Molly had never told anyone the significance. It was a reminder of what was good. That was all. “Nola Wren. Her name’s Nola Wren.”
Leo closed his eyes. “Molly. Jesus. Nola? Like New Orleans. And The Wren? Why wouldn’t you tell me? I mean obviously you cared, or you wouldn’t have named her that. Seriously. What the fuck? How could you?”
“I thought about naming her Doria, but then I thought ‘What if we get back together?’ I mean, I know that isn’t possible, but Doria Doria would be a crazy name.”
“You know I’m not talking about the name.”
“I’m sorry. I know. There are reasons, but there’s no excuse, you know? And I’m sorry to spring this on you now.” She held up her hands. “I don’t need anything. I don’t want anything. And I know it’s completely fucked up and I’m sorry. I am so sorry. You have no idea. But I had to tell you. Before I went back.”
Leo checked his watch. “I have a meeting, and I can’t miss it. Fuck.” He was trembling, biting at his lip, flexing his hands. “Can I see her? I mean, I have a million questions and no time to ask them. Why didn’t you bring her? No, no. That would have been stupid. Yeah, I wouldn’t have done that.” He shifted and paced in front of the bench. “Are you with someone? Is that it? Does he know the baby isn’t his?” He threw his head back. “Fuck. Is she okay? Like, healthy?”
Molly could see scenarios washing over him, drenching him in fear and possibility. She stood, took his arm, and stared him down until he was calmer.Don’t look back. Don’t look ahead. Be in this moment.“She’s perfect. She’s fine. There’s no one else. But there is something I need to explain.”
How could she tell him about her years away, what it was to sink so low. She remembered seeing palm trees for the first time, daybreak by the pier in Santa Monica, fishermen throwing lines into the surf, the stillness of the sleeping roller coaster. “Have you ever been to California?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
1995: Mid-Coast Maine
Maeve tossed a rubber duck into the blow-up pool, and Nola Wren pounced on it, splashing water onto the grass. The crunch of tires on fresh peastone made her look up. Her father’s truck pulled in next to Maeve’s car. They’d said they were taking a weekend off from grandparenting. She did an inventory, tried to follow everyone’s advice and not jump to tragedy.
When Molly first left, Maeve was genuinely afraid for her sister, convinced she’d had some sort of breakdown, that she might harm herself. “Stop imagining the worst possible scenario. Life is much more mundane,” Wendy said. “Think dull thoughts.” But the weekend stretched into weeks and then months, and then it was winter and it was enough to worry about keeping the driveway plowed and the cars running and getting the kids to school and the baby over to her parents’ place. That first winter had been a game of musical chairs—who slept where, who picked up whom. Maeve worried someone would accidentally leave Nola Wren in a car, pictured her freezing in the darkness while the rest of them sat by a fire, certain she was in the other house. More than once, Maeve had called her parents when Nola Wren was there to make sure she was safe. “That child is the most accounted for, most cared for child on earth, Maeve. You worry too much,” her mother said. Even two years later, Maeve’s disgust at Molly’s behaviorreared. Dylan and Opal were growing like weeds, both strong and capable, but she worried about them every day, worried when they were with Sam, worried when they were on their own. She couldn’t imagine how Molly could be so selfish. The only grace Maeve could give Molly was by reminding herself that her sister didn’t even know her own child, couldn’t know how perfect she was, how a child can complete a circle you didn’t even know was missing a piece. Nola Wren had become that for Maeve and Wendy.
Her mom got out of the truck, made a beeline for Nola Wren, who rolled herself around in the water.
“Look at you swimming!” Faye said.
“What’s wrong, Mom? Why are you here?”
“Nola Wren, take Grandma in, and let’s have some lemonade,” Faye said, holding her arms out for the little girl.
“You’re gonna get soaked, Mom. Let me get her.” Maeve grabbed a towel and hoisted Nola Wren onto her hip. William came to her side, kissed the child who squirmed into his waiting arms like a dripping fish.
“There’s Grandpa’s girl!” He pushed her skyward, and she giggled, then collapsed onto his shoulder. He looked around. “No Wendy?”
“She’s at the grocery. What’s going on? You two are making me nervous,” Maeve said. She expected her mother to tell her to relax in that way of hers, as if she didn’t spend time on pins and needles, as if she didn’t tense up and disappear into her own thoughts. Instead, her face softened, and Maeve instantly thoughtcancer.
“Let’s go inside and talk,” Faye said.
On the screen porch, Maeve sat dumbfounded by the news. “All of a sudden, and we’re supposed to, what?” She stared at Nola Wren playing nearby in her plastic garden, crawling through the hole, opening and closing the gate, checking for mail in the red box. Maeve whispered, “Give her back? This is ludicrous. No. This is a goddamned nightmare!”
Of course, she knew that Molly was Nola Wren’s mother, but Molly had also abandoned her. And Maeve and Wendy had talked. Maeve could adopt Nola Wren legally, forget this casual guardian business. They were raising her. Why not make it official? It had been a gift for her and Wendy, a child they could raise together who would be theirs. “She can’t waltz back into our lives. It isn’t right.”
“Nola Wren is two. She’ll adjust. Kids are resilient,” Faye said through tight teeth.
“You don’t actually believe that, Mom. I can see it in your eyes,” Maeve said. “You’re scared. You don’t trust that Molly has changed any more than I do. And what about me and Wendy? We have poured ourselves into that little girl. We’re the ones who love her. Oh, I want to scream, I’m so frustrated.” Maeve flared her hands as if she could make sparks fly from them. “One: She’s snotty. Two: Ir-re-sponsible. Three: Unemployed, I’m guessing. Four: Homeless.”
Faye interrupted. “Maeve, she’s not homeless. She’ll stay with us until she’s back on her feet. You girls always have a home with us. Always. Strike that from your list.”
“So, does that mean she’s taking—” She shook her head in disbelief. “Five!” she shouted, jutting out her chin. “And I’m sorry, but look at that whole nanny thing. No way she told us the whole story there. Five: To that point. She makes bad, bad decisions, Mom. Six: We all told her to tell Leo. Every one of us. Call Leo. If she had called”—her voice dropped back down to a whisper—“Nola Wren’s father, maybe none of this would have happened, and we wouldn’t be in this situation. Wendy is going to absolutely flip out.”
“Maeve,” William said. “Stop with the lists. You’re not being fair. We have to accept things as they come, and your sister is coming home. Lord knows, no one made lists about you or Wendy.”
Maeve shot her mother daggers at that one. She was pretty sure that Faye had made lists.
“We are more than a list of our flaws. We have to focus on what’s right for our little girl here. That’s what matters now.”
“Dad, that’s all we’ve done for two years.”
