Quinn seems okay with that, so I say good-bye and head to my car. I know I need to call Jessica, but I put it off. I’m nearing my condo when my phone belts out “Endless Love”—the tune Jessica programmed it to play when she calls.
She phoned and texted several times earlier in the day and I just texted back,Can’t talk. Call you later. She’d texted once to ask if I was still mad.No, I’d responded, although, hell, I probably am.
My shoulders tense as I answer the call on my car’s Bluetooth. “Hi.”
“Zack—I’m so, so sorry,” she says in a rush. “I had no idea what a mess I was creating or how hard you’d take it when I went on that donor registry site.”
I say nothing.
“I—I wasn’t thinking. I apologize.”
Again, I stay silent. I know it’s hard for Jessica to make apologies. She hates to be wrong and it’s hard for her to admit it when she is. Still, I just don’t have anything to say.
“Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“I’ve been thinking about you all day and wondering what you decided to do about the donor registry.”
I blow out a sigh. “That’s a long story.”
“Well, it’s two hours earlier here, so I have lots of time.” Her voice has an artificially chipper tone to it. She’s trying. Hell, I need to try, too.
I draw in a deep breath and launch into the whole tale. I explain how I’d gone on the site last night, how I’d received the phone number this morning, how I’d tried the number, how I’d gone to the address.
“You just went over there?” She sounds shocked. “That’s kind of weird.”
“It didn’t seem it at the time.”
“It’s just not like you. It’s sort of pushy and impolite.”
So was impersonating me on a donor registry.“Hey, you’re the one who set this whole thing in motion.”
“I know, I know. And I’m so sorry. I-I’m sorry for everything.” Her voice has the quaver she gets when she’s about to cry. “I had no right to look through your papers or post your information on the donor site. I was completely out of line.”
Damn straight, I think.
“Do you forgive me?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I reply, although it doesn’t quite feel like the truth. If I were being completely honest, I’d say something like,I want to. I’m working on it. But I don’t think she can handle that, and I don’t want to deal with a long-distance crying jag.
“So what happened when you went to the house?” she prompts.
I tell her the rest of it—about learning about Brooke’s death, about Margaret’s heart attack and broken hip, about Quinn being next in line as guardian, about Margaret’s iffy condition.
“Oh, my God,” she gasps. “My God!”
“And that’s not all,” I say. “I saw photos of her.”
“Of Lily? What does she look like?”
I take a deep breath, then slowly exhale. “You know that big photo in my sister’s house hanging over the piano, the one of her and me when we were preschoolers? The one I told you Mom used to keep in our living room?”
“The portrait where you and Charlotte look like twins?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Well, Lily looks like she belongs in that picture.”
“Wow,” Jess breathes. “So... what are you going to do?”
