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As Hannah stirs more milk and butter into the mashed potatoes, she is washed with gratitude for her family. But she also feels a terrible void, a dark undercurrent.
Mako is under house arrest, awaiting trial for his crimes.
And Sophia can’t forgive Bruce for betraying their family. Leo is more forgiving, but he’ll always side with Hannah’s mother. At any rate, they have decided to spend their Christmas traveling, away from the news and the stares of their neighbors. Her mother’s last Facebook post was from the Netherlands, a lovely picture of her parents smiling at a Christmas market, lights glittering all around them. It filled Hannah with sadness and anger. The consequences of their actions were being borne by others, while they went on their merry way.
It’s Hannah’s first Christmas without her family of origin. She’s trying to stay light and enjoy what they have, but if she’s honest, she feels as if she’s being punished for the things her brother has done. And he’ll always be her brother, no matter how much DNA they actually share.
Apparently, Catrina made provisions for what should happen in the event of her untimely death. She’d kept a detailed journal of her genealogical adventures. It included everything about herself, how she learned about her father and tracked down his progeny.
She’d conducted a detailed investigation into their many crimes, and written detailed confessions about how she’d ended or facilitated the end of each of their lives.
All of this had been kept in a safe-deposit box. The key was kept with her lawyer, who sent it, upon learning of Cat’s death, to a freelance journalist, a half sibling Catrina had found through the Donor Sibling Registry. This journalist wrote a long and searing article forThe Atlantic; apparently there’s a book deal to come. It will be entitledOriginsand will detail Cat’s journey, and the journalist’s own. It was exactly the kind of book Hannah would read under other circumstances.
“I think we’re ready,” she says, forcing her voice bright. Bruce comes to help her carry the dishes to the table, while Lou fastens Gigi into her booster chair.
Outside the queen palms sway in the last light of afternoon and Bruce stands to say grace, which they don’t always do. It’s easy to forget gratitude when times get hard.
“People always say that you can’t choose your family. But that’s not always true. We do choose. And from those choices we build a life. I am so grateful for the life we have, for this meal, and the comfort in which we can enjoy it. Things are not perfect. We have challenges to face. But who was ever promised perfect?”
They lock eyes across the table, while Gigi chatters.
“My actions have brought us pain and for that I am deeply sorry. But sometimes pain comes when healing begins. I am so grateful that we’ll walk into the uncertain future together.”
“Amen,” says Lou.
“Amen,” says Gigi with a laugh. Hannah touches her dear silky curls, her flushed cherub cheeks.
Just as they start to eat, the doorbell rings.
Bruce rises to answer, and Hannah follows.
Cricket stands on their porch, looking fragile and tired. They haven’t spoken much.
“I don’t have anyplace else to go tonight,” she says. And Hannah, of course, welcomes her inside. In the foyer, they stand and embrace for a long time.
About a month ago, Hannah and Cricket went to see Libby Cruz’s mother and they told her their side of the story the night Mako raped Libby. They apologized for their role, and tried to do so without making excuses like they were young, and they didn’t know, and they were just trying to save their own skins because of the party.
Libby’s mother treated them with more compassion than they deserved.
“Just do one thing for me, girls,” she asked as they sat in her living room. “Tell this story so people know what really happened to Libby. So other people will think twice about covering for bad men. Just tell the truth. Because it might help someone else. Because it matters.”
They agreed to do just that.
“But remember,” Mrs. Cruz said. “Michael hurt Libby; you didn’t. And Libby chose to end her life, though depression played a huge role—something she inherited from my side of the family. So forgive yourselves, girls. Move on. Anddo betterfor yourselves, for your daughter.”
So, they did. They each wrote a post on Facebook, explaining what happened, and why they made the choices they had when they were teenagers.
The outpouring was—epic, as Mako would have said. Judgment. Rage. Compassion. Understanding. Confessions. They lost friends; received hate mail and death threats. They were amazed by the compassion of strangers and the willingness of many to forgive two teenage girls for their weakness and baseness.
This was another reason why Sophia was barely speaking to Hannah. The good girl. The reliable one, the fixer. The one who covered up and kept secrets. The one who ran in for the rescue. The one who still hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell her mother about Boots. She finally told the truth.
Sophia on the other hand is a locked box.
“Why a sperm donor? Why not tell us? Why keep this secret from us?” Hannah had wanted to know.
“Honestly?” said Sophia. “It’s none of your business, Hannah.”
“How can you say that?” she’d asked in her mother’s kitchen.
