important to him, and he wanted you to get to know her. Maybe he wanted her to see how important you are to him. Did you ever think of that?”
“I’m not stupid, Mom.” She glared at me.
“He wants to keep Luna-tic around because it’s easier.
Like, why should she have to leave just because his kid is there?
He said he wants to be au-then-tic.” She sounded out the word.
“Plus, she cleans up after him and stuff. He doesn’t even care that weekends are supposed to be our special time together. ”
I swallowed, gathering myself. Could there be one man who didn’t let me down? “I’ll talk to him, Chloe. And I’m very sorry he hurt your feelings. Now, I don’t want you to worry about this anymore. Go ahead and finish your homework, and then it’s time for shower and bed.”
She pushed to her feet, lower lip trembling. “You’re not listening to me, either. You treat me like a baby!”
“Honey—” I said in consternation, putting a hand on her arm.
“Don’t touch me!” She jerked out of my reach. “Just leave me alone!” Turning her back on me, she stomped out of the room, her bare feet thudding on the worn red Persian rug hard enough to leave an impression in the carpet pile.
It was my day to have people walk out on me, it seemed.