by Amy Hatvany
“We’re not going on vacation,” I said, my arms crossed over my chest as I stood in her bedroom, waiting for her. We had to hurry so we could get to the bank, then to my dad’s house and onto the bus that would take us downtown.
She grinned. “It’s California, isn’t it? You never know.”
I shook my head, my heart racing, thinking about what it would be like, showing up at my grandparents’ house. I’d found their address a few weeks ago in one of the boxes Dad had brought back from Mama’s house, though I still couldn’t help but worry they might refuse to talk with me. What would Bree and I do then? We’d be hundreds of miles away from Seattle with nowhere to stay. I wasn’t even sure if we’d be able to pay for a hotel room; I was afraid we might be too young.
“Hey,” Bree said, interrupting my thoughts. “I’m ready.” She tilted her head, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, releasing a huge breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Let’s go.”
An hour later, Bree had withdrawn six hundred dollars from the bank, and we had stopped at my dad’s house so I could pack a bag, too. Not knowing how long we’d be gone, I didn’t know how much to bring, so I just filled one of Mama’s small black suitcases with a pile of underwear, jeans, and tops. I thought about writing Dad a note, just so he wouldn’t worry too much, but I decided it was probably better not to leave any kind of hint about where we’d gone. I cringed as I thought about how my dad would react when he realized I’d run away, how worried and angry he’d be, but I forced myself to stop. I was going to California for Mama. This was my last chance to find out what happened to her, why her parents had sent her away. Dad would be so grateful when I came home, he’d forgive me right away for everything I’d done. I’d become the kind of daughter he’d brag about to his friends. I wouldn’t lie or skip school or be rude to Grace. We could have a fresh start.
It was three o’clock by the time we were finally ready to lock up the house and head downtown. From the bus stop around the corner, it only took twenty-five minutes to get to the corner of Eighth and Stewart, about a block away from the Greyhound station. Bree looked up the address on her smartphone and confirmed the next bus from Seattle to San Francisco wasn’t until six, so we had plenty of time. “We’ll have to transfer in San Francisco to another bus that will take us to San Luis Obispo,” she said as we walked down the street from the bus stop. “This is going to be a long trip.”
“How long?” I asked, my belly twisting a little. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. What had been so clear to me just hours before suddenly seemed ridiculous. Getting on a bus with a bunch of strangers and riding hundreds of miles to see the grandparents who hadn’t given a damn about me or Max. About their own daughter.
“Almost a whole day,” she said, and again, I briefly considered turning around and just heading back home. But once inside the station, Bree and I pushed our way through the masses and dropped onto one of the benches, trying to hold our breath against the stink of body odor, which was worse than in our school gym after the boys played dodgeball.
“Should we buy our tickets?” Bree asked, but I shook my head.
“Maybe we should wait a little bit,” I said. Seeing the look on her face, I quickly added, “Just until the line goes down.”
“Okay,” she said, drawing out the word. We sat together for about an hour, watching the people around us, whispering comments back and forth about how they looked or what they said to each other. The walls were tiled, so every noise was echoed and loud; people squabbled over which bus they should take to get to their destination on time and who remembered the snacks. A couple of guys next to us fought about whether or not they’d packed enough weed for the trip, and Bree rolled her eyes at me, mouthing the word “stoners.”
Just as I was about to tell Bree that this was a stupid idea and we should probably just go, my eyes flew to the main doors as a rush of travelers came inside, shaking off their umbrellas. I saw Grace before she saw me. She wore jeans and a black jacket, and her red hair was in a wild, wet mess around her face. My dad was right behind her.
“Look,” I said, nudging Bree with my elbow. She turned her head toward the door, then looked back to me and smiled.
“Should we make a run for it?” she asked, only partially teasing.
I pressed my lips together and shook my head, slowly standing up. Grace scanned the room and when her eyes landed on me, her hand flew to cover her mouth. I waved, unsure if I should feel terrified or relieved that they’d found me so easily. Grace turned to my dad and pointed to me. They raced over, and as soon as Dad was close enough, he grabbed me hard, lifting me off of the ground.
“Oh, Ava, thank god you’re safe,” he said, pressing his mouth against the side of my head. His voice was ragged, edged in tears. He pulled back, dropped me slowly back down, and cupped my face in his hands. “We were so worried. What the hell were you thinking?”
I blinked away my tears and looked over to Grace. She gave me a small smile and ran her hand down the side of my arm. “Are you guys okay?”
“We’re fine,” I said, turning my head to glance at Bree, and Dad dropped his hands from my face. “I’m sorry.” I took a deep breath. “How did you find us?”
“We checked your mom’s house, then thought you might try to go to see your grandparents,” Grace said. “The bus seemed like the cheapest way to get there and you guys are too young to buy a plane ticket on your own.”
“Do you have any idea what could have happened to you here?” my dad demanded. “Or on a bus to another state? I don’t even want to think about it, Ava. I can’t believe you’d do this.”
My bottom lip quivered. “I’m sorry,” I said again, dropping my gaze to the ground. “I just knew after I told you I lied to you and skipped school and went to Mama’s house and called her parents, you’d make me stop trying to find out what happened to her.” I looked up at him again, suddenly panicked, realizing everything I’d just confessed, terrified of what he might say next.
Seeing the distress on my face, his own expression shifted from one of anger to one of understanding. “Grace told me everything, honey.” His voice was gentle, and for some reason, that just made me want to cry more. “If this was so important to you, why didn’t you talk with me about it?”
“I tried to and you wouldn’t even let me go to Mama’s house!” I blurted, then sucked in a rough breath. Grace took a step toward me, but Dad put his hand on her shoulder so she’d stay back.
“You’re right,” he said, bobbing his head softly, seemingly urging me to continue, so I went on.
“I was so angry at you,” I said, then threw my gaze over to Grace. “At you, too.” Her expression didn’t change, but she nodded the same way Dad had, keeping her eyes on me. I took another deep breath, not caring that we were in the middle of the bus station and a few people around us were starting to stare. “And you know what else? I’m still angry at Mama, because she lied. She lied and now she’s gone and it’s not right for me to feel this way about her. I want to know what happened so I can stop being so mad. I don’t want to hate her. I want to understand why she kept secrets from me. I want to know why everyone thinks it’s okay to keep lying to me!”
I lost control then. Sobs racked my body and Grace rushed over, put her arms around me, and pulled me to her. Her body was soft and yielding, her embrace so different than Mama’s, her touch solid and reassuring. Mama’s always seemed to drain something from me. Slowly, I slid my arms around Grace and held on tight, my tears wetting the front of her jacket. Dad put his hand on my back, rubbing it; Bree stood next to him, tears in her eyes, too. Grace stroked my hair back from my face and all I could think was how I used to do the same thing for Mama when she cried. After Dad left us, how often I’d wished Mama had it in her to still do it for me.
I melted into Grace, finally letting myself give in to the fact that she wasn’t a horrible person trying to take my daddy away. I’d tried
to hate her, I’d tried to make her the bad guy, but she’d shown me that she cared about me, and even when I was just awful to her, when I’d been downright rude, she didn’t leave.
After a few minutes, my tears finally began to subside and I looked up to see Daddy with tears in his eyes, too. “I’m so sorry you’ve been carrying that all around, Ava,” he said. “I’m sorry that I didn’t let you go to your mother’s house when you wanted to. I thought I was protecting you, but I can see that I was wrong.”
I couldn’t believe I was the one who’d made the mistakes and here he was, apologizing. He took a deep, shuddering breath and looked at Grace, then back over to me. “I’m also sorry I didn’t tell you more about when your mom was a teenager. She made me swear not to. I thought I was doing the right thing, doing what she asked. I thought it would hurt you too much to hear the truth.”
I pulled back from Grace, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. I looked at Bree, who frowned at me and gave a short shrug. I turned my eyes back to Dad. “What’s the truth? What didn’t she want me to know?”
He hesitated a moment, dropped his chin down, and gave me a stern look. “If I tell you, you have to wait and let me tell Max, okay? When he’s a little bit older. I will tell him, but I think right now, it might be too much.” I nodded, and Grace nodded, too, as though he were asking the same thing of her. He took a deep breath before speaking again. “Your mom got pregnant when she was fourteen, Ava. And her parents were so ashamed of her, they sent her away.”
“Oh my god,” I said, and I heard Bree gasp, too. The small bits of information I already knew suddenly made sense. “She did? Why wouldn’t Mama talk about it? Why wouldn’t she want us to know?”
“She was ashamed, honey. She tried to push it all down and pretend it had never happened. And when a person does that long enough, all that grief can start coming out in unhealthy ways. I begged her over and over to get help. But she wouldn’t.”
“What happened to the baby?” Bree asked, and my dad shot a surprised glance over to her, as though he’d forgotten she was there, then looked to Grace.
“She was most likely adopted,” Grace said in a calm voice. “We don’t know any of the details, really.”
“She? I have a sister?” I asked, forgetting my tears. “Can we look for her?”
Grace and Dad looked at each other again, as though they were trying to decide. “Dad,” I said, pleading. “Please.”
Grace gave a slight nod, and Dad sighed. “Okay,” he said. “Yes. But I don’t want you to get your hopes up too high, honey. Because she might not even know she’s adopted. Or even if she does, she might not want to meet her birth family. We’d have to respect that.”
“Okay,” I said, knowing he was right, but still excited at the prospect of getting to know a sibling I never knew I had. I could tell her all of the good things about Mama . . . and then, maybe someday, I could share some of the harder stuff with her, too.
My dad reached over to hug me again and kissed the top of my head. “I love you, Ava. We’re going to find our way through this. But no more lying and sneaking around. No running away. Do you understand me?”
I nodded, tearing up again. “Can I talk with Grace alone for a minute?”
“Sure.” He gave me another squeeze, then grabbed my suitcase. “Come on, Bree,” he said. “I’ll buy you a soda.”
Grace and I watched them walk toward the small concession stand, Bree looking like a toddler next to my dad. Grace turned to me and released a long breath. “Want to sit? I’m wiped.”
We moved to a nearby bench, not saying anything for what felt like a few minutes. “So you told Dad everything, huh?” I finally said. “Even about us going to Mama’s house for the recipe?”
“Yep. When you took off, I didn’t really have a choice.”
“I get it,” I said, barely lifting my shoulders. “It was kind of easier that way, I guess?”
“Maybe for you!” she said with a smile and a nudge.
“Sorry,” I said, laughing. “You’re right.” I looked down to my lap, unable to meet her gaze. “I didn’t mean to disappear like that. I just . . . everything with my dad . . .” I trailed off, trying to find the words to express what was going through my mind.
“It’s all right,” she said gently. “I understand how you’ve been feeling maybe better than you think.” I gave her a quizzical look, and she smiled. “I was your age when Sam was born . . . did you know that?” I shook my head. I knew her brother was younger than her, but not that much younger.
She nodded and then went on. “Well, I was. And my dad wasn’t like yours. He was pretty reckless. He didn’t care about being a father, and because my mom had to work nights and weekends to help support us, I was responsible for taking care of my brother when she wasn’t there.” She hesitated a moment before continuing. “I know that it’s not exactly the same thing, and I know you’ve been through so much more than I could even imagine, but I do know how it is to feel like a grown-up in some ways and still be a kid. It pulls you in different directions. Makes you feel sort of imbalanced. When I was thirteen I just wanted to be with my friends, you know?” She paused. “But here’s the thing. It was really hard for me to take on all that responsibility, just like I’m sure it was hard for you to take care of your mom so much. We did it because we had to. But now you and Max are with us, and we want you to enjoy being kids.”
“I still want to help find my sister,” I said, but the words were soft, padded with relief. Grace seemed to understand more about me than anyone else ever had. Maybe even more than Mama. And while I felt a little guilty having this thought, part of me hoped that Mama would be happy I had someone there for me now that she couldn’t be. Someone I could talk to when I was worried or sad, someone who could never replace her but might make me feel less alone.
“Of course,” she said, then we were quiet for another minute. I knew I had to hurry up and say what was on my mind before I chickened out. “Grace?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m actually glad you’re going to marry my dad,” I said. “You make him really happy.”
She reached over and put her arm around me. I stiffened at first, even after our hug, still not accustomed to letting her show me affection, but then I relaxed into her body, feeling her warmth, the confidence behind her touch. “He makes me happy, too,” she said. “When he’s not driving me nuts.” She jiggled me a little to let me know she was joking and we both laughed.
“I promise I’ll try to stop being such a pain,” I said. “I’ve made everything so hard on you.”
“It’s not all your fault, Ava. I’m not exactly perfect, either. After your mom died, I was really scared about helping to take care of you guys.”
“Really?” I couldn’t imagine Grace being scared of anything.
“Really,” she said, nodding. “Things have been tough for all of us, but I kept thinking I was making it worse.”
I suddenly wanted to reassure her, too. “You were actually really nice. Even when I was being mean to you.”
“Ha!” she said. “Yelling is not exactly nice.”
I shrugged, remembering the few times she had yelled at me, for fighting with Max and taking money from her purse; I probably deserved it. “Neither is lying and stealing.” I looked at her, tears blurring my vision. “That’s not the kind of person I want to be, Grace. I hope you give me another chance.”
She hesitated only a moment before leaning over and hugging me again. “I hope you’ll give me one, too,” she whispered, and then together, we stood up and walked over to meet my dad, both of us ready to let him take us home.
Acknowledgments
Some books come more easily than others, and I might not have finished this one without the support of several amazing people.
From the beginning, Greer Hendricks, my brilliant editor at Atria Books, sensed the kind of story I was trying to write and page by page (sometimes word by word!) helped me coax it into place. Sarah
Cantin, a talented editor in her own right, shared vital and personal insight on a key aspect of the story—I cannot thank her enough.
As always, thanks to Victoria Sanders, the most resourceful, encouraging, and hysterically funny agent a girl could have, who calmly navigated my fits of insecurity and made me believe in myself all over again. I am beyond lucky to have her in my corner. Thanks also to Victoria’s team: Chris Kepner and Bernadette Baker-Baughman, for everything you do for us crazy artistic types!
My deepest gratitude to the other amazing people at Atria who make this writing life of mine possible—to name only a few: Judith Curr, Chris Lloreda, Paul Olsewski, Lisa Sciambra, Hilary Tisman, Carole Schwindeller, and Aja Pollock. I’m grateful for the entire sales team at Atria, who work tirelessly to help get my books out into the world, and for the art department for creating such stunning, affecting covers.
Special thanks to Cristina Suarez, my extraordinary publicist at Atria, for cheerleading, enthusiasm, and her general fabulousness. Also, for incredibly tasty No Bake Makery treats! Can’t wait for your cookbook!
I’m indebted to Tina Skilton, my dearest friend, who read and listened to me gnash my teeth over this manuscript more times than either of us could count. Laura Meehan provided me with keen editorial input, enthusiastic moral support, and perhaps more important, many adorable pictures of her sweet baby Noah’s gorgeously cherubic face. (Laura, I’d drive with you through questionable areas of San Francisco anytime.) Thanks also to Laura Schilling, for listening to me babble on about the plot and brainstorming with me about soap operas and secrets.
For early reads and immensely valuable feedback, thanks to Stacey Harrington, Liz Ward, Laura Webb, and Beth Mellone. And for one of the most enjoyable, hysterical lunches ever, as well as stunning professional support, thanks to Pennie Ianniciello, Shana Lind, and Melissa Medeiros McMeekin.
Friends are the family you choose, and I couldn’t write without the love and support of mine: Sally Cote, Sherrie Stockland, Carmen Bowen, Loretta McCann, Cheryl Baulig, Belinda Malek, Brad and Deanna Martin, Rachael Brownell, Allison Ellersick, Jerrilyn Harvey, Kristie Miller Cobb, Robin Hart, Kurt Jensen, Kristin Cleary, Kelly Angel, Greg and Sue Bateman, Curt and Tracey Hugo, Wendy Bailey, Denise Brandon, and oh so many others, I can’t list them here. I love you.
