The Echo of Old Books(98)

“Do Ilese and Zachary know they were adopted?”

Marian squared her shoulders as if miffed by the question. “Of course they know. I told them when I thought they were old enough to understand. I’ve told them . . . everything.”

Ashlyn picked up Johanna Meitner’s photograph again, studying it. “I can see Ilese in her. She has the same coloring and the same angular face.”

Marian’s eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t aware that you knew my daughter?”

“I don’t. But Ethan showed me some photos his parents had of the children. They’re with the cards and letters we brought back.”

Marian seemed to relax. “Yes, of course. I’m just finding all of this a little unnerving. People I’ve never laid eyes on until today know the most intimate details of my life. It’s as if someone’s been snooping in my diary, which I suppose you have. When I wrote those things, they were for Hemi’s eyes. I never imagined the books falling into anyone else’s hands, let alone having to explain any of it.”

“I know,” Ashlyn replied. “For what it’s worth, we never imagined we’d meet you face-to-face. It wasn’t until Ethan came across an old concert flyer that we figured out how to find Zachary.”

“He told me about that. Boston, I think it was. I wish he was still there, but he’s done so well for himself and he’s happy. No parent could ask for more.”

“And it’s wonderful that he takes after his father. Does he remember him at all, do you think?”

Marian blinked at her. “I’m sorry . . . what?”

“You said Janusz was a violinist. I wondered if that’s why Zachary decided to learn as well, because he remembered his father playing.”

“No. He doesn’t remember.” She lifted her glass then, draining the last of her wine. “He was too young and Janusz was always away. He remembers Johanna, though—or thinks he does. I used to tell them stories about her, usually at bedtime. I wanted them to know her, to know they had two mothers.”

“But no father,” Ethan pointed out. “Did you ever think of marrying?”

Marian dismissed the question with a wave of her hand. “I didn’t have time for a husband. I was too busy. And I didn’t need to be married. Between the children and my work, I had everything I needed.” She pushed back from the table then and checked her watch. “Look, we’ve talked the evening away. It’s after ten.”

Ashlyn stood and began gathering their empty glasses. “We’re sorry to have taken so much of your time. We’ll help you clean up and then get out of your hair.”

“No, no. Leave it for me. It’s not much, and the fog is already settling in. I’ll be awfully put out if you end up in a ditch. Go get your coats on. I’ll meet you in the foyer.”

They were buttoned up and ready to go by the time Marian reappeared carrying a bottle of wine. She handed it to Ethan, then pressed a kiss to his cheek. “La Famille Treves Sancerre—for the two of you to share. Lovely with cheese and fruit.”

Ethan examined the label. “This is from your family’s vineyard.”

“Your family too,” she reminded him. “Perhaps someday you and Ashlyn will go. Your French cousins would love to meet you, I’m sure.”

Ethan shot Ashlyn a lopsided smile. “Guess we’d better start brushing up on our French.”

“Don’t leave it too long,” Marian admonished with a hint of gravity. “Time has a way of getting away from you. Things happen, and before you know it, you’ve missed your chance.”

“All right. We’ll do it soon.”

She reached up to touch his cheek, letting her hand linger. “They’re good people, your cousins. You should know them. And Zachary and Ilese too. And the girls. Please say you’ll come back—both of you—and maybe stay a few days. I don’t want us to be strangers anymore.”

Ethan smiled awkwardly as he shifted the bottle into the crook of his arm. “I’m sorry about the time we missed. I promise to do better.”

Marian returned his smile, eyes bright with unshed tears. “We both will. Now go. And please drive safely. I’m looking forward to spending more time with Dickey’s boy and his . . . friend.”





SEVENTEEN


ASHLYN

Outer condition isn’t always indicative of what may lay inside. Perform a thorough assessment, and above all, know when to call in a professional.

—Ashlyn Greer, The Care & Feeding of Old Books

Ashlyn settled back against the leather seats as they left the crooked streets of Marblehead behind. A thick fog had rolled in after dark, shrouding the world in a cold, cottony haze, and the wine had made her drowsy.

Beside her, Ethan was unusually quiet, his eyes trained on the road, presumably digesting the day’s events. There had been a nice moment in the foyer as they were leaving, when Marian touched his cheek and told him she didn’t want them to be strangers. There had also been the slightly awkward moment when he’d committed to the two of them going to France together. Almost certainly a placation on Ethan’s part, but he’d seemed genuinely moved at the time. Maybe he would go at some point and meet his French cousins. She hoped so.

She turned to look at him, his profile lit an eerie blue-green by the dashboard lights. He looked pensive and a little subdued. “Are you okay?”