afraid.
Mrs. Mercer shook her head, seeming to read her thoughts. “We don’t blame you, Emma. How many of us have made mistakes in our lives? If Ted and I had been able to support Becky better, maybe she wouldn’t
have kept you a secret. If Becky hadn’t made such a mess of her own life, maybe she could have cared for you both, or she could have had the sense to give you both to us. If you hadn’t been a secret from
everyone, Ethan never could have used you the way that he did. Of course it hurts that you felt like you had to lie to us. But you were carrying a terrible, painful burden, all by yourself. I don’t know that
any of us would have done differently than you did.” Mrs. Mercer’s lip trembled for a moment. “We’ve all made mistakes. But it was Ethan who chose to take my daughter’s life. No one else.”
Emma swallowed hard. She wanted to believe Mrs. Mercer. She wanted to forgive herself. Maybe, with time, she’d be able to.
I laid my hand over Emma’s. “I forgive you,” I whispered, wishing I could absolve her of her guilt.
Mrs. Mercer cleared her throat again. “Ted and I have been discussing things, and we’d like you to stay here—if that’s what you want, of course.” Her lashes fluttered. “You can finish up high school at
Hollier. We’ll meet with Principal Ambrose so you can adjust your schedule to be your own. And we’ll help you look at colleges. Your grades from Las Vegas are very impressive.”
Emma turned pink. She suddenly realized that this was the first compliment Mrs. Mercer had given her as herself, as Emma. Somewhere in the hollow ache of her chest, a tiny ember glowed to life.
Mrs. Mercer went on. “Sutton had a college fund. I think she’d understand if we used it for you.”
Of course I understood. After all that had happened, after everything Emma had done for me, she deserved this.
Emma glanced up to meet her grandmother’s eyes, so like her own. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I just—I never knew, before coming here, what it was like. To have a family.”
Mrs. Mercer hugged her tightly. Emma could smell her Elizabeth Arden perfume and a faint whiff of Earl Grey tea.
After they pulled apart, they sat for a moment in silence. Emma glanced around the familiar bedroom. Half-melted candles sat in glass jars on the white wood desk, wine bottles full of dried flowers lining the
windowsill. Sutton’s pillows crowded every surface, thick and plush. On the dresser, trinkets and mementos were arranged carefully around the large-screen LCD TV—luminous shells, a tiny box inlaid with
mother-of-pearl, a white ceramic owl. The room smelled of mint and lily of the valley, just as it had on the first night Emma had arrived. She hadn’t changed much of it since she’d returned to the Mercers’
home as herself. A small pile of books stood on the nightstand, and a vintage Hermès scarf she’d bought at Goodwill lay where she’d draped it over the back of a chair. She’d left all of Sutton’s old
photographs pinned to the corkboard behind the desk—but she’d added a few of her own, too. One of Alex standing in front of the Bellagio fountain, the colored lights playing across her face. And one of Emma
and Laurel, arms around each other’s shoulders.
So much had happened to her here—in this house, in this room. So much of it had been painful, but that didn’t erase the good. She’d finally found her family. She’d finally found where she belonged.
Mrs. Mercer followed her gaze. “This is your room now,” she said softly, running her hands over Sutton’s pink comforter. “We could redecorate it, however you want it.”
Emma shook her head. “I want to keep it this way, just a little longer. It makes me feel close to her.”
Mrs. Mercer smiled. “Me, too.” She went to the door and put a hand on the frame. “We’ll leave in about a half hour. Come on down when you’re ready.” With that, she was gone.
Emma sat in the silent room for a moment. Next door she could hear Laurel’s music through the wall, the bass line thumping. Downstairs, Grandma Mercer and Mr. Mercer bickered about the tie he’d chosen to
wear.
These were the sounds of a normal family—one that she actually belonged to. And that would hopefully grow by one more, eventually. She thought of the secret she’d told the Mercers as soon as they’d gotten
home from the police station: that Becky had another child, somewhere in California. She’d be twelve now. Emma didn’t even know what her name was, but the Mercers had vowed to track her down, too. Hopefully
she was happy, wherever she was, but if she wasn’t—well, the Mercers had a big house.
But that could wait. Today, finally, Emma could say good-bye to one sister. She’d worry about her other one tomorrow.
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