I thought about John Quayle. “You would have had to wait a good long time.”

Her smile was watery. “If you ever have children, you’ll understand how much you want to protect them. But we realized we had to let you find your own way, the way Wendy should have been allowed to find hers. Your sister rebelled after a lifetime of being told what she should do and how she should do it. We knew we had to let you make mistakes, try this path, then that one. We had to let you fail, so ultimately you could succeed.”

“Succeed? I’m the imperfect daughter, remember? Not good advertising for your parenting skills. I’m not even your real daughter. I’m an illegitimate granddaughter with an imperfect heart.”

She turned and put her arms around me, pulling me close, even as I resisted. It was so odd, so un-Arlie, that I finally let her. I felt myself relax unwillingly against her. The tears on my cheeks were my own.

She stroked my hair a long time before she spoke. “Oh, sweetheart. I can’t imagine how you could say something like that and believe it. Don’t you realize we never, never saw you as less than who you are? We loved you as a daughter, just the way you were, right from the moment you were born. In our eyes you were and are absolutely perfect.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

When I arrived home, Teo was parked in my driveway, car seat cranked back and Latin jazz playing on the radio. I parked on the street and tried to sneak up on him, but he still had a cop’s instincts. Just as I stuck my head through the front passenger window, he opened his eyes and smiled.

“‘A Deeper Shade of Soul,’” he said. “Ray Barretto. My mother heard him in concert once before I was born. She still talks about it.”

“Latin jazz was a favorite at my house, too.”

He brought his seat back to driving position. “Name one song.”

“‘The Girl from Ipanema.’”

“Name another.”

“‘The Girl from Ipanema Goes Walking’? ‘The Girl from Ipanema Just Doesn’t See’?” I turned up my hands in defeat. “My father played that song as often as he could get away with it. Now the two of you have something to talk about after he trashes his diet.”

He clicked off the music and came around to join me, leaning against the side of the car with his arms folded. “That’s promising. Both that you expect me to speak to your father in the future and that you’re planning to keep speaking to him.”

After the morning’s confrontation, I was wrung dry. So I leaned against the car, too, and edged closer until our shoulders touched.

“I had a talk with my mother.”

“And you’re still calling the Graceys your mother and father, unless you’re talking about the woman formerly known as your sister.”

“Did you ever read Horton Hatches the Egg?”

“An elephant’s faithful 100 percent?”