“I hope it involves food.”
Holly Graham, their new best friend. She’d nearly died for them, had spent two weeks in a coma, her frightened parents hovering over her like birds on the nest. When she’d woken up, all of Middle Tennessee had cheered. It took her a solid month in the hospital, multiple surgeries, and setbacks, but when she was cleared to leave, she insisted on doing it under the cover of darkness, ostensibly so no one could see her limp. Sutton and Ethan knew the truth. She didn’t want to be lauded as a hero. She loved her job, and was grateful she’d be able to return to it.
It didn’t matter. Word leaked. She’d walked out of the hospital, hand on her cane, to a massive crowd of well-wishers and media. When she waved to the cameras, the crowd shouted in happiness.
The story, as was to be expected, was everywhere, even now, six months hence. Sutton and Ethan had been approached countless times about interviews, television, movies. Holly had been accosted by directors. They were all fielding offers to write a book. Holly refused outright. Sutton didn’t think they should, either, and Ethan agreed. But Bill and Jess were pushing, hard.
Ivy was gone. Her accomplice was in jail. Their lives were their own again.
The baby rolled lazily under his father’s hand, then kicked his mother in the kidney for good measure.
“Oof,” Sutton said, enjoying every minute. “He’s going to be a football player.”
“Cricket. The boy will play cricket.”
Holly Graham’s unmarked car pulled up in front of them.
“Holly’s here,” Ethan said.
“Oh, Lord, help me up. I look like a whale lying here.”
“You look beautiful.” But he helped her, laughing, a hand at her back. She was ungainly; she was adorable.
Holly gave them both careful hugs. “Should we go inside? I have some news.”
“Uh-oh. I’ve heard that tone from teachers about to slap my hand with a ruler,” Ethan joked. But Sutton said, “Yes, let’s go in. It’s too cool now, anyway.”
In the kitchen, Sutton ran her hand along the marble counter. She sat on a breakfast stool, pressed her aching back into the tall seat. Ethan sat next to her. Holly stood.
“This will be difficult to hear.”
“Go on,” Sutton said, feigning nonchalance. She knew the words were coming. She could feel them in the air.
“Ivy was wrong.”
*
Ethan was pacing by the window, a caged tiger, fury emanating off him like a storm.
Sutton hadn’t moved from her spot.
Holly was still talking, explaining, soothing.
“We’re absolutely sure. We found her notebooks, her computer records. All her research, all the painstaking details she’d sifted through, all the assumptions she’d made, all of them were wrong. The only fact she got right was that she was the daughter of a woman who had her while in juvenile detention.”
“But not me,” Sutton whispered.
“No. Not you. Not even the same facility. When all the juvenile facilities went online, as mandated by the State of Tennessee, the records were accidentally merged together. On paper, Elizabeth Sutton Wilson was named as the mother of a little girl the nurses called Ivy.”
“So who is she really? Who was her mother?” Ethan demanded.
“Legally, I can’t share that information, but she’s gone. She died from a heroin overdose the month after she got out of juvie.”
“But my daughter? Do you know—”
“Wait,” Ethan said, striding toward Holly so quickly she almost flinched. Almost. “Before you answer, Holly... Sutton, you need to think this through. There’s no going back.”
Sutton nodded. “I know.”
Holly tapped her notebook. “I have as much or as little information as you want, Sutton. The adoption was closed, but under the circumstances...”
“Give me a moment. I need some water.”
Ethan hurried to the refrigerator, pulled out an ice-cold bottle. Poured her a glass and handed it to her, watching her carefully.
Sutton drank, willing her heart to slow. She set the glass on the counter. “I don’t want to know who she is. I don’t want to know where she is. I just want to be sure she’s okay, that’s all. That she has had a good life. That she’s not a freak like Ivy. That I didn’t create a monster. That’s all I want to know.”
Ethan blew out a huge sigh, sounding strangely relieved.
“I understand completely,” Holly said. “I can assure you that she is a happy, well-adjusted young woman.”
“Then that’s all I need. She deserves a chance at a happy, settled life. It’s why I gave her up in the first place. I don’t want to ruin her life. I especially don’t want our notoriety to influence her. We have too much baggage now.”
“Stay for dinner,” Sutton said, starting to get up, but Holly waved her off.
“I promised Jim I’d come over after I talked to you. He’s going to open some wine, make us steaks. Besides, you need time. If you change your mind—”
“I won’t. Get rid of the notes, Holly.”
“I will. I’ll see myself out. Y’all have a good night, okay?”
Ethan followed Holly to the door, anyway. He retrieved the book he’d left on the porch, then turned the dead bolt and came back to the kitchen. He rubbed Sutton’s shoulder, and she leaned into his warmth.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m all right. I’m relieved, actually.”
“All that pain, all that fear and loathing, all for nothing.”
“Ivy wouldn’t have said it was nothing. Ivy would have seen the abandonment regardless. She would have found a way to ruin someone else’s life, instead of ours.”
“We’re not ruined, Sutton.”
The baby kicked in agreement, and she smiled. “You’re right. That’s the wrong word to use. I’m sorry.”
“Do you need some time to think about all this?”
She paused a moment. “Maybe thinking isn’t what I need right now. Why don’t I go do something mindless instead? I need to answer some email, anyway. That’s perfect.”
He searched her eyes, but seemed satisfied she was telling the truth. “Okay. Off with you. I’ll get things started.”
Twenty minutes later, Ethan opened her office door and stuck his head in. Grinned at his beautiful wife on the couch, legs up, laptop opened. She closed the lid.
“Dinner’s ready?” she asked.
“In five. I made carbonara. I figured you needed something warm.”
“Sounds perfect. I’ll be there in a second. Almost done here.”
*
Sutton waits for the snick of the door, then opens her laptop to the blue-and-white banners of the social media giant that destroyed the world’s anonymity.
The photograph is thumbnail-size, but a quick click opens it to fill the screen.
A young woman, standing on a beach, silhouetted by the sun.
Her legs are long, still coltish, her hair a soft shade of strawberry. Her nose seems carved from ivory; she has the profile of a Botticelli angel.
She is unaware of the camera, a hand shading eyes Sutton knows are blue.
She seems so hopeful, Sutton thinks, smiling at the photo. Hopeful, as if a new world awaits her.