But he does. I feel his hand on my shoulder, and as I turn to face him, he squeezes once, gently, and then puts his hand back on the wheel. My skin tingles where he touched it.
“It’s going to be okay, you know,” he says.
“I know,” I say. And for the first time, I really mean it.
Chapter Twenty-four
We stop at an exit off I-95 in Connecticut so that we can fill up the gas tank, grab some breakfast, and use the bathroom. As I come out of McDonald’s, juggling two coffees and two orange juices on a tray as well as a bag full of various McMuffins, I glance across the street and notice a big, printed sign in the dim morning light, advertising a Bible study class called “Tracing the Old Testament Family Tree.” I’m about to look away, but then a familiar name catches my eye, and something suddenly slips into place in my mind. My jaw drops.
“What are you looking at?” Gavin asks. He screws the gas cap back on and joins me beside the car. He takes the McDonald’s drinks and bag from me and sets them on top of the car. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Look at that sign,” I say.
“‘Tracing the Old Testament Family Tree,’” he reads aloud. “‘From Abraham to Jacob to Joseph and beyond.’” He pauses. “Okay. So?”
“Joseph was the son of Jacob in the Bible, right?” I ask.
Gavin nods. “Yeah. Actually in the Torah too. And in the Koran I think. I think all that stuff tracing back to Abraham in the Old Testament is the same in all three religions.”
“The three Abrahamic religions,” I murmur, thinking of Elida’s words. “Islam, Judaism, and Christianity.”
“Right,” Gavin says. He glances at the sign again, then down at me. “So what’s up, Hope? How come you look so spooked?”
“My mom’s name was Josephine,” I say softly. “Can that just be coincidence? That she’s named after the son of Jacob?”
Realization dawns on Gavin’s face. “In the stories, Joseph became the one to carry on his parents’ legacy. He had to be protected for that reason.” He pauses. “You’re saying you think your mom might have been Jacob’s daughter after all?”
I swallow hard and stare at the sign. Then I shake my head. “You know what? No, that’s crazy. It’s just a name. Besides, the years don’t add up. My mom was born in ’44, long after my grandmother last saw Jacob Levy. There’s no way.”
I glance up at Gavin, feeling silly, and I’m surprised to realize his face looks completely serious. “But what if you’re right?” he asks. “What if your mother was actually born a year earlier? What if your grandmother and grandfather bribed someone to falsify her birth certificate? That couldn’t have been uncommon in those days. It was during the war. Some low-level clerk could have easily changed the paperwork, destroyed the originals. Easy to do before things were computerized.”
“But why would my grandparents do that?”
“So that it looked like your grandfather was the father,” Gavin says. He’s speaking quickly now, his eyes shining. “So that your mom would never think to doubt it. So that your grandmother would never have to explain Jacob to anyone. You say they didn’t move to the Cape until your mother was five. But at that age, it would have been nearly impossible to tell if they’d cheated by a year, especially if they said she was just tall for her age. What if she was really six?”
I feel suddenly short of breath. “This can’t be possible,” I whisper. “My mom even looked like my grandpa. Straight brown hair, brown eyes. Same kinds of expressions.”
“Brown hair and brown eyes are pretty common features,” Gavin points out. “And we don’t know what Jacob looked like anyhow. Right?”
“I guess,” I murmur.
“You have to admit, your mom being Jacob’s daughter would explain a lot. Like what happened to the baby. And why your grandmother moved on so quickly after losing Jacob.”
“But why would she move on so quickly?” I ask. I don’t understand that part.
“She must have believed that Jacob was dead already. Maybe your grandfather was a kind man offering her a chance to survive, and a chance to give her daughter a real life. And maybe she took that chance, because she believed it was the right thing to do.”
“Do you mean that she never really loved my grandfather?” I ask. It hurts my heart to think that. “That he was just the means to an end?”