Shira pulled out his chair, and he squeezed his granddaughter’s hand in thanks. A chill went through me. I shouldn’t be here. This was a family night, a normal night. I should have picked a different time, and a place where I wasn’t intruding. I’d been in such a hurry to get answers, so convinced we could be out in the open since Helen Barbanel knew about O’ma, but I’d been wrong. I couldn’t ask questions about my grandmother now, not when I’d read about how much Edward had loved her, not in front of Helen, not with Noah’s tense parents and all these cousins. I’d come back some other time. Noah and I would figure something else out.
I got through dinner quietly, smiling when everyone else did, answering quickly when people addressed me, but all in all, flyingunder the radar. Occasionally I caught Helen Barbanel watching me from her seat at one of the heads of the table. Who did she think I was—the granddaughter of the girl who’d been brought up in her mother-in-law’s house, or the granddaughter of the woman who’d slept with her husband?
I met her gaze once, and it was as unwavering as Noah’s. He’d said his grandmother taught him everything he knew about plants, had inspired him to want to study botany. What else had he learned from her? How to make his face an impenetrable barrier? How to handle not always being happy with your lot in life?
But I could be extrapolating. Maybe she was happy.
Noah’s mom, on the other hand, looked at me frequently, but always darted her gaze away, like a nervous hummingbird. Yet when the meal had finished, and the adults had poured themselves tiny cups of coffee, and the sky had faded to a papery purplish-blue, she pitched her voice across the table. “So, Abby. Where are you from?”
Like a signal, the conversation around the table died and the focus turned to me. I resisted licking my suddenly dry lips. “I’m from South Hadley—it’s a small town in western Mass.”
Several of the adults laughed. Noah’s mom smiled. “We’re familiar with South Hadley.”
Embarrassment slid through me, like I should have known they knew my town.
“And how are you liking Nantucket?”
“It’s great. It’s gorgeous.” I glanced at Noah beside me, hoping for reassurance in the face of this gentle questioning. Beneath the table, he pressed his leg against mine.
“Abigail,” Helen said, “is Ruth Goldman’s granddaughter.”
Edward Barbanel started choking.
He’d raised his drink to his lips, but now he set it down with athunk, pressing a fist to his chest. The table’s attention swung to him; even the kids’ table fell silent.
“Are you okay, Dad?” Noah’s father leaned forward.
Edward Barbanel waved him off, his attention on his wife. “Ruth’s granddaughter?”
Helen took a measured sip of coffee. “Looks just like her, doesn’t she?”
Now Edward’s gaze swung to me. I sat very, very still. Beneath the table, my hand opened and closed in nervous fists. This was not the way I’d wanted this to come up.
After a long silence broken only by a toddler’s babbling, Noah’s mother spoke. “Who’s Ruth?”
Edward took an excessively large swig of alcohol.
“Ruth lived with Edward’s family as a child,” Helen said. “Are you all right, dear?”
Edward Barbanel coughed into his napkin. Helen watched him, placid as a great lake and just as likely to be hiding an exceptionally dangerous current.
“Lived?” Noah’s dad said, clearly confused. “What do you mean?”
“You remember. The little girl they took in during the war.”
I glanced nervously at Noah.
Edward Barbanel looked at me again, but said nothing.
“She came over from Germany. Pretty little thing. She used to follow your father around everywhere.” Helen’s gaze switched to me, alarmingly piercing. “Didn’t she mention?”
“I don’t think so.” I stared down at my plate. Beneath the table, Noah took my hand. I clutched his.
Helen’s mouth curved in a very small smile. “Oh?”
“She never talked about—Nantucket.”
“Never?”
