“Will you tell him about me?” Morgan whispered… and that answer, at least, Lily knew.
“It’s up to you, whether you tell him or not. It’s your story to tell.”
Morgan nodded, biting her lip. Lily hugged her again and stroked her hair.
“I want you to have everything. I want you to go anywhere you want to go. I want you to be whoever you want to be. I want…” She’d gestured with her hands, which were exactly like Morgan’s, long, fine-boned fingers, oval nails, slender wrists. “I want you to have everything. Everything you want.” Lily steadied her voice, making it clear and certain. “Everything in the world.”
Abby
At eleven o’clock in the morning, after Morgan and Andy had been reunited with their families, a group of the Breakaway cyclists had gathered in the parking lot so that Abby could lead them on a ride through the green and brown patchwork quilt of farmland, toward the distant sparkle of Cayuga Lake. The sky was still the blue of a Tiffany box, the air felt clear and sharp as cut crystal. The route took them along a two-lane highway, a ribbon of pavement that passed through unspoiled pastures, old forests, and new construction. They stayed on the shoulder （except for Ted, who had a tendency to drift toward the center of the road）， and the cars and trucks that passed them gave them plenty of room. Sebastian had started off at the front of the pack with Lincoln. Abby had ended up riding with Eileen. She coasted down a hill, watching her mother’s face as they passed a gas-station-cum-weed shop.
“It’s legal,” Abby said, when she saw Eileen’s lips purse. “Have you ever tried it?”
“Marijuana?” Eileen rolled her eyes. “Sure, in college. Everyone at least tried it back then.”
Abby had a hard time imagining her mother as a college girl, sitting on a dorm-room floor, holding a joint to her lips. Her mind wanted to put present-day Eileen into the scene, imagining her mom in a cashmere twinset and a fresh blowout, frowning censoriously at the assembled pot smokers while they stuffed their faces and telling them how long they’d need to spend on the treadmill to burn off all of that candy and all of those chips.
“Left turn!” Abby called as they came to a stop sign. The riders turned off the highway and onto a two-lane road, passing a development of newly constructed houses, a warehouse, another farm. Sheep stood in the meadow, peering at them curiously as they rode past. One of them looked up and offered a laconic “baaaa,” before going back to his mouthful of grass.
Abby wiped sweat off her face with her shoulder and told herself to just get it over with. “Thank you for helping yesterday,” she said. Her voice sounded a little stiff, but at least the words and the sentiment were right.
“You’re welcome,” Eileen said, sounding just as stiff.
Abby clicked into a higher gear. “Do you think Morgan’s going to tell her mother what happened?”
Eileen considered. “If I had to guess, I’d say yes.”
Abby swallowed hard. “And on a scale of one to ten, how furious do you think Lily’s going to be?” And what are the chances that she’s going to sue all of us?
“Zero,” Eileen said immediately.
Abby stared at her mother. “Even though her daughter just went against everything she’s been taught, and everything her parents believe?”
“I think all of those beliefs and values go right out the window when it’s your own child,” Eileen replied. “I think, in the end, every mother wants what’s best for her kids. And forcing a teenager to have a baby…” Eileen shook her head. “Lily has to know that wouldn’t have been good for Morgan. That it wasn’t what Morgan wanted.”
Yes, Abby thought bitterly. It’s wonderful when a mother respects their teenage daughter’s wishes. She didn’t say anything. Neither did Eileen. They pedaled along the edge of the lake, a vast expanse of dark blue that glittered in the sun. There was a park near the waterfront, where Abby called a halt.
“Lunchtime!” she said. The riders parked their bikes and pulled the lunches they’d packed out of panniers and handlebar bags （during the hunt for Andy and Morgan, Abby had texted the riders to apprise them of the situation and to tell them to go find food for the Cayuga Lake ride, along with a list of nearby shops and delis）。
“Come sit with me,” Eileen said. She led Abby to a table slightly removed from the rest of the group. Abby watched as her mother pulled out her lunch—a salad with a side of carrot sticks. Abby had bought a turkey, bacon, and avocado sandwich, a cookie, and a bag of chips at a coffee shop. Neither of them spoke as Abby unfolded a paper napkin and Eileen dipped her fork into her container of dressing, coating each tine with the smallest amount possible.