Dad put his hands out in front of him. “This was a long time ago, she was only fifteen. I’m sure Sarah would never do something like that now.”
The detective stood and gathered his file together quickly. “I guess a trip down to the station isn’t really necessary. I’ll just add a note to her file that a visual confirmation of Sarah’s identity was made.” I saw now that he was blushing slightly—either embarrassed at having challenged Sarah’s authenticity or the intimate nature of the tattoo, I couldn’t tell which.
Mom stood up, her chest blotchy and red like it got sometimes when she was mad. “And what about Paula? What are you going to do about her? I have half a mind to press charges against her!”
“Don’t worry about her—we’ll get in touch and let her know that Sarah’s identity has been confirmed. Really, Mrs. Morris, I do think she means well,” Detective Donally said, backing toward the door. “She seems to be a troubled young woman.”
“You can tell her if she wants to cause any more distractions from the actual investigation into Sarah’s disappearance, I will come after her, with a lawyer,” Mom added, marching him out. She undid the lock and swung the door open hard.
“Sorry to have interrupted your evening, and we’ll be in touch if there’s anything new—actually new—on Sarah’s case,” he mumbled as he scooted down the walk and out to his car.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Mom turned around, her face tight with anger. I waited for her to turn on me, grab me by my shoulders, shake me until I told her everything. But instead, she launched into Paula. “Honestly, what is wrong with that girl?” Mom said fiercely. “I’m about to call her mother. And you . . . a tattoo.” She turned to Sarah, shaking her head.
“All I can say is that I wish I’d never done it—if I could take it back I would.” Sarah had tears in her eyes.
“You are going to take it back, we’re having it removed as soon as possible, I’ll make an appointment with the dermatologist,” Mom declared.
I could tell from Sarah’s face that she was on the verge of bursting out laughing, but instead she pulled Mom into her for a hug. “I made a lot of mistakes back then,” she said quietly.
Dad’s eyes got that teary look and I could hear Mom sigh. “You were just fifteen.” She pushed a lock of Sarah’s hair behind her ear. “And you’re not like that anymore, are you?” A look passed between them that I tried to read, but it was fleeting.
“Let’s focus on what’s important here,” Dad said, like he was running a meeting at work. “Our family is back together, and nobody—not Paula, Detective Donally, Detective Spencer, Max, or even a silly tattoo—is going to change that, not ever.”
Spontaneously, the family that never used to hug formed a tight circle, our arms around each other. We stood in the foyer, our heads bowed. It felt good to be complete again.
SARAH
EVEN THOUGH SHE COULD have, Nico never asked. Maybe she didn’t want to know how I broke my arm. How I got the burns. Why I had a couple of teeth missing. Maybe not knowing made it easier to believe the lie between us.
I know it did for me.
Because I never had to talk about it, slowly the memories faded of Liberty’s life. And Sarah’s memories became mine. But the visits to the psychiatrists weren’t totally useless: one of the docs gave me a prescription that really helped me sleep and was perfect for those nights when I got my period and the cramps were killer. Knocked me out flat. The other doctor had some techniques that also helped with my bad dreams: no caffeine before bed, no stimulants of any kind. I spent a half hour in bed every night reading, usually a romance or something light—fashion mags. The nightmares still came, but less often, and then they seemed to stop altogether.
When I caught myself thinking about those days, the darkest ones with Ma, I just changed my thoughts, like changing the channel on a TV—another bit of helpful advice from the doc. I see myself hiding under that porch, the one attached to the trailer, with the dust filtering down between the boards, while Ma wrestles with the cops just over my head, saying she lives alone—she has no children. And I switch to another thought—me and Nico, out at the pool. Shopping at the mall. The way Mom looks at me when I come home from work, like seeing me come through the door is the best part of her day. She says that I make her proud, and I hear the words of my math teacher, all those years ago: I’m profoundly proud of you. I can banish those dark memories because now I am loved. I’m done running, pretending to be someone else. I’m Sarah Morris now. I am Sarah.
And I know I am loved.
EPILOGUE
I KNEW MY SISTER was dead. I felt it in my body, as if my bones could tell me the truth. They were, after all, her bones too. The same parents had created us, the same genes, the DNA, the stuff that makes us who we are. We were made of the same, she and I, and so no one knew her better than I did.