by Amber Garza
Lauren stared at Amelia’s profile, watching her hair lift slightly in the breeze, revealing the edge of her birthmark. If Whitney’s words were true, then her mom had chosen to save Amelia over her. She’d selflessly given one daughter a better life.
She envisioned Amelia’s cozy room, the walls displaying her favorite movies. After her mom died and her dad went to prison, Lauren hadn’t had her own room until she was an adult. Growing up, she shared with the other foster kids, or slept on the occasional couch. Every once in a while she got lucky and stayed at a house where she had a room all to herself, but it wasn’t really hers. She couldn’t decorate it, or make it her own. Beth and Henry’s house was like that. They’d been her favorite foster parents. The only ones she’d kept in contact with over the years.
That’s why she’d used their house as a decoy.
Both she and Amelia knew that Whitney would never be okay with dropping her daughter off at some sleazy motel. Plus, she thought that Lauren was only seventeen, not twenty-five. For years, Beth and Henry had cocktail hour out on their patio every single afternoon from four thirty to five thirty. Lauren had never known them to skip it. So, she figured that would be the perfect time for Whitney to drop Amelia off. Lauren had slipped in through her former bedroom window, like the old days sneaking home after a night out, and let Amelia in the front minutes later.
It all would’ve been easier if Whitney hadn’t been the type of mom who insisted on dropping her daughter off, a fact that pissed Amelia off to no end. It was puzzling to Lauren, who would have loved to have a parent care about her like that.
Her mind flew back to the first time she’d spent the night at Amelia’s. Whitney had peeked in on them, offering them snacks, but it was clear that the intention was mainly to be included. To know what was going on. Amelia had snapped at her, basically told her to leave.
Lauren had watched Whitney leave the room, the expression on her face betraying how hurt she was. Before closing the door, Whitney had eyed her daughter as if willing Amelia to beckon her back in. It reminded Lauren of a dog being left outside.
Lauren had glanced at Amelia, who didn’t seem to notice or care about her mother’s disappointment. She hadn’t known what to expect before coming here, only gathered what she’d researched herself online, perusing social media accounts. And what Amelia had told her in their conversations. From those things she’d surmised that Amelia and Whitney were close. It had been just the two of them for so long, it made sense. But she hadn’t anticipated how much it would affect her, seeing this life her sister had lived. How different it was from hers.
How much better.
She liked Amelia, but at that moment she felt a little jealous.
Now as she listened to Whitney’s story, she couldn’t help but wish she’d been the baby that was switched. It confused her. This longing.
Before coming here, she’d been much more jaded. The world had seemed so black-and-white. Her relationship with Amelia had changed her. Now she saw so many shades of gray.
She’d wanted Whitney to pay for what she’d done. Even gone as far as planting clues to what she knew all over Whitney’s apartment for her to find once the girls were long gone. She wanted there to be no question why Amelia had left. Lauren wanted to be sure Whitney would suffer. Be tormented. Possibly even drive her so mad she’d turn herself in, finally tell the world the truth about what she’d done.
But as she listened to Whitney’s story, she began to wonder if she’d had it all wrong.
39
THE MONTHS AFTER I brought you home were hard. Not because I didn’t love you. I did. So much. But I underestimated how much I would miss the baby I lost. How much I would grieve her. It was foolish to think one human can replace another.
Please don’t misunderstand. I don’t regret what I did. And the sadness I felt over losing her didn’t diminish the love I had for you.
But switching the two of you didn’t allow me the time I needed to mourn.
Dan assumed I was suffering from post-partum depression. But then he consulted with his dad and he started to think it was more than that. Apparently, my depression didn’t fall in line with post-partum. It seemed more extreme than that to him.
I couldn’t tell Dan what was really going on, so he drew his own conclusions.
Shortly after I brought you home, I heard the news that Millie had died the day after we swapped the babies. Codeine overdose. Same way I’d almost died so many years ago. The information came from my parents of all people. They’d heard it through the rumor mill, spreading from Millie’s mom and weaving its way out like a spiderweb.
A nurse had found her in the middle of the day. When they found all the drugs in her system, they assumed she’d killed herself after being told her baby had died of SIDS. One of the nurses said they’d overheard one of Millie’s conversations with Mitch, observed his abusive behavior. She’d also noticed the bruising on Millie’s arms. And they’d known from her medical records that she’d had an opioid addiction in the past.
As I struggled to process why Millie would kill herself, I remembered something I’d dismissed before.
In our last conversation, when Millie was trying to convince me to swap the babies, she’d said, I’ll never be free from Mitch. Not until the day I die.
And that’s when I knew. She’d been planning it all along. That’s why it was so easy for her to switch our babies. She knew she wouldn’t be around much longer. I wanted this revelation to bring me peace, realizing that I’d helped her find freedom.
But it only made me sadder. What if I hadn’t gone along with her plan? Would she have stayed alive longer? Been able to break free of Mitch at some point? I’ll never know. And that haunts me to this day.
Millie’s death only added to my sadness in the days and weeks after I brought you home. Not only did I grieve for my baby, but for my childhood best friend, as well.
Things came to a head with your dad when you were around six or seven months old and your eyes changed color. As you know, your dad and I have blue eyes. You have brown.
That flipped him out, even though I tried to explain that it doesn’t prove anything. I even showed him literature that debunked the eye color myth he was buying into.
But the damage had been done. I’d told too many lies. Kept too many secrets.
We didn’t break up right away, though. I think he stayed with me for a while for your sake.
He never demanded a paternity test. I know it’s because of how much he loves you. You stole his heart from the moment he first laid eyes on you. You’re his daughter, regardless.
Even though we did our best to make our marriage work, he never trusted me again. And that’s the real reason we broke up. The real reason he left me.
I’m truly sorry for that. It’s one of my biggest regrets. I wanted to give you that life Millie and I had dreamed up for an Amelia. And for the most part I did. You had the dresses and bows, the pink room. But more than that, you had love. Safety. Security. All the things Millie had wanted for you. I knew I could be the mom you needed. Loving. Attentive. Encouraging.
And I like to think that I was all those things.
But I know there was one thing Millie was counting on when she asked me to raise you. Millie always wished she’d been raised by two parents. Living with a single mom had been hard for her. I know that wasn’t the life she’d wanted for you.
And it’s one thing I’ve always felt bad about. That I couldn’t make things work with Dan. That I couldn’t give you a home with two parents.
40
SUNDAY, 8:30 A.M.
THIRTY-NINE AND A HALF
HOURS AFTER DROP-OFF
WHITNEY’S SUDDEN RECOLLECTION of her mother’s last words seemed a tad convenient. Also, out of character. The Millie that Whitney remembered may have been melodramatic. Maudlin. A person who would say things like, I’ll n
ever be free from Mitch. Not until the day I die. But the mom Lauren knew didn’t say things like that. She was strong. Practical.
Not only that, but Lauren’s last conversation with her mom negated the so-called statement. Made it impossible.
The three of them sat cross-legged in the grass, facing one another, a tiny huddle. A lawnmower kicked on in the distance. All around them, people had left for work, racing out to their cars, coffees in hand, zipping out of their driveways and down the street. Probably thought the three of them were holding some sort of séance.
Lauren was tired of listening to Whitney’s lies. She was ready to go. Amelia’s expression worried her. It was obvious that Whitney had her—hook, line and sinker. She had to figure out what to say. Reel her back in. Not that she’d ever really had her. She’d only been able to convince her to go on this trip by appealing to her taste for freedom, her sense of adventure. It was clear that Amelia never truly bought Lauren’s story about her mom. But there was no way Lauren was giving up. Once she could get Amelia out of her mom’s clutches, she was certain she could convince her. Make her see reason. Her entire life she’d been on the sidelines, watching someone else live their life with their own family.
The only living relative she even knew of was her dad. And he’d been in prison since the year after her mom died. He’d been caught trafficking drugs through his job as a delivery driver. Someone had called in an anonymous tip, and he’d been in prison ever since. He was supposed to get out once, years ago, but then he stabbed some guy in prison—he’d never been able to control his temper—and had to serve another sentence.
But Lauren’s days of being alone were over. She had her sister now, and she had no intention of letting her go. Closing her eyes, she conjured up the feel of the sun on her face, salt in the air, sand in her toes.
“I know it’s a lot to process,” Whitney was saying to Amelia. “And right now, you probably hate me. I get that. But I hope in time you can see that everything I did was out of love. Love for Millie, and love for you. I’ve been a little overbearing. Strict. Maybe even slightly crazy. But now you know why.
“I never wanted you to follow in my footsteps. To make bad choices. Ones that would hurt you or others. I never wanted you to lie. Manipulate. Not the way I did. I knew all too well how bad that would turn out.
“Don’t you see? Everything I did was to keep the promise I made to Millie the night you were born. My methods may have not always been great, but I did what I set out to. I kept you safe.”
Lauren opened her eyes. Looked at Amelia, who swallowed hard, wringing her hands in her lap, picking at what was left of the black polish that matched Lauren’s own. Her eyes were red and watery, her skin gray and pallid. Her urgency to get Amelia out of here grew.
“Say something,” Whitney pled with her.
“I honestly don’t know what you want me to say, Mom.” Amelia pulled her lip to one side as if trying to stop herself from crying.
Lauren watched Whitney, gauging her reaction. Trying to assess what she should say. How far could she take this? How much truth could her sister handle right now? Amelia’s lower lip was wobbly, and she bit down on it, her eyes sad and wet.
“I don’t know,” Whitney said. “Say anything. Tell me how you’re feeling. Tell me you hate me. Just say something.”
“I don’t hate you,” Amelia said, staring at her hands. “I don’t know what I feel toward you. I guess I just kinda feel numb. Shocked. Sorta confused.” She blew out a shaky breath. “I mean, it’s like my entire life has been a lie. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.”
“Your life hasn’t been a lie, Amelia,” Whitney assured her.
Lauren turned away, staring down at the dewy blades of grass. She pondered Whitney’s story, wondering if any part of it were true.
“I think I just need some time...space.” Amelia stood abruptly then. Lauren scrambled to follow her.
“Okay.” Whitney stood too, wiping her back and legs with her palms. “I can give you that.”
Amelia’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Can you?”
“Yeah.” Whitney nodded. “Let’s go home and you can hole up in your room for as long as you need.”
“No,” Amelia said. “That’s not what I mean.” Whitney frowned, cocked her head to the side. “I need time away. Like not at our house.”
Whitney let out a startled sound, kind of a cross between a cough and laugh. “Well, where would you go?”
Amelia glanced over at Lauren, who took the bait.
“We can go on our sisters’ trip,” Lauren said. “The one we’d planned.”
Whitney knotted her hands, bit the inside of her lip. Lauren was positive a “no” was coming. Amelia’s expression betrayed that she did also.
“Please,” Amelia begged. “I need this.”
“Amelia, you’re not old enough to go on a trip on your own.”
“She won’t be on her own. She’ll be with her sister,” Lauren pointed out.
The look Whitney gave her could only be described as a glare.
“Or I guess she could just stay with me here for a bit,” Lauren added smugly. “In the motel. It’s pretty safe. It’s really near the police station.”
Lauren noted the swell of Whitney’s neck as she swallowed.
Lauren—1. Whitney—0.
Whitney hesitated, licked her lips.
“I bet the police would be interested in seeing this.” When Lauren tugged on her backpack zipper it sounded like paper being ripped cleanly in half.
“The police? What?” Amelia spoke softly beside her in a fear-laced tone. “You didn’t mention anything about the police.” Lifting her hand to her mouth, she gnawed on her index fingernail.
God, Amelia never would’ve survived Lauren’s childhood.
She was way too fragile. But Lauren couldn’t worry about that right now. On a mission, she ignored her. Inside, her fingers found what she’d been searching for. She yanked it out, displaying it in front of her chest.
Whitney’s eyes flashed. “Is that Millie’s diary?” she asked, her tone breathy, staring at the journal like it was a loaded gun.
“Yep,” Lauren told her smugly, enjoying the discomfort on her face. “And I’m sorry, but after reading through this, I just don’t think your story adds up.” She slid her thumb against the pages, fanning them. “You’re in it a lot. There’s all kinds of stuff about your friendship.”
“Really?” She stepped forward. “Can I see?”
Lauren drew it back, clutched it to her chest. “No.”
Whitney sighed. “Lauren, your mom was always a tad melodramatic. The darker the better. I don’t think you can read that much into her diary.”
“Oh, I think I can read a lot into it,” Lauren deadpanned, opening to a page and reading. “‘My skin prickles, the hair on end. Fear breathes down my neck. A shadow behind me. Always there. Watching. Waiting to strike.’”
“Sounds like a poem about your dad. It’s like I said, she was so afraid of him. That’s why I tried to do everything in my power to save Millie. It’s why I went along with her plan.” Her gaze bounced to Amelia who nodded as if she was eating this up.
“This poem isn’t about my dad. It’s about you.” Lauren couldn’t help the grin that emerged on her face. “Peeling off my skin, she wears it like a dress. Dipping her toes into the waters of my life, she slips under, claiming it all as her own.”
Whitney’s jaw slackened. After a second, she forced it to close as if needing time to regain composure. She licked her lips, crossed her arms. A breath whistled through her nostrils. “I don’t really even get it. It sounds made up. Just a jumble of words. Millie was like that. Dark just for the sake of being that way.”
“I write dark poetry,” Amelia interjected. “And it’s like that. You know, symbolism. Metaphors. It’s not literal.�
� Her lips curled slightly at the corners. “I guess in that way we’re alike, huh?”
Lauren shook her head. “Sure, my mom’s poetry is lyrical. Symbolic. But it’s rooted in truth. You didn’t just want to be close to my mom, did you? You wanted to be her. You wanted her life.”
Whitney blew out an exasperated breath, ran a hand over her head. “You don’t know anything about our relationship.”
“I know that the stories you told us today are in this diary,” Lauren said. “And most of them read a little differently.”
“I’m not surprised. Like I said, Millie and I often saw things differently.”
“From what I read in here, you were pretty obsessed with her.”
Whitney’s eyes flashed. “Your mom had an inflated ego. She thought everyone was obsessed with her.”
“Were you in love with my mother?” Lauren’s lips curled upward, her brows raising. The flush in Whitney’s cheeks told her she’d hit a nerve.
“Were you, Mom?” Amelia’s eyes widened as if she was seeing a side of her mom she’d never been aware of. If Lauren didn’t know better, she’d think Amelia was kind of hopeful. Lauren was mostly just saying all this to get under Whitney’s skin. Ruffle some feathers. But, perhaps, there was some truth to it. A missing piece of the puzzle. One Amelia apparently wanted solved.
Whitney didn’t seem to appreciate it, though. If looks could kill Lauren was sure she’d drop dead. “Millie was my best friend. Nothing more,” Whitney said, throwing her hand out as if a ball had been lobbed in her direction. “This is exactly why you should give me the journal. It’s personal and it’s about a history you weren’t involved in.”