Ava’s ribs tightened. She wanted to be done with blame. Not that she thought Mama was blameless! Mama had made a selfish wish. No way around it. Just, she’d been thirteen. Thirteen! Anyway, people made selfish wishes all the time. People did selfish things all the time. Even Emily herself must have thought and/or done selfish things at some point in her life!
Ava pressed her hand to her ribs, trying to ease the ache.
Emily.
Emily had paid the biggest price of all for Mama’s actions.
Except nobody knows for sure that Emily existed, Ava reminded herself. That means nobody knows for sure that she disappeared.
“So why did you come back, Mama?” Ava asked slowly. “You didn’t find Emily, so you didn’t come home because of that. And you say you love us—”
“I do love you,” Mama said.
“But you refuse to come back home, or talk to Papa.” Ava held out her hands, palms up. “So why?”
A shadow crossed Mama’s face. “I was pulled back. I can’t explain it. Just, I woke up one morning and knew it was time.”
“Natasha’s wish,” Ava said.
Mama nodded. “Yes. But I’m still . . . especially with your father, it’s . . .”
“It’s complicated for all of us, Mama,” Ava implored.
Aunt Elena smoothed Ava’s hair. “Your mother is worried that if she goes back to Nate, and then leaves again . . .”
“Why would she leave again?” Ava asked. “Mama, why would you leave again?”
“What if he’s with this Angela woman?” said Mama. She threw back her head and groaned. “No, that’s not it. Ava, it’s just . . . it’s Emily. Always Emily. What if the memories chase me away?”
Ava’s skin tingled. All at once, everything in the living room grew sharper around the edges. The sun cut through the pale pink curtains. The light played over Mama’s face, and for a microsecond, Ava could see her as she might be: a new person, different from who she’d been for so many pain-filled years.
“What if you found out the truth about Emily?” Ava asked. “The real truth?”
Mama grew still.
“What if Emily is safe and alive and . . . yeah,” Ava went on. “Would you stop beating yourself up? Would you work things out with Papa, or at least try?”
“Ava, this isn’t something to joke about,” Mama said.
“Who says I’m joking?”
“Ava,” said Aunt Elena. “Do you know something about Emily?”
Ava thought of Darya. She thought of Darya’s friend Tally. She thought of the picture Tally drew, the picture Darya refused to acknowledge even though Darya’d been the one to find it.
She lifted her chin. “I do.”
“What do you know?” Mama demanded, her voice raw.
“Okay, maybe I don’t know yet,” Ava said. “But I will. I promise.”
Mama stood, her shin hitting the coffee table. “Do you know how many promises people make, Ava? Do you know how many promises people break?”
“I won’t, though!” said Ava. “I—”
I promise. The word had been on her lips, so close to slipping out.
Mama squeezed past Aunt Elena. “I love you, Ava. I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want from me. And I’m sorry”—she barked a laugh—“well, I’m sorry you can’t give me what I want, either.”
She strode from the living room, her breath coming in gulps. “I’m just sorry, forever and ever sorry.”
From the back of the apartment came the sound of a door being shut. Ava half-rose, but Aunt Elena put her hand on Ava’s knee. Ava sat back down.
“Aunt Elena!” she exclaimed. “You’re crying! Why are you crying?”
Aunt Elena reached for a napkin and blew her nose. She dabbed her eyes with the back of each hand. “Oh, Ava,” she said, letting out a shuddering breath. “Your mom’s not the only one with secrets.”
I wish my sadness didn’t make other people sad, too.
—KLARA BLOK, AGE THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ava
“I don’t want to burden you with more than you can handle,” Aunt Elena said.
“Aunt Elena, I’m not a baby,” said Ava.
Aunt Elena gave a small laugh, and Ava worried she’d sounded rude.
“I’m sorry,” Ava said. “It’s just, I’m the youngest person in my family, so everyone assumes I can’t handle things. But I can.”
“Of course you can—and believe me, I understand. I’m the baby of my family, you know.”
“Yeah. Aunt Vera, then Mama, then you.”
“I fought like crazy to make my sisters stop treating me like a baby, and guess what?”
“What?”
She laughed again. “When they did, I missed it.”
Well, I wouldn’t, Ava wanted to say.
“It’s hard being the youngest,” Aunt Elena acknowledged. “It’s hard being the middle sister, too. And the oldest.” She paused. “There are advantages to each, as well.”
“What made you cry?” Ava asked.
“I’ll tell you, but humor me for a second. I’m your aunt. I get to pass along sage advice, don’t I?”
Ava didn’t want sage advice. She wanted to know Aunt Elena’s secret.
“You, Ava, are your own self,” Aunt Elena said. “You’re obviously more than ‘the baby’ of the family. But, like it or not, you’re also part of a whole.”
“One of the Blok sisters, you mean?”
“You need Natasha and Darya, and they need you.” Aunt Elena tucked a strand of hair behind Ava’s ear. “You can resist being their baby sister, but would that change anything?”
“They could stop treating me like a baby,” Ava said. “That would change things.”
“Fair enough. I guess I’m saying . . . hmm. Don’t let your desire not to be a certain way be the biggest factor that molds you into you.”
“I already am me,” Ava stated.
Aunt Elena laughed. It was a real laugh this time.
“What?”
“You made me think of your dad’s mother, your grandma Rose. I only met her a few times, but according to your mom, she was quite set in her ways.”
Ava cocked her head. “Please don’t tell me I remind you of Grandma Rose.”
“She put those horrid plastic slipcovers over the furniture in her living room,” Aunt Elena said. “The nice furniture. The nice furniture that no one got to sit on.”
“That’s just how she is,” Ava said defensively.
“Oh, honey, I know! But Klara always wondered if Nate’s mom—your grandma Rose—became
