I don’t let her go.I can’t—not yet.Not when she fits against me like this.Not when everything in me is screaming that she might be the first real thing I’ve ever had.
“We should get back to reading the journals,” I say, though I make zero effort to move.
“Maybe the thin little one I found earlier today is the one that matters,” she states.“Which means we’ll read it last.”
“Okay, so how do you want to do this?”
“Let’s go through the ...”She narrows her gaze while looking intently at me.“What did you call them?Blah?”
I laugh.“Maybe I’m wrong.Writing about the songs she liked was important to her.”
“And the times she fought with my aunts or Mom were jarring,” she adds.
“Wait—your mom is Laura.Who’s Lisa?”
“Second oldest.Lana’s the second youngest.Aunt Lina was the oopsie baby.”
I blink.“There’s a whole hierarchy.”
“Yep.Mom, Lisa, Lana, and finally Lina.I think by the time Lina came around, my grandparents were emotionally done.According to the journals, they were ...not great.”
“That’s probably why she complained so much about them.”I laugh.
“Probably.”She sighs.“So, coffee and then we tackle the journals.”
“You’re avoiding the letters.”
“I’m afraid of what they might say,” she confesses.“Call it avoidance, but I want that to be probably the last thing I read.”
“You want me to read them and give you the CliffsNotes?”I ask.
“No, we can do this, together.”She releases me and heads to the kitchen, and a part of me doesn’t settle well.“We’re going to get this done before Mila wakes up.It’ll be interesting to deal with her tomorrow morning.Let’s just hope she doesn’t convince us to buy her an aquarium to raise amphibians.”
“If you fall asleep, I’ll take care of her,” I offer.“We’ll make breakfast, start her lessons and wait for Mr.Science.”
“Mr.Science?”She laughs.“Why do you call her tutor that?”
“It sounds better than ‘dumbass.’”
“You might have a point, but don’t say that in front of her,” she warns me.
ChapterForty
Alec
Two hours later, after going through every journal we could find, we still haven’t uncovered anything remotely important.
“I just don’t understand why she has journals with my pictures and milestones.”Mara flips to the last one—her swollen belly, a hand curved over it with a radiant smile.
“You look adorable,” I say, taking in the photograph.
She snorts.“Felt nothing remotely close to adorable.I didn’t stop puking until I was eight months pregnant.”Then she softens.“But I’d do it all over again if it means having Mila with me.”
“Would you?”I ask as she turns to the next page where there’s a picture of her with Mila in her arms and more notes, like her weight, height—she was so tiny—and the time when she was born.
“I just don’t understand,” Mara says, not acknowledging my questions.“I ...why would she have all this?It’s like she was the historian of my life, even after she disappeared from my life.”
I drag my thumb along the page, hesitating before I speak, choosing every word with care.“The journals said you were really sick back then.”
