I started down the path again, but slower. “I was given this yearbook by Claire Durant. She’s the assistant principal at Seabank High. You mentioned her recently.”

“I had forgotten her name.”

“I thought it might help to know Wendy a little better. I thought Claire might have some insights.”

“I can’t imagine how Wendy’s life as a teenager could have any bearing on her decision not to come home.”

“Investigating means turning over every stone. And this time? Well, under the Claire Durant stone, I hit pay dirt.”

“I can’t imagine what you mean.”

I glanced at her, and I had a strong feeling she did know. “I saw the picture of Wendy in L’il Abner. Interesting, isn’t it, that nothing about Wendy’s big moment of glory made it into her scrapbooks.”

“I don’t think I finished them. I guess I got tired...”

“I guess you got careful. Because anybody looking at the photo of her costar in the play, and then at me, would know that Sean Riley is my father. And after that, they would make the leap that, since it’s doubtful you and Sean had an affair, Wendy must be my mother.”

Mom was silent, and we walked a few minutes until we approached a bench by the water. She touched my arm. “I need to sit.”

Anger was bubbling inside me, but not enough to refuse. I perched on the edge of the seat and turned to the page with Sean’s full-length photo. Then I rested the yearbook on her lap. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. Denial? Explanation? Tears? What I wasn’t expecting was silence.

“I’ve had this conversation with you a million times, but only in my head,” she said at last, closing the book without even looking at it. She set it beside her. “None of them went well. I could never figure out how to tell you how all this happened.”

“That’s where you went wrong, trying to make the story palatable. Just try the truth. No icing, no sprinkles. Just the plain, simple truth.”

“It’s figuring out where to start that stops me every time. Do I tell you how amazed I am that such a terrible time in our lives turned out to be such a joy? Do I admit that your father and I threatened to banish Wendy from our lives forever if she didn’t go through with the pregnancy?”

“She wanted an abortion?” I wasn’t surprised. While my parents are march-through-the-streets pro-lifers, I am pro-choice. I have no idea what Wendy’s stance is, but had I been Wendy, seventeen years old with college and a whole new life ahead of me, I would have considered abortion, too.

Of course, I was glad she hadn’t gone through with it, even if my parents’ strong opinions had been the only reason. Because here I was, dealing with the aftermath, but sitting here. Alive.

Mom finally answered my question. “Your sister didn’t know what she wanted, Ryan. Wendy wasn’t used to bad luck. And that’s how she saw the pregnancy. She gambled and lost, and she couldn’t believe it. An abortion was the easy way out. And maybe she was too used to easy. Maybe we’d made her too used to it.”