Anne smiled sadly. “You still call him Dad.”
“I don’t know for sure that he isn’t. He’s the only father I’ve ever had.”
Anne initiates the hug this time. “I’m sorry, Mallory. You’re so calm about this, but I’m reeling.”
“I’m not calm,” I say, clinging to her. “I’m terrified. It’s just that I’ve had time to get used to the idea.”
“DNA test?”
“Dad would never go for that.”
“We could take a hair from his brush.”
“Not as reliable.”
She draws back, eyes compassionate in a way that makes me feel there’s hope for us yet. “You’ve read up on this.”
“Oh, yes,” I say, but with a lightness that wasn’t there before. I feelsomuch better having told her this. Jack knows. Chrissie knows. But my sister is different from them. The fact that she’s moved pastthemom-cheatedplace gives me courage. “He knows, Annie. The answers are somewhere in that mind of his. We need to ask.”
“I’mnot doing that,” she drawls. “He thinks I’m flakey. You’d be better at it. What about asking Margo if she knows? She was the closest to Mom all those years. Maybe Mom said something to her.”
“If Margo knew, wouldn’t she have said something to me, especially after Mom died?”
“Not if she thought it would wreck you.”
She’s right, insightful in this. How many times have I told myself that it isn’t worth the heartache of going public with my fears? “I could ask her. I will. But I need to talk with Jack first.”
With a half turn, Anne clutches my arm. Her eyes are large and intense. “Don’t flip, Mal. Please don’t.”
“Flip?”
“To Jack. Or Margo. I want you on my side.”
“This isn’t about taking sides.”
“It is. With families as broken as ours, it always is.”
The salt pond behind Gendy’s is connected to the sea only at times of heavy runoff from streams or tidal storm surge. Half a mile long and far shorter across, it is bordered on the land side by trees and modest homes, on the ocean side by a salt marsh. Power boating is regulated to protect the habitat, but a pair of kayaks glide by as we emerge from the path.
The beach is shallow and starting to darken under a purpling sky. Bill is sprawled in a weathered Adirondack chair a bit down the beach, but Joy and Dad are farther still, walking hand in hand—which, coming after mention of broken families, is a pleasure to see.
“Whoa,” says Anne. “Who initiated that?”
I squeeze her arm. Sisters do think alike. “I was wondering the same thing.”
“Dad.”
“Joy.”
“He really likes her.”
“She really likes him.”
Anne snorts and says a dry, “Shedidn’t grow up with him.”
“Nope. But she’s desperate for family.”
“So am I,” Anne says and sets off to join them.
