Page 75 of City of Liars

Of course Ella wasn’t exactly the same. How could she be? She’d had a year to grow, and she’d been through a frightful experience. But now she was home, and Elizabeth wanted with all her heart to keep her daughter safe. The thought of Ella living in the tenement on Orchard Street—clad in rags and hungry, cared for by a woman gripped by delusions—while Elizabeth roamed the empty rooms of One Lexington, searching for a daughter who would never come home...it pained her so she could scarcely breathe.

She wasn’t a monster. She was a mother. But how could she make Charles understand?

“Think of it this way,” she said, seized by sudden inspiration. “Remember the story of King Solomon, from the Bible? How two women stood before him, both claiming a child was their own, and Solomon discovered the true mother’s identity by offering to cut the child in half? One woman spoke up, saying she’d relinquish her claim, rather than harming the child in such a way. And that’s how he knew the one who’d spoken was the child’s true mother.” She placed a placating hand on Charles’s arm. “All I want is for Ella to be happy. Happy, and whole. But the Dressler woman...she won’t stop trying to tear the girl apart. What does that tell you?”

Charles’s expression hardened. “You won’t stop either, Lizzie,” he said. “It’s just that, if this is a game of tug o’ war...you’ve got a hell of a lot more weight on the rope.”

The blood rushed to her cheeks. But before she could frame a suitable reply, he’d turned and stalked from the room. The door closed behind him with a final sort of thud. Though Elizabeth could have wrenched it open and followed, instead she sank back onto their bed, for once allowing her husband to have the last word.

48

Liv

The Sunday after Thanksgiving, I arrived at Grandma Ella’s house to hunt for Charles’s journals. I’d told her I wanted to look for some old family papers, and she hadn’t questioned me. Before I left, I intended to tell her everything and ask her again about the test. It was time.

Theo had emailed me, letting me know he’d learned the girl who’d died of frostbite wasn’t Lily, but that the date of Lily’s disappearance didn’t prove she was Mystery Girl, either. He’d apologized again, but I ignored it. I won’t call you, he’d written. I’m trying to respect your wishes. But I’m so sorry, Liv. And I wish you’d call me, so we can talk.

I knew from Gray how easy it was to say you were sorry after the fact, to try to assuage your guilt with empty words. I wasn’t falling for it. Theo had already walked away from our relationship before I knew about the lawsuit. I’d been giving him a chance, and the whole time, he’d been using me, with the full knowledge that his mother planned to sue my family. My father was right about one thing; I’d been naïve, and now I was paying the price.

Thanksgiving had been grim. Before we’d driven to my parents’ house, I’d shut myself in the bathroom and recited affirmations to my reflection, the way I encouraged my clients to do: You are enough, just as you are. Seeking outside approval is giving your power away. Focus on what you can control and make peace with what you can’t. It did absolutely nothing to help. If my clients found this technique half as ineffective as I did, I needed to reevaluate my process.

At dinner, my parents and I barely spoke, other than ‘pass the turkey.’ I’d wanted to beg them to take their threat of disinheritance back. To say they loved me, no matter what. That we would always be a family. But no dice.

I’d hated myself for wanting what they weren’t willing to give, even as their stubbornness infuriated me. If it hadn’t been for Chloe, who’d filled the silence with chatter about her classroom’s new bearded dragon and the hat she’d knitted for me as an early Christmas gift, I might’ve made my excuses and fled before Ruth served the apple pie.

Today, Chloe was hanging out with Tessa’s twins, thrilled to spend an afternoon at the park rather than digging through dusty boxes in the attic with me. I’d filled Tessa in on everything that had happened, and Theo was on her hit list. Even worse, when I told her about the piano playing and my weird dream, she’d gotten all freaked out and gone on about what her yeye called nü gui—the ghost of a woman who’d died wronged. It hadn’t done much for my peace of mind. Hopefully, today would take me one step closer to a resolution.

“Hello?” I called as I unlocked the front door and eased it open. “Grandma?”

“In here, dear.”

I found her on the couch in the den, a mystery novel in hand. She put it down when I walked in and smiled, as if my presence had transformed her day. That was one reason I’d always loved spending time with my grandmother. In a family built on the culture of doing more, achieving something productive every moment, she made me feel special every time she laid eyes on me...like I was perfect just the way I was.

“Hi,” I said, giving her a kiss. The house smelled delectable, like Ruth had been baking. I didn’t hear any pots banging around in the kitchen, though; maybe she’d gone out for a bit.

“Let me take a good look at you.” She lifted my chin, peering into my eyes. “Oh, dear. What’s the matter?”

I’d been here for five seconds, and she’d already seen right through me. “It’s nothing,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”

She tsked. “Olivia Kate, I’ve known you your whole life. I know when something’s troubling you. Is it that dreadful ex-husband of yours?”

I seized on this, grateful. Gray’s revolving door of conquests continued to aggravate me, even though he’d talked to Chloe as promised and she seemed to have adjusted. “He’s being a bit of a pain in the butt, Grandma. I think he’s dating every available woman in Wilmington. Which would be fine, except he introduces Chloe to all of them. Each time they spend the weekend together, he’s with someone else. She likes the newest one”—Luna had long since bit the dust—“but it’s the principle, you know?”

Grandma Ella nodded. “I don’t blame you for being upset, dear. I never thought he was good enough for you, and not because of that nonsense your mother always spouted. It’s because he’s selfish. You need a man who will appreciate you.” She tapped her index finger against her lips, the way she did when she was deep in thought. “What about that lovely piano player?”

I almost choked. “Theo?”

“He’s quite handsome. You don’t need to marry him, after all. You had a husband, and you have a wonderful daughter. He’s very good with his hands; maybe you should look him up for some fun.”

And then my ninety-three-year-old grandmother winked at me.

If she only knew. “Are you suggesting…what are you suggesting, exactly?”

“Don’t look so shocked, dear.” She patted my hand. “I was young once, too.”

Two hours later, I was filthy. I’d hit my head on the attic’s slanted ceiling twice, ripped the knee of my jeans on a nail, and scraped my arm. I was allergic to something up there and couldn’t stop sneezing. Plus, Grandma Ella kept asking me to carry boxes downstairs for her to look through. And I hadn’t found a single dark-green journal.

The last time I came down the stairs, the world’s most awkward box in my arms, Grandma stopped me at the bottom. “I think that’s enough for today, dear,” she said, reaching out to brush a cobweb from my hair. At least, I hoped it was a cobweb. “You look beside yourself, Olivia. Put that thing down.”