“That you’d think I was crazy. That you’d try to talk me out of going.”
“Well, you have to admit it’s not exactly rational behavior. This girl calls you out of the blue, says she’s Samantha, and off you fly to Calgary without a word to anyone—”
“She called again,” Caroline interrupted. Now that Peggy knew part of the story, she might as well know all of it.
“Michelle told me that, too. She said she grabbed the phone right out of your hand, warned her not to call you again…”
“She called me at work.”
“What? When was this?”
“Last Monday.”
“What did she say?”
“That she’d come to San Diego for the DNA test.”
“When?”
“As soon as she can work things out.”
“What does that mean?”
“I have no idea.”
“Does Michelle know?”
“No. I can’t tell her. She’ll go ballistic. She’s so sure Lili is a fraud.”
“And you’re so sure she isn’t?”
“I’m not sure of anything.”
“Has she asked you for money?”
“No.”
“Has she asked you for anything?”
“No.”
“Which doesn’t mean she won’t.”
“I know that.”
“But assuming she doesn’t,” Peggy continued slowly, measuring out each word, “that leaves three possibilities.”
“Which are?”
“One, that she honestly believes she could be Samantha; two, that she’s a sadist who gets her jollies fucking with people’s heads; three, that she’s out of her mind.”
“There’s a fourth possibility.”
“Which is?”
“That she really is Samantha.”
Peggy stared at Caroline with eyes that were ineffably sad. “Oh, honey. You’re the math wizard. The odds against that are just so astronomical.”
“But there is a chance…”
“A tiny fraction of a chance…”
“A chance nonetheless,” Caroline said forcefully. “How can I not take it?”
The waiter approached with Peggy’s second glass of wine. Before he had a chance to set it on the table, she took it from his hand and swallowed one quick gulp, then another. “Go for it.”
—
“Where have you been all day?” Michelle asked from the hallway even before Caroline had closed the front door. Ever since Michelle had intercepted Lili’s phone call, she’d been watching her mother like a hawk.
“I met Peggy for lunch at Costa Brava.”
“It’s almost four o’clock.”
“I went for a walk along the beach after. Why? Were we supposed to do something?”
Michelle laughed. “You mean like go shopping or to the movies? Like that’s ever happened.”
And we’re off, Caroline heard her brother say. Not home two minutes and already her daughter had her on the defensive. She walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, drinking it down while silently counting to ten. She would not let Michelle get to her. She would be pleasant and calm. She would not rise to the bait. She would not bite. “That’s a pretty blouse,” she offered with a smile. Michelle was wearing a pair of denim shorts and a loose-fitting beige shirt. Her hair hung in a careless braid over one shoulder, and she wore no makeup except bright red lipstick that emphasized the cut of her cheekbones. “You look nice,” Caroline said.
“Oh, God,” Michelle moaned.
“What’s the matter?”
“That means I’m fat.”
“What?”
“Whenever you tell me I look nice, it means I’ve put on weight.”
“No, it most certainly does not.”
“Yes, it does.”
“No. Do you know what it means?” Caroline said, fighting the urge to hurl her now empty glass at Michelle’s head. “What it means is that I can never say anything nice to you, that you can never enjoy a compliment. Anything positive I say, you hear as negative. You only feel good when I say you look bad. How screwed up is that? How sad.”
“What’s sad is that you have no respect for my feelings. For me.”
“What are you talking about? Where is this coming from? You’re mad at me because I went out for lunch?”
“I’m mad because it didn’t even occur to you to tell me where you were going. It would have been nice if you’d left me a note or something. So I wouldn’t worry.”
“There’s no reason for you to worry.”
“No, because it’s not like you’d do anything crazy, like fly off to Calgary or something.”
“Sweetheart, I promise you I’m not flying off anywhere.”
“Then why are you being so secretive?”
“I’m not being secretive.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Well, then, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be. I guess I’m just not used to you being so concerned.”
“Why? Because I don’t have feelings?”
“Nobody said you don’t have feelings.”
“What are you saying?”
“I don’t know,” Caroline said, waving her hands in the air in total frustration. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I have no idea what this conversation is about or why we’re arguing. I know I had a nice lunch and a lovely stroll on the beach. I was actually feeling pretty damn good, and then I come home and all hell breaks loose.”