TJ: I don’t think so.
CG: You’re not the most objective audience.
TJ: That might be true, but you did do all the things people asked you to. You helped people. You had to take care of your family, your kids, their future. You were doing what you needed to survive.
CG: Is that the story you’re going to tell now? With this footage?
TJ: I’m not sure. I’ll see how it plays out in the editing room.
CG: You should leave me on the cutting room floor. Or make me into the villain. There’s a good twist for you; the Poster Child actually belongs on a Most Wanted poster.
TJ: I don’t think you did anything illegal.
CG: Only morally bankrupt. Added to that, I wanted this to happen.
TJ: What?
CG: For Tom to die. I wanted Tom to die.
TJ: But you’re not responsible for the explosion.
CG: I know that objectively. But . . . my therapist doesn’t like it when I say this, but sometimes it feels like I willed the explosion to happen. Sometimes I wonder if I was late that day because I was saving myself.
TJ: Maybe you were saving yourself.
CG: How?
TJ: You were reluctant to end your marriage. Maybe that’s why you were late. Maybe you wanted to save things with him after all.
CG: I never thought of it like that. I was late that day because I didn’t want to get divorced.
TJ: How does that sound? True?
CG: It feels like it might be true.
TJ: So you are a widow.
CG: I am a widow.
TJ: You deserved the money.
CG: Are you trying to hypnotize me? Getting me to repeat after you?
TJ: I don’t think so.
CG: I deserved the money. Maybe, maybe that’s right.
TJ: Thank you for telling me this, Cecily.
CG: What do you think’s going to happen now?
TJ: I don’t know the future. I only curate the past.
40
ONE ENDING
CECILY
When I get home, Cassie and Henry are making dinner.
“What’s all this?”
“Cassie’s making me cook.”
“God, Henry. Am not.”
“I’m in the kitchen, aren’t I?”
“It was your idea, dummy.”
“Kids, kids. Please. It’s been a long day. What’s on the menu?”
“Spaghetti and meat sauce.”
“My favorite.”
Cassie smiles at this. “Henry’s making his garlic bread, too. And I made a Caesar salad.”
“What did I do to end up with such wonderful children?” I sit at the kitchen counter and watch them work. Cassie takes a bottle of wine out of the fridge and pours me a glass. “Is there a dead body in the garage or something?”
“Mom! Why would you say that?”
“I feel like I’m being buttered up for something.”
“Can’t we just do something nice for you sometimes?”
I take a sip of wine. It reminds me of Kaitlyn, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Or not only a bad thing. It’s confusing. “Of course you can. I’m just naturally suspicious, I guess.”
“Humph,” Cassie says. “How did it go today?”
“Not as expected.”
“What does that mean?”
I hesitate, but I can see Cassie winding up to give me her you-said-no-more-lies speech, so I tell them that we told Joshua that Franny isn’t who she says she is as the kitchen starts to fill with the wonderful smell of garlic bread. Henry seems nonplussed—all of this is very much grown-up stuff and he still sometimes wears footie pajamas—but Cassie looks upset.
“We need to talk to Uncle Joshua. Tell him he’s making a big mistake.”
“It’s his mistake to make.”
“But what about the girls?”
“He’s their father. He’ll always protect them.”
She seems unconvinced. She looks so much older, standing there in her apron, stirring the sauce. I feel like a kid, sitting on the other side of the counter, waiting for my dinner, but there’s a peace to it, too. We did this. I did this—survived the year, kept my family intact, and myself. It feels like all this has finally chased my anxiety away. I can feel its absence more than anything, and this makes me hopeful. Maybe it will leave forever, like Tom, only a memory. If not, then I can handle it. I’ve survived the worst of it. I can survive any aftershocks that come my way.
“I feel so bad for those girls,” Cassie says. “To have to live with Franny?”
“Let the dust settle. I have a feeling Joshua will come to his senses.”
“I hope so. So what now, Aunt Kaitlyn just leaves, and no one knows she’s alive?”
“Are you okay with that? Both of you? It’s not fair of me to ask you to keep this secret if you don’t want to.”
Cassie puts an entire package of spaghetti into a pot of boiling water with a pinch of salt. “I think we should keep it. Some things are better as secrets. People can be hurt by the truth.”
“I agree. But not between us.”
“There are some things I’m not going to tell you.”
“I know. But nothing important, okay?”
“Okay, Mom.”
I know she’s appeasing me, but I decide to lean into that. I’ve faced enough harsh truths in the last little while.
“What about you, Henry? Do you want to tell about Kaitlyn?”
He opens the oven to check on his bread. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s a big secret to keep.”
He puts the loaf in front of me. It takes an act of will not to rip open the tinfoil and down the entire thing. I didn’t eat much today, and it’s catching up to me.
“It’s like what Cassie said. The truth would hurt Emily and Julia, and Uncle Josh, too. And she’s not coming back, right? She’s leaving.”
“She’s leaving.”
“I say we don’t tell.”
“But what if they were you? What if Dad was alive, but he’d run away from us? Would you want to know?”
He shifts back and forth on his feet, maybe trying not to cry. “That would be an awful thing for Dad to do.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think I’d want to know. But he didn’t do that, right, Mom? He’s dead.”
“Yes, honey. I’m sorry.”
“Okay. I just wanted to make sure.”
He opens the foil, and a head of steam billows out.
“That smells amazing. Let’s eat.”
Cassie looks at the clock. “We’re waiting for one more person.”
“Who’s that?”
“That’s me,” Teo says, walking into the kitchen.
“What are you doing here?”
“Surprise!” the kids say together. “We invited him!”
“How did you get in?”
“I left the front door unlocked,” Cassie says. She
