JULY 2014
EPILOGUE
Riley
“Check this out,” Jade says, opening the door to a walk-in closet. “It’s bigger than the one I share with Celia.”
“I don’t have enough clothes to fill it,” I say, peering inside, “but I absolutely love this apartment.” What I love best about the apartment is that it’s less than a mile from Jade and Celia’s house, where I’ve been staying for the last two weeks. While I feel welcome there and I adore Alex and Zoe, their house is snug with a fifth person squeezed inside it. I will live nearby, as close as I can get. Now that I have a mother, I’m not letting her go.
I moved to Seattle at the end of the school year, and I’ve already had a couple of job interviews. I did well during those interviews, I think, although I hadn’t been able to tell the interviewers one of the main reasons I think I’ve become a better counselor. During the year I’ve known Jade, my counseling has definitely changed. I no longer see the depressed sister from my imagination in every student I work with. I no longer lie awake at night, worrying about the kids who are struggling, afraid they might harm themselves. My emotional detachment from them makes me better able to help them. I see their needs more clearly, unclouded by the haunting specter of the suicidal sister who never truly existed.
I know that the lies in our family hurt all of us, especially Danny and myself. Growing up in a household where something is terribly wrong, you feel the weight of that mysterious something even though it’s unspoken. It eats at you. Confuses you. It leaves you wondering if your view of the world will ever make sense.
And the thing is, I’m now willingly perpetuating a new lie, though it has its roots in the truth. To Jade’s and Celia’s friends and family, I am Riley MacPherson, the daughter Jade relinquished for adoption when she was fifteen. My adoptive parents died and I searched for her, finally tracking her down. She’s welcomed me, as have Celia and her family. We all feel fortunate to be together.
“This explains a whole lot about our Jade,” Celia’s mother, Ginger, said to me when I visited Jade over the Christmas holiday. She was showing me how to make ribbon candy, and she and I had thoroughly messed up the Linds’ kitchen. “I’ve always felt there was something missing in her,” she said. “Some sad place inside her. You’ve come along and filled it up.”
How does Danny fit into the lives we’re creating? He’s not ready to come to Seattle, and I’m not sure he ever will be. He has no desire to leave his trailer in the forest. He’s promised to respond to my e-mails and I’ll go back East at least once a year to make sure he’s doing okay. Jade and I don’t talk about it, but I worry that Danny may always pose a threat to her. It’s his love for me that will keep her safe and I’ll nurture that love with everything I have in me.
In the apartment we’re exploring, I open the door to a second bedroom and see that the window looks out on a park. I picture myself setting up my father’s rolltop desk in that room. It’s the one thing of his I’ve kept for myself. The desk will take up half the room, but it will be worth it.
When we’re together, Jade and I don’t talk about the past. We don’t talk about the mistakes or the deception. We talk about what Alex and Zoe are doing in school. About the music Jade and Celia are writing. About my job search. We take the kids to the park and museums, and we laugh a lot. I see the joy in Jade’s face and I’m happy to know that I’m part of the reason for it.
I walk from the bedroom that will become my office into the hall bathroom. The entire wall above the vanity is mirrored. My bangs are askew and I can see the small scar on my forehead. The bright lighting makes it stand out more vividly than I’ve seen it in years, and I lean forward for a good look.
Jade is in the doorway, and she watches me.
“Everybody has a scar, Riley,” she says, touching my shoulder. “Maybe they’ve fought a terrible illness. Or they’ve lost a child, or been hurt by someone they love. Or maybe they’ve been unlucky enough to lose their family. But then again”—she smiles at me in the mirror, then reaches out to smooth my bangs over the mark—“maybe they’ve been lucky enough to find one.”