“She’s probably concocting a plan to kidnap you,” I said, laughing.
Iris looked like a person who would be cool and distant, but she was exactly the opposite. She wrapped one of her iris-delicate hands around my wrist and squeezed.
“I’m sorry about Adela. I tried to make Trevor come here right after she passed, but you know how he is about your mom.”
“I do know. It’s okay. You know what I think every time I see you, though?”
“What?”
“How much she would’ve approved of you. I can’t say how much she would’ve liked you because it’s unclear that Adela ever actually liked anyone. She wasn’t a liker. But your brains. Your taste. My mother would’ve thought Trevor had married quite a catch.”
“Well, I take that as a compliment. Even though, I think Trevor’s the one who’s the catch.”
Together, Iris and I looked at my brother, handsome in his immaculately cut jacket, listening to Avery talk to him in that way that he had, giving her his absolute attention, as if they were the only two people in the room.
“The funny thing is, if he hadn’t been her son, if she’d met him anytime in the past fifteen years or so, Adela would’ve approved of Trevor, too,” I said. “Not that he would have cared.”
“He wouldn’t have. He shut down the part of himself that cared about Adela a long time ago.”
I wanted to ask her if she thought he’d shut down the part of himself that cared about me, too. But I resisted.
“I guess you heard that Harris moved out,” I said.
“Kirsten told us. Are you and Avery okay?”
“I am. Avery is playing her feelings about it all very close to the vest. But I don’t think she is okay. Not yet.”
“She will be, though. Look at her,” said Iris. “So self-assured and strong.”
Avery stood in the midst of a party full of adults, talking with adamant hands, inhabiting her beauty with ease.
I nodded. “She is. Since the Harris troubles started, she’s been pushing boundaries, taking matters into her own hands. It took me off-guard, and I don’t think I’m quite used to it yet, but yes. She’s stronger than I knew.”
“Like her mom,” said Iris, with a smile. “You’re probably stronger than you knew, too.”
After the champagne toasts, when the rhythm of the party had shifted into ending mode, and I was in the kitchen, washing glasses and gearing up to go find Gray, he found me instead.
He stood, gleaming against the gleaming refrigerator door and said, “Hey, Zinny.”
I smiled. “Zinny.”
“I guess I should’ve said Ginny. Since we’re adults and everything.”
“Look at you, coming in here to talk to me. Beating me to it, when I promised Kirsten I’d find you and talk to you.”
Gray laughed his one and only laugh. “I promised the same thing. Six sentences?”
“Possibly six and a half.”
Shyness overtook us both.
Finally, I said, “I heard you and Evan are having a baby. That’s wonderful.”
“It is, isn’t it? And we found out it’s a girl. A daughter.”
“Your daughter,” I said, correcting him.
“My daughter.” He shook his head in wonder. “I don’t think I really comprehend that yet, that she’ll be my daughter.”
“I didn’t comprehend it until I saw Avery’s face,” I said. “She squinted at me from under her tiny furrowed forehead, and I said, ‘Hey, I know you.’ You’ll recognize your daughter when you see her.”
Gray said, “Thank you. Avery’s beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I said.
The shy silence settled over us again, and my brain began filling it with all the things I wanted to say to him, beginning with “I’m sorry.” I wanted to tell him that for every single second of the past twenty years, I would have given anything for another chance at being his friend. I wanted to ask if it was too late. But I was too afraid of the answer. What I finally did say took every scrap of courage I had.
“Gray and Zinny, standing in the same room, talking about our daughters.” And then: “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to come, and I know you’re here because of Kirsten. But still, I’m so glad that you came.”
Gray looked down at the floor, and I held my breath, worrying I’d said that wrong thing. Gray looked up and said, “Maybe you can help me stock up on some daughter-raising advice. I’ll need it.”
It was all I could do not to burst into tears.
“I look forward to it,” I said.
When everyone had left and Avery and I were collecting plates and champagne flutes, she said, “I think you should all be friends again.”
“I’d like that,” I said. “I hope we can.”
She put down the plate she was holding. “Mom, I’m really not asking you what happened the night you wrote the torn-out journal entry. But I want to ask something about it.”
“Okay. I’ll answer if I can.”
“Is whatever happened the reason you stopped being friends with Gray and CJ?”
I sat down in a dining room chair. “Sort of. Something happened and I couldn’t tell them about it. I couldn’t tell anyone. And no matter how hard I tried to pretend it didn’t happen, that secret—the fact that I knew and they didn’t and I couldn’t tell them—came between us.”
“Did it have to?”
“Now, I realize it didn’t have to. But I couldn’t see my way to that back then, when I was eighteen. Back then, it felt hopeless. It felt like the secret poisoned everything, and there was no—no antidote.”
My daughter held me in place with her clear gaze. “But that’s a metaphor, right? A secret isn’t poison. It’s just an event that is supposed to turn into a memory like everything else does. It can only have power if you give it power.”
“That is very astute,” I said. “I don’t think I’ve considered it in quite that light before.”
“Don’t you think it’s time to take that power away?”
She made it sound easy. I wasn’t so sure, but I said, “I’ll try.”
She said, “Good!” And then she yawned enormously.
“Why don’t you go to bed?” I said.
“But then you’ll have to clean up all by yourself.”
“Um. Well, a friend of mine might be coming over for a bit, to help.”
Avery sat up straight and raised an eyebrow. “A friend?”
“Stop it with the eyebrow,” I said. “You look just like Adela.”
Avery just stared at me, eyebrow like St. Louis’s Gateway Arch.
I sighed. “Daniel. The vet.”
“Your friend from the dog park.”
I nodded, trying to read her face. “Except— Except I might like him as a little bit more than a friend.”
Avery said, “Oh. Okay,” and nothing else.
I dove in with a rush of words. “But it’s early days and who knows? And I realize this probably feels really soon to you, since your dad and I aren’t even divorced yet. And I am doing my best to take it slow, and I don’t want you to worry, but I just—” I stopped.
“You just like him,” said Avery.
“Yes.”
“Mom, I think that’s fine.”
“You do?”
She smiled. There was something a tiny bit shadowy in her eyes, but her smile was wide and bright. “I mean, you’re not getting any younger.”
“Almost time to put this old girl out to pasture,” I said.
“Truth.”
“Do you want to stay up to meet him?” I said.
She hesitated. “I’m pretty tired. Can I—meet him next time?”
“For sure.”
On the stairs, she turned around and said, “Is this going to turn into one of those supposedly cute TV role-reversal situations where you go out on dates and I stay home watching the clock and waiting up for you to get back?”
“Highly possible.”
“Okay, but I draw the line at you borrowing my fa
shionable teenage clothing.”
“Got it,” I said. “Not even shoes?”
“Fine. Shoes are negotiable,” said Avery.
Daniel kissed me again, first thing.
“Wait a minute,” he said, looking around in bemusement. “This doesn’t look like the dog park.”
“Hey, you’re right.” I eyed him. “Do I know you?”
“Is this a Twilight Zone episode?”
“Who watches the Twilight Zone?”
“Not me. Obviously.”
“Me either,” I said. “What’s your favorite episode?”
“‘The Hitch-Hiker.’ It’s your favorite, too, of course. It’s everyone’s favorite,” said Daniel.
“Nope. ‘Eye of the Beholder.’”
“Uh-oh,” said Daniel. “Trouble in paradise. Already.”
“Hopelessly incompatible.”
And he kissed me again.
We weren’t kissing when Trevor showed up, for which I was grateful, especially after what happened next.
I was scrubbing spilled cabernet off my light green velvet chair, and Daniel was in the kitchen washing dishes. Trevor knocked and then just opened the door and came in.
“Hey, Gin. We got all the way to our hotel before Iris realized she was missing an earring. I texted to let you know I was coming back, but you didn’t answer.”
I could feel myself blush. “I guess I haven’t been paying attention to my phone,” I said. “I haven’t found an earring. What does it look like?”
Trevor pulled out his phone and read from a text: “‘Oval-shaped drops with pavé diamonds. Tell Ginny they’re good costume but just costume, so no worries if she can’t find it.’”
I heard the water turn off in the kitchen.
“You’ve got Avery in there doing the dishes, huh?” said Trevor. “I hope our boys turn out to be helpful like that.”
“Um, actually,” I said.
And Daniel came walking into the room. He held a towel in one hand, a glass plate in the other.
“Hey,” he said, smiling.
“Daniel, this is my brother, Trevor. Trevor, this is Daniel.”
Daniel shifted the plate to his left hand and held his right hand out to Trevor. To my surprise, my usually smooth brother stood as if he were turned to stone—one second, two seconds, three seconds—before he caught himself and held out his hand and shook.
“Daniel,” said Trevor, but more to himself than to anyone else.
“Nice to meet you,” said Daniel.
Trevor didn’t respond, and I was aware of tension zinging back and forth between the two men. Trevor dropped Daniel’s hand, and without ever taking his eyes off him, he said, “Ginny, can I talk to you for a second?”
“Uh, sure,” I said.
“Alone,” said Trevor.
“Trevor? What’s up with you?” I said, embarrassed by his rudeness. “We’re kind of in the middle of cleaning up here. Why don’t we have coffee tomorrow before you and Iris take off?”
When Trevor didn’t shift his gaze or say a word, I said, more loudly, “Trevor,” willing him to look at me, which he did.
“Ginny—” he began.
“No, it’s okay. I should get going anyway.” The ice in Daniel’s voice stunned me.
“Wait, why?” I said to Daniel. “Don’t leave.”
But he had set down the plate and towel and was already walking toward the door, grabbing his jacket off the hatstand without slowing down.
“I’ll see you at the dog park tomorrow,” I said. I could hear the pleading note in my voice.
Daniel gave me a quick, unreadable glance. “I hope so.”
As soon as the door closed behind him, I turned on Trevor.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I said.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he said. “What exactly is your relationship with that guy?”
I kept my voice as steady as I could, but if Avery hadn’t been home, I would have been shouting at the top of my lungs. “Oh, what? All of a sudden you’re the protective big brother? That’s such bullshit, Trevor.”
“Well, obviously, you need someone to call you out on your own bad judgment,” said Trevor.
I’d never known what people meant when they said “I saw red,” but I understood now. Filtered through anger, the world darkened, and I felt the adrenaline pumping through my body.
“You have no right to speak to me like that,” I said. “I’m an adult. And my marriage is over. If I want to get involved with someone new, it’s none of your business.”
“What are you thinking? Of all the people you could’ve found now that you’ve finally gotten rid of Harris?”
“I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to leave now.”
Trevor’s eyes widened. “Oh my God,” he said. “You don’t know.”
“Know what?” I said.
Trevor’s entire posture changed; his shoulders dropped, and he said, in a quiet voice, “Can we sit down and talk?”
“No,” I said, folding my arms across my chest. “I want you to leave.”
He sighed. “Ginny. I’m sorry. Please.”
Trevor’s tone was gentle, but it didn’t reassure me. Instead, I felt a pang of fear. Slowly, I lowered myself onto the seat of the light green chair. I could feel the damp spot through the skirt of my dress. Trevor sat down at the end of the couch.
“That guy, Ginny,” he said, in the same kind voice. “That’s the Daniel who set the fire.”
For at least ten seconds, my brain wouldn’t work; the gears just froze. When it started up again, I said, slowly, “You can’t be talking about the LM school fire.”
Trevor ran his hand through his hair. “Yes. I’m sorry, Ginny. But that’s him.”
I shook my head and kept shaking it. “No.”
“Daniel York. That’s his name, right?”
“Stop it,” I said.
“Did you never see a picture of him? It wasn’t in the paper or anything, but I know that once the word got out that he’d been seen hanging around the groundskeeper’s shed, people at LM got his high school yearbook photo and made copies and started passing them around. Remember?”
Vaguely, I remembered photos taped up around school, but I couldn’t remember the boy’s face.
“When it became clear that the cops weren’t going to arrest him, some people even posted them around his neighborhood,” said Trevor.
Even though he was sitting right in front of me, Trevor’s voice in my ears was faint, as if it were coming from a long way away.
“That’s horrible,” I murmured.
“It’s horrible to burn down a school,” said Trevor. “That’s him. The guy who was here tonight is the same guy, all grown up, who was in that old photo. Ginny, he killed Gray’s dad.”
With this last sentence, Trevor’s voice stopped being far away. That sentence slammed into me with the force of a blow.
“Shut up!” I hissed. “How dare you?”
Trevor fell back against the couch cushions, surprised. “Ginny!”
I stood up, my fists clenched. I had never wanted to hit someone as much as I wanted to hit my brother at that moment.
“You of all people know he didn’t do it.”
“Why me of all people?” said Trevor. “What are you talking about?”
To my disgust, tears filled my eyes. I bit out the words: “I. Heard. You.”
“What?”
“I. Heard. You. Tell. Mom.”
I watched as understanding edged out confusion on my brother’s face. His jaw dropped.
“Oh my God,” he whispered. “Oh my God.”
“Get out! Get out of my house.”
“All these years,” said Trevor. “You thought it was me. You thought I did it.”
“Leave.”
Trevor stood up and moved toward me. I felt that if he touched me, laid one single hand on me, I would crack right down the middle.
“Get away from me,” I said.
Trevor began talking fast, the words tumbling out. “Ginny, listen to me. I didn’t do it. I just told Mom that because I hated her so much. I just— I wanted to shove it in her face that she would never be through cleaning up my messes. She thought I was such a bad kid, such a disappointment. I wanted her to be afraid of me, to think I was capable of anything.”
“Liar,” I said.
“I took that fire, the fire that killed Gray’s father, the fire that Daniel set, and, God help me, it became my weapon, too. I used it to hurt Mom, and I ended up using it to hurt you and myself. And that was an atrocious thing to do. But I did not set that fire, Ginny.”
Trevor started to pace and to move his hands in the air while he talked.
“Okay, listen,” he said. “Are you listening? That night, the night of the game, I left at halftime. And I know that the fire was set at halftime or right after or something. But it wasn’t me. I was long gone. I felt weird being at the game, like a loser who hadn’t left town with everyone else after graduation, even though I guess that didn’t make sense, since a lot of people from my class came back for that game. But I felt out of place a lot back then. Anyway, I went to the hardware store to see Melanie. She was there late, doing inventory. We went down to the quarry and hung out and talked. We were there until morning.”
I felt dizzy and sat down in the green chair and held on to the armrests.
“You can ask Melanie, Gin. Or wait! You can ask her dad. He stopped by the store right after I got there. He didn’t think much of me. He didn’t understand that I really cared about Melanie. He thought I was just using her. We exchanged some pretty harsh words about the game and my snotty rich kid school. I’m sure he’d remember that.”
I held my face between my hands.
“You’re saying you didn’t set the fire,” I said. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“He still owns that hardware store,” said Trevor. “You can ask him. Please go ask him.”
But I knew that I didn’t need to ask Melanie’s father. I sat in that chair, crying, feeling empty and tired and dazed, and I looked at my brother and the years seemed to fall away until I was looking at the person I knew, knew as well as I had ever known anyone, Trevor of the Quaker burial ground and the quarry, my brother, and I understood, beyond any doubt, that he was speaking the truth.
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