There was a sharp pain in the back of her throat as she whisper-shouted, “No, no, no.” Dahlia held it up by the spine and wrapped it in the kitchen towel. She leaned against the counter and let out an exaggerated, frustrated sigh.
The cover was sopping wet, and so were the first few pages. Dahlia opened it, trying her best to dry the milk-logged sheets. For the first time, she noticed smeared handwriting on the backside of the cover and looked closer.
L, I know how much you love this book. I want you to have it. With all my love. Forever, G. 1955.
L. Was this to Lil or Lizzie? If it was 1955, it had to be Lil; her Gran and Pop were already married by then, and his name was Leon. None of this made any sense unless it was written to Lil. And who was G? Was he an admirer? A boyfriend?
Lil had never spoken of anyone from her past, let alone a lover. Gran could have cheated, but she wouldn’t, she couldn’t, she wasn’t that type of person. Dahlia’s mind spun like an overloaded washing machine. It could have also been a friendly note, but friends didn’t sign off withall my love. No, the note had to be for Lil.
Dahlia sat down in the closest chair, reckoning with the idea that Lil may have had a lover that Dahlia never knew about. Her smile grew, then wilted within seconds. What happened to him? Or her? Dahlia was going back and forth, trying to piece together this new information, when her phone vibrated. It was Daisy. This wasn’t an ideal time. She pondered letting it go to voicemail again. But no, it was her daughter. She had to answer it. What if something was wrong?
“Hi, Daisy.”
“Mom, where have you been? I tried calling you before.”
“Ah, here. I’ve been home.” Dahlia’s voice rose to a squeaky octave. “Why, what’s the emergency? You sound upset.”
“I am.” Daisy started crying. “I almost called Dad when you didn’t answer.”
Dahlia pursed her lips, so relieved she didn’t. Spence didn’t need to have any intel on her life. “Tell me, what’s going on?”
“Mom, Pop’s cousin Louisa isn’t related to us. She doesn’t show up as a match of yours or mine on Ancestry.”
“Okay.” Dahlia stood up.
“I don’t understand. Louisa found Pop’s original birth certificate in a safe in her parents’ basement. I saw it with my own eyes,” Daisy said. “He and Louisaarerelated.”
Dahlia’s heart began racing. “Maybe it wasn’t his.”
“Mom, she has pictures too; it’s him. Same birthmark on his left hand. So if they were related to each other, why wouldn’tshebe related tous?”
“Daisy, I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.” Then she glanced at the inscription on the book again, and it hit her like a ton of bricks: Gran could have had an affair.Chills ran up her arms. If she had, how did that relate to Daisy’s findings?
“Mom, DNA doesn’t lie.”
“I’m going to do some digging. Everything’s going to be fine,” Dahlia said, feeling her stomach churn. Deep down, she knew they had dug up something no one was prepared for.
Daisy’s voice cracked. “Okay, but something’s not right.”
“We’ll figure this out. In the meantime, go out with your friends. Forget about this.”
“Not sure I can, but I’ll try.” Daisy let out an exhale. “Call me as soon as you find out something. “Like the minute. Promise?”
“I promise. Love you trillions, Daisy girl.”
Dahlia ended the call. She didn’t know what to believe or how to make sense of Daisy’s findings. Her mind raced like a greyhound around a track. Her heart felt sliced open at the idea of her pop not being her biological grandfather. With her head in her hands, there was a heaviness in her chest. There was now another mission to addto her list, and she wondered if she’d ever find that key. And if she didn’t, what would that mean for her and her family?
Later that night, while Noah was out, Dahlia wandered up into the attic. This new information plucked her from reality as she knew it, similar to her parents’ death. Only this time, it wasn’t a horrific call interrupting the best sleepover of her life. Instead, it was a shocking call disturbing the best morning-after sex of her life. Dahlia knew a thing or two about being caught off guard. For that very reason, she remained hypervigilant, never fully leaning into joy. That was, with the exception of this summer and Daisy, of course.
With Harry by her side, Dahlia rummaged through the random dust-covered boxes, looking for any clue. The air in the attic was stale and humid, so she opened the small window next to the chimney. The breeze carried with it hints of sulfur from the tide below, but it felt refreshing against her hot skin. Dahlia held the cold glass of iced tea to her cheeks, feeling the ice cubes melt upon contact. Summer rains on Long Island didn’t cool the temperature off for long enough.
The open wood beams above her were marred by decades of leaks and the remnants of roofing nails. The floor was covered with boxes, containers, and random pieces of furniture. It made her woozy. And she still had everything in the basement to go through—over a hundred years of history and memories, at least. Harry anchored himself by the attic door, watching her. She felt her posture cave, knowing she had to find a new home for all of her family’s belongings. The last twenty-four hours with Noah had been a vacation from the true reason for her summer visit, which was to get Lil’s house ready to sell so she could take that job in Charleston.
The room felt contradictory. It was an odd medley of Lil’s classic Nantucket pieces in cheerful hues, mixed with leftover seventies décor in brown, marigold, and avocado green. There were old lamps, games, an old dart board, a framed map of Long Island in its fish-like form, and too many chests to count. It was a melting pot of the home’s decorating evolution, and she was along for the ride.
Dahlia meandered through the rubble, looking for the video cassettes she remembered seeing Pop carry up here years ago. Dahlia wanted to see footage of her mom, but she also wanted to see her grandparents and Lil. To see if she noticed anything off or peculiar, because if Daisy was right, not only was her pop not her biological grandfather, but he also hadn’t been her mother’s biological father. Dahlia didn’t even want to go there, but she had no choice. She was the grown-up here, the only grown-up who could solve this mystery—whether she wanted to or not.
There was a box set on top of the distressed periwinkle blue dresser in the corner. Dahlia’s unsteady hands pulled apart the top, and sure enough, there were rows of stacked VHS cassettes, all labeled with white covers. She pulled out the one that readRose’s Communion.
