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“—every time Clara so much as brushed my hand, I fell a little deeper. But I was pregnant. Lester and I were married. And suddenly, I was a wife and mother, and Clara had two kids to raise after her brother and his wife died. All I could be was backdrop while my ambitious husband and best friend started talking about publishing together.”
“You were never a backdrop to me,” Clara whispers, so low I think only our table hears her. “Never.”
Yvette shakes her head with a sad yet beautiful smile.
“I couldn’t stay away. Always hovering, trying to be helpful. Back in college, Clara and I had gotten in the habit of sending each other letters, and we still did. Those letters were where she first told me about the idea she had. About a penguin who didn’t fit in because he was different from everyone else. I knew what she was really saying with that. I wanted her to tell that story so much, about that penguin who was accepted and loved by the friends he made all over the world and the people he brought together. Loved because of his difference.”
There’s a soft sniff behind me.
Elle.
I know how she feels.
I don’t show it, but my own throat is burning, raw.
“I was there the day Clara showed Lester her first sketches,” Yvette confesses. “He hated the idea at first. Hated it. But she slowly won him over, and they started plotting the first Inky books, refining the base illustrations together. During that time, I ... we never said a word to each other. But I think we were obvious. The nights I would go over without Lester to help with Deb and August, bringing Clara dinner after she’d worked herself dizzy all day in the studio and was too tired to cook for the kids. The times I’d stay over. I’d sleep on the couch, but we’d wind up talking late into the night. And sometimes—well, sometimes we’d just look at each other, and I’d want to say it so much. ‘I love you. I love you, and I don’t know what to do about it.’”
She says those words to Clara and Clara alone.
Tears stream silently down Aunt Clara’s face, curving her lips in the most painfully sweet smile that makes her look thirty years younger. The bright, hopeful woman Yvette had fallen for all over again.
“But I never could,” Yvette continues, shaking her head. “I had a husband and a daughter. I wouldn’t be unfaithful. I wouldn’t break apart my family and take my daughter away from her father. And if society knew, they would hate us. So I only craved her from afar, but eventually, Lester started to notice. All these years he still looked at Clara a certain way, and I think he even tried to make me jealous with their solitary studio sessions. But he finally started noticing the way we smiled at each other. The way we touched. Chaste, but there was something about it, something we couldn’t hide.” She draws a shaky breath. “Lester confronted us. Accused us of cheating. Said the most hateful words. We denied it, but that was the end. The partnership was over. Lester moved us away and said he wanted nothing to do with Inky the Penguin. He was controlling, monitored my letters, my phone calls. And when Inky blew up and became so famous, that’s when he started drinking. That’s when he started trying to re-create it, claiming it was his idea all along, venting his bitterness to Marissa.”
Her gaze flicks to her daughter.
“I know you loved him, sweetheart,” she says. “And he was good to you. He was a decent father. I won’t pretend he wasn’t. He loved you too. But even though he was good to you, he wasn’t a good husband. He lied so you’d think he was an amazing man who’d just been cheated, when he was so selfish. So cruel. He never created Inky, and I never cheated on him. But I did hurt him by falling in love with someone else. That’s my fault, I know. If you hate me for it, I understand. Everything else, those were his choices, my darling. I only wish you’d accept that instead of trying to punish Clara for Lester’s mistakes.”
Click.
Just like that, the last puzzle piece falls into place.
Marissa always knew about her mother and Clara, and that’s what she’s really been trying to punish Clara for.
Not for being a lesbian, no.
But for being the lost love that tore her family apart.
“Please,” Yvette pleads. “You have your father’s stubbornness, and sometimes it’s admirable. But please don’t follow his path. Don’t go down that long, dark road he walked. I know about your drinking, Marissa. Please, I can’t lose you that way too.”
Marissa recoils, her face blanking.
“Who told y—” She gasps, turning a vicious glare on me. “You.”
“Guilty.” I raise my hand and wave.
There’s a choked snicker behind me.
A little of Elle’s sense of humor might be rubbing off.
“You called my mommy on me?” Marissa flares.
“Also guilty,” I say.
“You fucking—”
“Order!” Judge Harris snarls, slamming his gavel again. With an exasperated sigh, he points it at Yvette. “You. Go sit.” Then he points it at Clara. “You, testify. Is any of this true?”
Clara rises slowly as Yvette gets up and exits the stand.
