One sunny afternoon as they strolled along the pier, they bumped into a man. He was gray-haired, probably in his early fifties. A friend of Rosita’s husband. When he saw Rosita, Lil saw a glimmer of recognition. At the same time, Rosita took a subtle step away from Lil. “Rosita,” the man said. “Fancy seeing you in Conanicut Island! Is Vince with you?”

There was a brief shaking of hands, and then Rosita twisted on the spot. “Oh,” she said. “Yes, this is Lil. An old school friend.”

Lil hadn’t expected to be introduced as Rosita’s lover. But the way Rosita tied herself in knots spoke volumes. That was the day Lil realized their relationship would always be a secret. And after a lifetime of hiding who she was, she wasn’t prepared to live with secrets anymore.

I knew all this. So Lil’s clasped hands and settled jaw shouldn’t have been a surprise.

“What are we talking about, Lil?” I asked.

“We’re talking about secrets. Sometimes people keep them for so long, they forget the reason they’re even doing it. Or the reason changes or becomes distorted.”

I still didn’t know exactly what Lil was getting at. “Meaning?”

“Meaning Grace is an adult now. She can handle this.”

“I’m not sure about that.”

“She can,” Lil said. “People handle a lot worse every day. But I’m not sure you can handle keeping this secret. You just had a heart attack, Floss. If you don’t tell Grace the truth, I’m afraid—” She paused, cleared her throat. “I’m afraid it’s going to kill you.”

“No. You don’t understand, Lil. You couldn’t possibly understand. Unless you have children of your own, you can’t understand the need to protect them before all else. Before even yourself.”

Lil winced a little, and I was stung by my own words. But rather than running away or crying, she sat a little taller. It was as if I had further confirmed her resolve.

“Why don’t you be honest, at least with me?” she said. “This isn’t about Grace handling it or not handling it. This is about you. What you’re afraid to lose. You are afraid, not for Grace’s welfare, but for your own. You’re afraid that if you tell her this, she won’t consider you her mother anymore.”

“No. That’s not it.”

“I may not be a mother,” Lil continued, “but I know what it’s like to keep a secret. I spent the best part of a lifetime denying who I was. And it wasn’t until I admitted the truth that I ever felt any peace. I want that peace for you, Floss. You need to tell Grace the truth.”

22

Neva

As I was stopped at the traffic lights on the way back home, I slid my phone out of my pocket. A little envelope flashed on the screen. I smiled when I heard Patrick’s voice.

“Nev, it’s me. I was thinking of dropping by. Thought maybe we could … I don’t know … watch a movie and fall asleep on the couch together, what do you think? Call me back.”

My heart skipped as I pressed delete. The idea of Patrick and me falling asleep on the couch together sounded like something I could get used to. Something I wanted to get used to. I thought about what Gran had said. Could I tell Patrick? Was it possible that he would understand? Or would I be forcing our relationship into an early grave?

I waited for the next message.

“Yes, hello. This is a message for Neva Bradley. My name is Marie Ableman from the Board of Nursing. It’s six fifteen P.M. Can you please call me when you get this message? 555-4102.”

Pulling over, I lowered the phone and stared at the screen. The Board of Nursing? Calling to get some incriminating evidence on my mother? The time on my phone said 9:35 P.M. Too late to call. Though … if she was investigating my mother, perhaps I didn’t care about Marie Whatshername’s personal time. The phone rang four times before someone answered.

“Hello?” It was a woman’s voice—the voice from the message. She sounded curious, annoyed, and very much off duty.

“This is Neva Bradley. I’m sorry it’s late, but I just received your message.”

“Oh, yes, Ms. Bradley, thanks for calling back.” The voice immediately took on a new, polite tone. She exhaled, getting her work hat on. “Yes, as you may know, I am investigating a complaint made against Grace Bradley in the delivery of Gillian Brennan’s baby. I understand you were assisting with this birth.”

“I was.”

“I’d like to ask you some questions about it. It will only take a few minutes.”

For some reason, I pulled myself tall in my seat. “Go right ahead.”

It did only take a few minutes. I answered Marie’s questions honestly, if a little stiffly. I didn’t need to lie. Mom had not acted negligently. But I would have lied if I had to. Without hesitation. And I was certain she would have done the same for me.

“In your opinion, was Mrs. Bradley irresponsible at any time during labor and delivery?” Marie asked, winding up her questions.

“She was not. She acted in the best interests of her client and the baby at all times.”

“Thank you, Ms. Bradley. You’ve been very helpful. I’ll let you go.”

“Wait. What happens now?”

“I have a few more people to speak with yet,” Marie said. “Then the notes will be reviewed by a subcommittee and a recommendation made to the Board of Nursing on a course of action.”

“What kind of course of action?”

“It really depends. If no evidence is found to support the complaint, we will recommend the case be closed.”

“And if evidence is found? Not that it will be.”

“If Mrs. Bradley is found to have been negligent, it is possible that she could be fined or even lose her license.” Marie’s voice softened. “But as I said, I still have a few more people to speak with. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Infuriatingly, Marie was calm, impartial, and fair—not at all the villain I’d thought she would be. She was just doing her job. I wanted to believe from her tone that Mom would be given a fair hearing, that was all I could really ask for. Because if she did get a fair hearing, there was no doubt in my mind that the case would be closed.

“Okay. Thanks.”

I hung up the phone. Even though I believed Mom would be vindicated, I felt a little sick. Mom losing her license was too wrong to comprehend. Like a world-class sprinter losing their legs. Or an opera singer losing her voice. It wouldn’t just be her who would lose. The world would.

I pulled up in front of my apartment. As I took the stairs, I rang Patrick. In my building, another phone was ringing. I shoved a finger in one ear, anticipating his voice. It rang again, and then he answered.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

“Hello,” I said, feeling shy. I took the last three steps to my door and found it ajar. “Hey, can I call you back? The door to my apartment is open, and I need to check that there isn’t an intruder.” I laughed. “If there is, he’ll be disappointed with our abysmal lack of technology and easy-to-move goods.”

The door peeled open, and Patrick appeared in the doorway. He pressed the phone to his ear and raised his other hand, palm toward me. “Please don’t call the police.”

I crossed my arms. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”

“I’ll put back your 1990s VCR and your collection of Spice Girls CDs.”

“Even Greatest Hits?”

He pouted. “Fine.”

It probably wasn’t romantic, but I loved being with Patrick like this. Other than my Dad and Gran, he was the only one I felt completely comfortable with. It had to be a good omen for us. He stood aside and I entered the apartment.

“It’s a good thing you decided to let me keep my 1990s VCR,” I said. “How else would we watch a movie and then fall asleep on the couch?”

“Ah, you got my message.”

He shut the door and turned to face me. In a gray T-shirt and jeans, he was deliciously rumpled and weary-looking. His gorgeous looks gave me a burst of courage, and I sidled up to him and touched his chest. “I did. But I have a better idea.”