“Yes?”

I choked on my tongue. What did I want to say? Stay? Let’s go back to the way things were? I know what I did was unforgivable, but … can you forgive me?

“Can you stay awhile?”

When it boiled down to it, it was the only thing I felt I could ask him. He might say no, but that, I could cope with. I couldn’t cope with him saying no to a life with me and my daughter.

A reluctant smile crept across his face. “Yes. I can stay awhile.”

31

Grace

It was a day for letters.

When I arrived home from the hospital, a letter awaited me on the hall table. I didn’t need my glasses to recognize the stationery—it was from the Board of Nursing. I waited for the rush of joy or fear. Anticipation. Trepidation. Nothing came. It was hard to believe that just a day ago, my whole life was pinned on the contents of this letter. Now, I still wanted to practice midwifery again; I wanted it badly. But somehow the letter in my purse had put it all in perspective.

In the sitting room, I fell into an armchair and tore my thumbnail along the top of the envelope. The font was small, and a large blue signature was scrawled at the bottom. I lowered my reading glasses from my head, and read from the top.

Dear Mrs. Bradley,

With regards to the complaint filed against you for negligence in the management of labor for Mrs. G. Brennan, we are writing to advise that we have thoroughly investigated the claim, and spoken to all parties involved in the matter. We are pleased to inform you that we have found no evidence to support the allegations; therefore, this case has been closed. Your record is clear of any charges.

Sincerely,

Marie Ableman

Board of Nursing

I reread the letter. That was it. One typed paragraph, and it was over. I wasn’t going to lose my license. It was good news, yet for some reason, it felt anticlimactic. Perhaps it was because so many questions remained. Would Robert forgive me? Would we find our way back to each other after everything that had happened?

“Grace.” Robert appeared in the doorway. “You’re home. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Seriously? It feels like my legs are made of lead.”

He eyed the letter in my hand.

“Oh,” I said. “The Board of Nursing let me off. I’m not guilty.”

Robert slapped the arm of the couch and cheered. Then he looked at me. “That’s it? That’s how you make the announcement? No megaphone? No squealing?”

“Do I look like I have the energy to squeal?”

He sat in the chair opposite me. “Well, this is fantastic.”

“Mmm-hmm. Seems to be a day for news.”

“What does that mean?”

“Long story.”

Robert, bless his heart, seemed to accept that. In his polo shirt and jeans, he looked young and carefree. I did a double take. Polo shirt? Jeans? It was a Tuesday. “Robert, why aren’t you at work?”

He sank further into his chair. “I got a letter of my own yesterday. Said I didn’t need to go to work today. Or any day.”

I shot upright.

“Don’t get upset,” he said. “It’s not the end of the world. It’s a job. Not as important as our daughter. Or our granddaughter.” He leaned forward and put his hand over mine. “Or you.”

“But—”

“Grace, you blew me away yesterday. I used to chuckle when you called your job magic. But you saved our daughter’s and our granddaughter’s lives. That is magic. I get how you can’t stop doing it.” He smiled at me so softly, it gave me tingles. “What I do? It’s not magic. It’s just numbers.”

“But it’s important. Robert, we need the money. We can’t survive on magic.”

“I got a couple of months’ salary in my severance package. And if I don’t find something else, we’ll sell the house.” He shrugged, as indifferent as I’d seen him in years. “It’s just a house.”

I blinked. Was this the same man who’d hardly eaten or slept for weeks, worrying about his job and the future? Was he putting up a brave front for my sake?

“Are you sure you’re okay, Rob?”

“Actually it’s a relief,” he said. “When something is forced upon you, you have no choice but to deal with it. The uncertainty—the not knowing—was much worse.”

I laughed. “Funnily enough, I know exactly what you mean.”

32

Floss

In some ways, telling Neva was harder than telling Grace. She broke down in tears, which perhaps was to be expected, but I didn’t expect it of Neva. Some of it may have been to do with her hormones, but I suspected it was more than that. I was coming to realize that Grace was a lot stronger than I’d given her credit for. And Neva, perhaps, was more fragile.

I remained by her side until she fell asleep, but as the sky began to darken, I thought of Lil. I was desperate for her, desperate to tell her I had a great-granddaughter, desperate to tell her I’d told Grace the truth. I wrote a note to Neva, telling her to call any time, day or night, and planted a kiss on her forehead. Then I slipped out.

Back home, I had only just turned the key in the lock when the door opened. Lil stood behind it in her house slippers with a tea towel draped over her shoulder.

“You’re home!” she said. “Come in, come in.” I followed her into the foyer. “You must be starving.”

She disappeared into the kitchen before I could say a word. I noticed two places were set at the dining table. The sight of it warmed my heart. And although I wasn’t in the least bit hungry, I’d have happily eaten an entire horse if that’s what Lil produced.

“Salad,” she said when she returned, setting a glass bowl in the center of the table. “I thought you’d probably want something light.”

Lil smiled and a small part of my heart, a broken part, snapped back against the whole—a perfect fit. “You thought right, dear.”

We sat in comfortable silence, our smiles speaking the words we couldn’t. I had no secrets anymore. At eighty-three, I finally understood what it was to have peace. I wanted to bottle it—swaddle it—and share it with the world. I no longer had anything to fear.

As we finished our salad, the doorbell rang. A few moments later, Grace appeared at the head of the table.

“Grace!” I wiped the corners of my mouth on a napkin. “Hello.”

“Can I have a word, Mom?”

I glanced at Lil. She was already standing up and clearing the dishes away. “Of course,” I said. “Come into the sitting room.”

We sat down on opposite ends of the couch. The act of sitting there with my daughter, so comfortable only a day ago, now felt awkward.

“I want to thank you for telling me the truth,” she started.

I tensed. I knew what was coming. She’d want to know more about Bill. More about Elizabeth. She’d want family trees, photographs. And why shouldn’t she? She had a family history to reconstruct. The least I could do was to help her.

“—but if it’s all right with you, I’d like to pretend you didn’t.”

I stared at her. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s an amazing story. But what you did for me just proves that, if you weren’t my mother to begin with, you are now. I’d have liked to know Elizabeth, but … I can’t say I’m unhappy with how things worked out. Sometimes things happen exactly the way they are supposed to.”

“Grace—” I struggled to take a breath. “Really? I thought when I told you this, you’d be determined to take off for England, to … I don’t know … find answers. I’d understand if you did. Are you sure you don’t want to?”

“I’ll never say never,” she said. “But right now I’m pretty happy with the status quo. I have a good relationship with my daughter. I have a precious new granddaughter. I have a wonderful husband. And—” Her smile was almost shy. “—I have a mother who literally went to hell and back to protect me.”

Grace was crying and, I realized, so was I. I exhaled. “If you’re sure. But if you change your mind, and I can help you, just let me know.”