Marian sat stonily, refusing to either confirm or deny Ashlyn’s suspicions.
“You could find him, Marian—it wouldn’t be hard—and finally tell him the truth. All of it, the way you just told me. Not for Hemi’s or Zachary’s sake but for yours. Dickey was right about that. Whatever happened all those years ago, whatever happens going forward, you both deserve closure.”
Marian’s expression remained stony. “You talk as if you think there’s some way back for us, that words can fix what happened more than forty years ago, but there was never going to be a happily ever after for us, Ashlyn. Not then and certainly not now.”
“This isn’t about happily ever after,” Ashlyn told her evenly. “It’s about choosing to let go of the blame and the anger, to leave it in the past. And it’s about forgiveness.”
“Forgiveness,” Marian repeated, not quite meeting her eyes. “Such an easy word to say but harder to achieve. Forgiving would mean I’d be left with only the memories, stripped of the blame and anger, as you say, and I don’t believe I could bear them that way.”
Ashlyn understood. She was all too familiar with the need to cloak memories in anger, to insulate herself with bitterness and blame. But she also remembered the almost immediate sense of freedom she had experienced when she finally realized she could forgive Daniel. He’d been dead nearly four years and would never know. But she’d know. In the end, it had been about making a choice to stop punishing herself. Marian could make the same choice.
“None of us can change the past,” she told Marian gently. “No matter how badly we wish we could. But we can forgive it. We just need to decide to. You can forgive Hemi. And you can forgive yourself for keeping Zachary from him. Accept that at the time, you made a decision you believed was right for your family, even if that isn’t the decision you’d make today.”
“Let myself off the hook, you mean.”
“No, that isn’t—”
Before Ashlyn could explain further, Ethan reappeared. “Sorry, that took longer than I expected. Lida came to just as we got to the room and decided I needed to tuck her in; then I needed to read to her, though she conked out after one page of Goodnight Moon. What a sweetheart.”
To Ashlyn’s surprise, Marian pushed to her feet, gesturing to the nearly empty dining room. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I think they’d like us to get out of their hair so they can clean up and go home. And you two have a long drive back. I believe it’s a school night for Ethan.”
Ashlyn picked up her purse and stood, wishing there’d been time to say more. She had learned only recently the power of forgiveness, and had come to understand that the choice to forgive was as much about self-healing as about absolving another of their guilt. Perhaps more. She only wished she had more time to persuade Marian.
She managed a smile. “Thank you so much for dinner, Marian. It was kind of you to include me.”
“I’m afraid the night isn’t ending on a very bright note. And now that you know all my secrets, the two of you probably wish we’d never connected.”
Ethan shot Ashlyn a quizzical look but summoned a smile. “Don’t be silly. Six weeks ago, I had no family. Now I have an aunt, and a whole passel of cousins, and an invitation for Hanukkah. Just try getting rid of me.”
Marian patted his arm, beaming. “If anything changes and you can make it tomorrow night, you’re welcome to come. It’ll be deadly dull but the food should be good.”
They walked out together, then stopped in the lobby, lingering when it was time to separate. Marian surprised them by wrapping them both in a hug. “Do take care of this girl, Ethan. I suspect she’s a treasure.”
Ashlyn was surprised by the sharp pang of emotion Marian’s words induced. She was afraid she’d overstepped, spoken frankly, perhaps even impertinently, about something that was none of her business, but she suddenly found herself hoping she’d given Marian something to think about.
Ethan shot Ashlyn a crooked grin. “It’s a promise.”
“I mean it.” She took his face between her hands, looking directly into his eyes. “I’ll tell you what I told your father all those years ago. Don’t let anything come between you.” She stepped back then and shot Ashlyn a wink. “And now, I’m off to get my beauty sleep before my big night tomorrow. It seems to take more and more these days.”
Ashlyn couldn’t help marveling as Ethan’s fingers wound through hers and they watched Marian cross the lobby and head toward the elevators. Despite everything, all the heartbreak and loss, Marian Manning hadn’t stopped believing in love.
TWENTY
MARIAN
Reading brings us unknown friends.
—Honoré de Balzac
November 2, 1984
Boston, Massachusetts
I pat my hair again, finger the single strand of pearls at my throat, wishing I felt steadier. Last night’s conversation with Ashlyn kept me tossing and turning until the wee hours. Not what one needs before an ordeal of this sort. It would seem my great-nephew has chosen a woman with a head on her shoulders—and one whom I suspect has endured her share of heartache.
After forty-three years, my secret is out. I have deprived a man I once loved of his son. There was no judgment in her face as I told her my story, only sincere empathy. A rare quality, that, but what she asked of me is impossible. To forgive after so many years, to simply let go. For my sake, she said. But how can it be for my sake? After so many years of clinging to my grief, I’m not sure I know how to live without it. Still, her words linger in a rather inconvenient way as I join Ilese and the girls at our table near the stage.
I feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. The ballroom is uncomfortably warm, thick with a miasma of liquor, hairspray, and designer perfume. Or maybe it’s the restless hum of conversation filling all that space that has my nerves strung so tight. It sounds like a hive of angry bees, ready to swarm. My instinct is to flee, but it’s too late for that.
Dinner has been cleared away and the dessert served, a sign that the speeches are about to begin. A banner with the words CHILDREN’S WELFARE NETWORK HONORS MARIAN MANNING hangs above the stage. I reach for my wine, then think better of it and sip my water instead. I’m going to need all my wits if I’m going to get up there in front of everyone.
My hands are hot and sticky. I hate these things. Having to truss myself into an evening dress so I can be paraded about as some sort of saint. But it’s good exposure for the foundation, so I put up with it when I have to.
I hear my name echo through the mic. There’s a startling burst of applause. I push to my feet and mount the steps to the stage. A woman in gold lamé is standing at the podium, Gwendolyn Halliday, president of the CWN. She smiles and presses the award into my hands.
It’s surprisingly heavy, a globe fashioned of frosted glass meant to look like the Earth, with my name inscribed on a square of polished blue marble. There are flashbulbs, the sound of shutters clicking, clicking. The press. Always the press.
I look out at the sea of faces, all waiting for me to say something profound. I wish I had written something out on cards, but I never seem to use them when I do, or I get them all out of order, and so I decided not to bother. Oh well.