“Are you saying you want to go to Sanderson, or you want to leave North Bay?”
“Both.”
But they had different meanings. “Do you see yourself living here? Eventually?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. He exhaled, shakily. “I don’t know. For the longest time, it’s like North Bay was my only option. It’s all I’ve ever known. But with Dad gone and the business out of the way… it feels like this is my one shot to live life on my own terms. Decide what I want for myself without being influenced.”
On one level, I understood his conflict. Evan had the right to live life on his own terms, find a place and career that completely fulfilled him. The difference was, I’d already made those decisions for myself. And I’d believed he was a part of that. That very day, I’d been showing him options for our future home. He was taking that all away with this decision, unbothered by how his choices might impact my life.
“I’m not leaving The Shack just because you got into school. You can’t expect me to uproot my entire life. That’s never been part of the plan.”
“I know.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying Sanderson is on the table. It’s an option.”
And yet, it must have been important to him otherwise he would never have mentioned it. He would have gladly taken one of the other offers from the nearby schools, as we’d discussed, instead of trying to convince me to move halfway across the country. He wanted this, even if it meant losing me.
“Be honest with me. Is this because of the house stuff? Does it freak you out?”
“No, of course not. Why would you even think that?”
“Because guys get nervous when you start talking about the future. I’ve not been trying to pressure you with any of it. I’m doing this all for me.”
“I know. I understand completely. I even admire it. But I feel the same way about Sanderson.”
It hurt to hear our life together wasn’t enough for him. Six years of happiness had led us to this fork in the road. We had our opposite directions, and neither of us was going to get what we wanted without sacrifices. I felt it immediately, everything I’d be losing.
The conversation overshadowed everything we did in the months that followed. My decision to buy the condo. His acceptance to Sanderson, and eventual move. Just like that, my relationship ended in the most anticlimactic and heartbreaking of ways.
It was one of those breakups that seemed to impact everyone in our social circle. Des was devastated. Carmen was pissed. Mom didn’t say much; she’d always believed Evan and I would end up together, and she never liked admitting when she was wrong. I was upset over the breakup. He’d chosen Sanderson as clearly as I’d chosen North Bay. As the months passed, that heartbreak morphed into anger. Evan cheated me, allowing me to believe we could build a future together, only for him to take off when I was at the precipice of having everything I’d ever wanted.
I remind myself, if our relationship had worked out, I would never have had Ava.
Does it make me less of a mother to sometimes dream of that alternate life? One where Evan exists, and Ava doesn’t? Except, even in my daydreams, she does exist in some capacity. Evan and I have a child together, and it’s her. I know that’s not possible. That’s not the outcome life gave us. Sometimes I wish it had been. Evan and Ava are the two greatest loves of my life, separated by the choices I made in between them.
The doorbell rings, and suddenly I’m back in the present. As I walk to the door, I worry it might be a reporter, but Carmen has already ordered the press not to enter the complex property. It would have to be a brazen reporter to ring my doorbell this early in the morning, and if they did, they’d be slapped with a huge fine.
Pulling back the curtain, I see a woman standing outside. Alone. She’s wearing white capris, a floral blouse and gold sandals. Her hair is cut short, and large sunglasses cover half of her face. Still, I can tell she looks nervous. There’s that anxious fidgeting of her hands, the impatient tapping of her foot.
“Who is it?” I ask, waiting for her to answer.
My eyes scan the living room, landing on the baton Rick gave me. It’s sitting next to the bureau by the breakfast table. I’ve not thought about it since he gave it to me. Was he right about being cautious of people following the case? I peer out the window again.
The woman looks down, then back to the door. “Does a Marion Sams live here?”
“I can’t speak to the press if that’s what you’re after—”
“I’m not from the press,” the woman says, a catch in her voice. “My name is Amelia Parker.”
I wait a beat, knowing the name sounds familiar. Then it hits me, and I swing open the door.
Amelia pushes her sunglasses into her hair and stares at me, her mouth agape. Behind the smile lines and makeup, I can see the resemblance. She’s the same woman featured in those pictures from long ago. The woman who lost her husband. The woman who lost her daughter. A daughter the rest of the world refers to as Baby Caroline.
16 MarionNow
There’s an awkward air between us. I’m afraid to inhale. Amelia, standing in front of me, also appears to be holding her breath, like she’s not sure this moment is real. Finding her daughter. Seeing her again in the flesh. This must have been only a fantasy, but now she’s here. I’m here, right in front of her.
“I don’t quite know what to say.” She starts to say more but
