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My mother jerks back as if she’s been slapped, but she says nothing. David exhales a long, rough sigh. I can tell from his face that he knows that what I’ve said about her is all true.
They clearly need some time to process this together, so I say quickly that I’ll be in touch as soon as I have more information, and that I’m still so sad for all of us. Then I tap “end meeting,” leaving them to comfort one another on the nubby green couch.
I realize that this is the way I’m always going to be in this family: the girl on the outside looking in, now and forever. Lately I’d been telling myself that something might change once my mother saw my opening and discovered I was starting to make something new, but no collage in the world could thaw her heart. I see that now.
And oddly, there’s a certain peace in accepting it. For the first time in years, that dull sensation of dread I’ve always lugged around with me seems to have dissipated.
As I head to the fridge a little while later for a Diet Coke, my phone pings with a text from Nicky.
Oh my god, Sky. It must have been so hard for you to hear what that guy had to say. Thanks for sharing with us.
Yeah, so hard. But at least we can stop the endless wondering now.
Right. Mom’s really upset of course, but I think this will be better fr her in the long run. And maybe you cn call her later, so just the two of you cn talk this out.
I read her last message a second time as I sip my soda, mulling over the words. And finally I send off a reply.
Skip the Dr. Phil shit, okay? Things aren’t going to change btw mom + me, and you need to finally accept that.
There’s no follow-up ping, and it doesn’t surprise me. I’ve never talked back to Nicky like that, and she’s probably smarting. I love her and I want her in my life, especially if I manage to bring a baby into the world, but I’m no longer going to pretend that we’re part of a happy, functional family.
By the time I’m dressing for bed, I still haven’t heard from Liam, and I’m starting to despair. What if he’s chickened out? But as I’m pulling back the duvet on my bed, he finally calls.
“I’m in Boston now,” he says. “My lawyer’s spoken to the district attorney for Dover, and it’s all set for me to turn myself in tomorrow and talk to the DA myself.”
“Okay,” I say, barely believing that we’re finally getting some closure. “Will you go to prison, do you know?”
“I’m not sure what’s in the cards for me, but anything will be better than the last twelve years.”
“I want to forgive you,” I tell him, “and maybe someday I can, but I’m not there yet. But in the meantime, thank you for letting me know the truth.”
“I haven’t forgotten my other obligation, by the way—to make sure you end up with the trust. My mother has committed to calling off the dogs and ceasing any harassment. I’ve told her if it starts up again, I’ll drag Chris’s name into this, which would kill her. She’s having a hard enough time anticipating the fallout from what I’m about to do.”
“What about Jane, though?”
“That will stop, too. My mother has agreed to tell Jane that if she tries to block you from receiving the trust, she’ll disinherit Mark and Bee. Jane wasn’t a good partner to my brother, but she’s not a monster. She’ll back off.”
“Thank you. Good... good luck tomorrow.”
We sign off, and before setting the phone on the bedside table, I text Mikoto.
I figured everything out, all thanks to something you said. And I mean EVERYTHING. Can I treat you to dinner?
A minute later, once I’m already snuggled under the duvet, Tuna appears from the other room and hops into the bed with me.
“Guess what?” I say as her eyes bore into mine. “We’re millionaires.”
In a way, it’s blood money, and it doesn’t make me any less heartsick about Chloe. But I’m going to use it the way C.J. intended. To start my life again.
39
Six Days Later
AFTER A COUPLE OF DAYS OF REALLY CHILLY WEATHER, IT’Sfairly mild out, which is nice. Using bubble wrap and twine, I carefully swathe the first collage I’ve repaired, lock up my studio—where I’ve started working again—and take the elevator to the lobby. I’d originally planned to hail a cab to the gallery but decide to walk instead.
The collage I’m carrying isDaydream, the one that Josh has a buyer for—as long, that is, as the collector approves of its new iteration. I removed the damaged image and, after a couple of days of searching, added something else that I hope works well. The overall result is bold and compelling, I think—maybe even more so than the original.
That doesn’t change the fact that it was unsettling to repair the piece, to briefly look at that ugly word and also alter what I’d worked so hard on, but I’m okay about it now. My plan is to salvage as many of the collages as I can. They’re going to be slightly new and different creatures from what I first envisioned, and I’ll just have to make peace with that.
