Ashlyn and Ethan exchanged a quick glance.
“You never know,” Ilese said, curling an arm around the drowsy Lida and pulling her close. “He may still. The girls would love it if he moved closer. I would, too, I suppose, though I’d never let him know it, the big fathead.”
Ashlyn couldn’t help smiling. Ilese’s fondness for her brother was plain, despite her attempt to pretend otherwise. “Were the two of you close growing up?”
“When we were little, we were inseparable. We moved a lot, so we became each other’s best friends, but when we got older, we made new friends and found our own interests. Poor Mom. We fought like cats and dogs during our teens. I was very bookish, very serious about everything, and my brother’s never taken anything seriously—except his music, of course—so we were always butting heads. But we’ve always had each other’s backs. Nothing has ever changed that—or ever will.”
Ashlyn shot Ethan another knowing glance, realizing too late that Marian had witnessed the exchange. Her eyes held Ashlyn’s as the seconds stretched, an uneasy acknowledgment and an unspoken plea for silence.
“Well,” Ilese said, oblivious to the look that had just passed between Ashlyn and her mother, “I hate to be the one to break up this party, but I need to get the girls up to the room. I promised I’d call Jeffrey before eleven. It’s been a wonderful evening. I hope we’ll see you both at Mom’s this summer. I’ll make sure you get an invite to the wedding. And you could come for the holidays. We’ll teach you to play dreidel. I warn you, though, we’re ruthless.” She pushed back her chair, grinning. “And with that word of warning, I’ll say good night.”
Dalia and Mila slid off their chairs, clearly relieved that the evening was winding to a close, but Lida had already nodded off, her pale head hanging limply to one side. Ilese dragged an enormous tote up onto her shoulder—her mommy bag—then leaned down to pull the sleeping Lida up into her arms. The child whimpered, struggling briefly, before going slack again.
Ilese fought to keep the tote on her shoulder as she made a second attempt to lift her, but the seemingly boneless Lida was in no shape to cooperate. Finally, she turned to Ethan. “At the risk of being presumptuous, I couldn’t, by any chance, prevail upon you to assume your new role as cousin and carry this one up to my room while I wrangle these two to the elevator? I used to be able to juggle all three, but Lida’s gotten so big. It’s hard enough handling them when they’re all awake.”
Ethan stood and held out his arms. “Hand her over, if you think she won’t mind.”
“At this point, she’s past minding anything. Thank you so much.”
Ashlyn couldn’t help smiling as she watched Ethan take Lida into his arms. She sagged against him, sighing sleepily as she burrowed her face into the crook of his neck, her legs automatically twining about his hips. Her eyes opened briefly, heavy-lidded and swimming with confusion as she looked for her mother.
Ilese smoothed a hand over her blonde head. “Ethan’s going to carry you up so Mommy can get your sisters to the room,” Ilese explained softly. “Then I’ll call Daddy and you can talk to him if you’re still awake. How does that sound?”
Lida tilted her head back just long enough to find Ethan’s face before slumping onto his shoulder again. “Sleepy.”
“Yes, baby. Sleep. I’ll tuck you in as soon as we get upstairs and you can talk to Daddy tomorrow.”
Marian mouthed a thank-you to Ethan, then blew Ilese and the girls good-night kisses. “I’ll talk to you in the morning, honey. Say hello to Jeffrey and tell him I wish he could have been here.”
“I will. It was so good to meet you, Ashlyn. Come on, girls, time to go.”
Ashlyn watched as Ilese and Ethan retreated with the girls. He was going to be the kind of cousin the girls would quickly come to adore—more of an uncle, really—and Ilese seemed to have no qualms about welcoming him to the family. It was a shame they didn’t live closer.
Marian watched until they were gone, then settled back in her chair and looked squarely at Ashlyn. “How long have you known?”
Ashlyn dropped her gaze, caught off guard by Marian’s frankness, but there was no point in pretending she didn’t understand the question. “Only a few days.”
“How did you figure it out?”
“You showed us Zachary’s picture the day we were at your house. The next day, we were at a bookstore and saw Hugh Garret’s photo—Hemi’s photo. He’s the spitting image of his father.”
Marian nodded, her smile bittersweet. “He is, isn’t he?”
“The story about Johanna . . .”
“Was mostly true. Except the part about Zachary being her son.” Marian took a sip of water. Her hands were trembling when she put down the glass. “I suspected I was pregnant when I left New York. By the time I got to California, I was sure. I bought myself a cheap gold band and invented a husband, a pilot who flew for the RAF and was shot down while providing cover for a supply convoy. I got so good at telling the story, I almost believed it myself. When Zachary was born, no one batted an eye. But I hated California. Some places just feel wrong. You don’t know why, they just do. Maybe it had to do with Hemi not being there. But I couldn’t go back to New York with a child. Corinne would have known the truth in an instant, and I didn’t trust my father. I was trying to figure out where to go when Johanna moved in next door. She was alone and so scared. She’d already lost a son, a husband, her parents, and she had a new baby on the way. So I stayed. And then when Ilese was born and she knew she was—” She broke off, her words suddenly choked with emotion. “When she asked me to take her . . .”
“You saw a way to legitimize Zachary,” Ashlyn supplied gently.
“No, but she did.” Her eyes swam with tears. She blinked them away and took another sip of water. “The day I brought Ilese home, I went to Johanna’s room. I was still in shock. I couldn’t believe she was gone. But I remembered her saying she’d left me something in her bureau. I found it in the top drawer. An envelope with my name on the front. Inside was a birth certificate for a male child named Zachary—the son she lost before coming to the States—and a note.”
Ashlyn said nothing, though she was pretty sure she knew what was coming—a brilliant and stunning act of generosity.
“It said, If you’re reading this, my spirit has gone to G-d. Do not grieve for me, but if the child has survived, I leave it to your care, to love and rear as your own. I leave you also my sweet Zachary’s name. This is your way home, Marian. Your way to wash all clean. You will have to change his name, of course, but he will have a sister now. May G-d keep you safe and well, and bless you for all your kindnesses, achot.”
Ashlyn frowned. “I don’t know that last word. Achot, was it?”