“I love you, Nina,” she says. I know she does. I love her too.
If she wasn’t sick, it might be different. But I can’t stand the idea of her dying in prison.
I take a deep breath. I set the phone on the counter, facedown. I walk away from it.
CHRISTIAN
8 Months Later
I rub the pad of a thumb gently against her cheek to wake her up from sleep. It takes a second for her to come to, and then her dark brown eyes flutter open, coming to rest on my face, exploring it. She smiles and my heart practically explodes out of my chest.
I lean down to slip my hands under her armpits and lift my baby from her crib. Bella is two months old. “We’re going to get dressed to go see Mommy,” I say to her, and she grins, a big, happy, toothless grin. I support her head as I carry her to the changing table and I lie her on her back, watching as she moves her happy, tiny feet. I can’t help myself. I touch them. I wiggle her pale little toes. I kiss them.
I never thought in my whole life that I could love a baby’s feet this much.
I get Bella a clean diaper, and then I get her dressed, feeling that same regret that always comes to me when it’s time to visit Lily.
It’s hard to see Lily now. It’s hard to look at her and see how much has changed.
I take Bella downstairs, watching out the window as a flock of geese descends on the river out back. I carry Bella to the window to show her, but at her age they say a baby’s vision is still blurry and that they can’t see more than a few feet away. There’s no way Bella sees the geese, but then her eyes settle on mine and she smiles again and I know she sees me. My heart melts.
I go to the garage door. I lean over to lower Bella gently into her infant seat beside the door, getting ready to leave. I pack the diaper bag with the bottles and the formula, diapers, wipes, pacifier and everything else she might need while we’re gone.
I never thought I’d be doing any of this alone.
I hoist the carrier into my arm and we leave. I stare at her as we walk, thinking how, for the most part, she is a miniature version of Lily. I didn’t want to be insensitive when Bella was born. I would have raised her either way. I would have come to love her as my own. But as soon as she was born, I had a paternity test done and now I know for certain that her extra-large forehead came from me. Without a doubt, this girl is mine.
I settle Bella in the base in the back seat, and then I get in the car and drive.
Lily is there before us. She almost always is and waiting in eager anticipation of holding her child. The time away from Bella is the worst. I feel it too during the weeks that Bella stays with Lily, which is what she’s about to do. She isn’t even gone, but I miss her already.
I park beside Lily’s car. I get out. I walk to where she sits waiting for us on a park bench. The park where we meet is nice. It’s large with a lake, a playground, picnic shelter and walking path. It’s never too crowded, but Lily, Bella and I are rarely ever alone. Today, kids play at the playground. Families walk on the path along the lake.
She stands up as we approach. I reach out to hug her and she slips with ease back into my arms, though it’s brief. “Can you stay for a few minutes?” she asks. Lily has cut her hair. It’s still long, but more like just-beneath-the-shoulder length. I tell her I like it, stopping myself just before I can reach out and touch it, because old habits die hard.
I sit on the bench beside her and we talk while Bella sleeps, lulled to sleep as always from the motion of the car on the drive here.
“I heard Nina’s mother was recently released from prison,” Lily says, tucking a blanket around Bella’s body because the day is breezy but sunny and warm. I nod. She was. I heard this too. From what I heard, she was given a compassionate release because of her quickly deteriorating health. She refused treatment for her cancer and so she’s gone downhill fast, faster than anyone expected. She’s confined to her home now, where she’ll spend the rest of her life until she dies, which shouldn’t be much longer.
“Do you ever hear from Nina?” I ask.
Lily shakes her head no. “I never reached out. I just thought it was best that way, if I just let her go.” I nod. She’s probably right.
We talk for a few more minutes. About nothing and everything. Lily is still teaching, though she’s switched high schools and it’s summer break, so she has the next two months off. She doesn’t keep in touch with many people from the high school where she used to work, though she’s heard from the people she does still speak with that Nina returned to work last school year after winter break. At the same time Nina returned, some male colleague of hers resigned, which was a breach of contract—for a teacher to leave in the middle of the school year—and came as a surprise to Lily. He and Nina were close apparently. They were both English teachers. Lily didn’t know the whole story, but she thought there was a story there.
She asks how work is going, and I say fine, same. Some things never change.
“Welp,” I say after a few minutes, standing up. The standard cue to leave.
Lily goes first. I watch as she lifts the infant seat from the earth and carries Bella away from me for the next week. I stand, watching them go, feeling like they’ve torn my heart out of my chest and are taking it with them.
Lily gets only a few steps, and then she stops and turns back to me, standing in the shade of a giant oak tree, her hair moving in the warm, gentle breeze.
“I was thinking,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear, “that it might be nice if one day, you would come over for dinner.” She swallows. I can see the movement of it in her throat and I know how much courage it takes for her to ask me. Lily asks almost the same question every time I see her. And every time, I say some version of the same thing.
“Can I think about it?”
She offers a half smile. She nods.
Maybe one of these days I’ll surprise her and say yes.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to Erika Imranyi and Rachael Dillon Fried for your constant reassurance and the many brainstorming sessions. Your patience, understanding and your confidence in me were paramount to getting this book written, and I’m so grateful for that and for you.
Thank you to Nicole Luongo, Randy Chan, Heather Foy, Amy Jones, Rachel Haller, Lindsey Reeder, Reka Rubin and the rest of the incredibly hardworking and dedicated Park Row Books team for the feedback and support, copyediting, proofreading and stunning cover art. Thank you to my amazing publicists, Emer Flounders and Kathleen Carter, for helping bring my books into the world. Thanks to the many booksellers, librarians, Bookstagrammers, BookTokers and bloggers who are constantly championing my books; their success is because of you and all that you do! Thanks to Shari Smiley and Scott E. Schwimer for always imagining a place for my books on TV or on the big screen, and to Michelle Brower for your enthusiasm in being a part of the team!
Last, but certainly not least, thank you to my family and friends, especially Pete, Addison and Aidan, for your patience and your willingness to talk about this book—and all the false starts that came before it—again and again （and again） at length, and to my sister Michelle for the brilliant suggestion. I couldn’t have done this without any of you!