“Don’t get mad,” Miguel says carefully. “But if you don’t remember anything from Saturday night…”
I open my mouth to object, but he holds up a hand.
“Just hear me out. Isn’t it possible—justpossible—that you misplaced the bracelet?”
I look down at the album again. These annual photo books have chronicled our daily lives over the years: scraped knees, Halloween costumes, first days of school, awkward braces, and terrible haircuts. I documented it all. That was how I made sense of life: systems, structure, order. What would I even put in next year’s album? Pictures of the dog and the empty dining room?
Tears well in my eyes before I can stop them.
“I don’t misplace things,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I’ve run this sale foreleven years. This is what Ido. I’mgoodat it.”
“I know,” Miguel says. “You are. But you’re human and mistakes happen.”
“What am I supposed to say to that woman Holly? That I lost her bracelet? Herstolenbracelet?”
“Kenya will handle her,” he says, reaching for my hand. “And in the meantime, I’ll go through every bin. Every box. I bet we’ll find it tucked in with the baby clothes or under a scarf.”
I offer a wan smile, but I still feel queasy about the origins of the bracelet.
“What is it?” Miguel knows something is off. After twenty-three years of marriage, he can read my moods. “What else is bothering you?” he asks softly.
I hesitate, then whisper, “The bracelet? The one she says was stolen? I found it in a bag Rachel was going to donate to Goodwill.”
He lets go of my hand and leans back against the sofa, his shoulders sagging. He exhales a slow, measured breath.
I pull a throw pillow to my chest. You can’t ever really prepare for parenthood. No one tells you it can drag you to the edge, break your heart wide open. No one tells you that while you might love your kids in equal measure, it won’t look identical, and that it’s not your fault. Zach was easy. Predictable. A kid out of a parenting book. His phases came and went on schedule, from tantrums to eye rolls to late-night pizza runs. He was cheerful, flexible. Asure, whatever workskind of kid.
Rachel was the opposite. Hard from the start. I’d been sick every day of my pregnancy. She came early and spent two weeks in the hospital. Breastfeeding was a disaster, unlike withZach. What should have been our bonding time was a battle that left both of us in tears.
But Miguel got her in a way I didn’t. It was as if he had a manual I couldn’t decipher. When she screamed, he soothed. When I punished, he forgave. When she shut down, he found the key. Their bond became unshakable. Tennis became their language when words failed.
In the middle of loud arguments, he would enter the room with two rackets, and she would follow him out the door like he was the pied piper. They’d come home a few hours later, transformed by their time on the courts, sweat-slicked and laughing, like nothing had happened at all.
I was always on the outside of that huddle.
So when things spiraled the beginning of junior year—the drinking and staying out late with Eloïse—it was Miguel who bore the weight.
And now, after surviving that storm, after she got into college, and not just any college but Georgetown, here I am, dredging up ghosts.
“You sure it was Rachel’s?” Miguel asks. “You get so many donations this time of year. It would be easy to mix something up.”
“I’m sure,” I say. “I remember the day. I remember pulling the bracelet out of the Goodwill bag, thinking, ‘She doesn’t even know what she’s throwing away.’”
He hesitates. “But your memory isn’t—”
“My long-term memory is fine,” I say. “I may not remember Saturday, but I rememberthat.”
He studies me for a long beat. “If you’re sure. Because if you’re not—”
“I’m sure!”
We sit in silence. From somewhere in the neighborhood, a leaf blower roars to life.
“Let’s not do anything rash,” he says finally. “Let me look for the bracelet first. If I find it, we return it. No harm, no foul.”
“And Rachel?”
“What about Rachel?” His tone sharpens. “If we find it, we’re not saying a word to her.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “We’re not derailing the progress she’s made over something that might not even be real. I’m not going to let my daughter get caught up in something that could ruin her future,” he says.
