Chapter 2
I carried the photograph into the hallway like it might burn my fingers.
The woman in the picture looked too much like Lily.
Not similar.
Not a family resemblance.
The same wide eyes.
The same little curve at the corner of her mouth.
The same dimple on the left cheek.
My daughter had that dimple.
Daniel always said she got it from “some aunt somewhere.”
Now I wondered if that aunt had a name.
I slipped the photo into my robe pocket and left Margaret’s room before she woke.
Lily was asleep in our bed.
She had refused to sleep alone after the storage room.
One hand clutched her stuffed rabbit.
The other held the sleeve of Daniel’s sweatshirt.
He had returned to find her shaking and me furious.
I told him what happened.
He went pale.
But not surprised enough.
That bothered me.
“Daniel,” I whispered now, standing in the doorway.
He looked up from the chair beside the bed.
“You should sleep.”
I took out the photo.
“Who is this?”
His face changed.
Everything in him shut down.
Fear.
Recognition.
Guilt.
“Where did you get that?”
“Your mother’s nightstand.”
He stood too fast.
“Claire, put it back.”
“No.”
His eyes went to Lily.
Then the photo.
Then me.
“Please.”
“Tell me who she is.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“That’s Mara.”
“Mara who?”
He did not answer.
My chest tightened.
“Daniel.”
His voice broke.
“My sister.”
The room tilted.
“You told me you were an only child.”
“I know.”
“You lied?”
He looked toward the bed where Lily slept.
“I was told to.”
I stared at him.
By who?
But I already knew.
Margaret.
Of course Margaret.
I looked down at the photo again.
“Mara looked like Lily.”
Daniel’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“What happened to her?”
He swallowed.
“She disappeared when I was twelve.”
My breath caught.
“Disappeared?”
“She ran away. That’s what Mom said.”
“And you believed her?”
“I was twelve.”
The anger inside me bent around something softer.
A boy.
A missing sister.
A mother who controlled the story.
Daniel sat down slowly.
“Mara was twenty. She fought with Mom constantly. Then one night she was gone.”
“Did police look?”
“Mom said Mara called and said she never wanted to see us again.”
“Did you hear the call?”
“No.”
I looked at Lily.
Her face relaxed in sleep, wrist wrapped in a cold cloth.
“Why would your mother hate Lily for looking like Mara?”
Daniel’s face twisted.
“Because Mara was pregnant when she disappeared.”
My blood went cold.
The whole room seemed to shrink.
“Pregnant?”
He nodded.
“Mom hated it. She said Mara had shamed the family. Mara refused to say who the father was.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“So Lily reminds Margaret of her.”
Daniel did not answer.
Something in his silence made my stomach drop.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
He looked at our daughter.
Then whispered, “When Lily was born, Mom nearly fainted.”
“I remember.”
“She said it was the blood pressure.”
“It wasn’t.”
“No.”
He took the photo from my hand and stared at it like he was twelve again.
“She said God was punishing her.”
I felt sick.
“Punishing her for what?”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“I don’t know.”
But he did.
Somewhere deep down, he knew.
The next morning, Margaret tried to leave before breakfast.
I found her by the front door with her suitcase.
“Going somewhere?”
She froze.
“I’m done being abused in my son’s house.”
I stepped in front of her.
“My house.”
Her eyes narrowed.
I held up the photo.
Her face drained.
“Who was Mara’s baby?” I asked.
Margaret whispered, “Put that down.”
“Answer me.”
Daniel appeared behind me.
“Mom.”
Margaret looked at him.
For once, she looked old.
Then Lily came down the stairs, sleepy and barefoot.
Margaret saw her.
May you like
Saw Mara’s face in my child.
And screamed.
