There are several beats of ominous silence before Chrissie capitulates. Seeming to realize she has no other option, she takes a shaky breath and says, “Hi, Mom.”

Chapter 24

Mom? What the …

I look from Chrissie to Lina for explanation, but neither seems to know what to say to the other, much less to me, and the silence doesn’t bode well. Chrissie always knows what to say. She is the ultimate diplomat, the ultimate mediator, the ultimate friend. She has never once in our seven-year friendship told me anything that wasn’t the truth.

But … Mom? A tiny window of betrayal cracks open, just enough for appalling thoughts to snake under and in.

My Chrissie’s full name is Christina, which can also be shortened to Tina, which is the nickname by which Lina’s daughter was known.

My Chrissie’s last name is Perez. I don’t know her maiden name, because it never mattered. We relate to each other in the present, and in the present, I know that my Chrissie’s father is dead and that she is estranged from her mother, who refuses to accept her biracial husband.

My Chrissie is three years younger than me, as was the little sister of my friend Danny Aiello. My Chrissie has a brother Dan. Margo would point to her husband and remind me that Daniel is a common name. But that common?

“Why are you here?” Lina scolds with the hushed intimacy only a mother and daughter would share, which rattles me even more.

I catch Jack’s eye, looking for something he knows that I don’t. He may remember Tina Aiello better than I do. He may have seen Tina in recent years and see no resemblance at all between that woman and this. But he is no help to me here. His twitch of a headshake says he’s as confused as I am.

Chrissie isn’t confused. This is the kicker. I can’t see her eyes. They are hidden behind her sunglasses—hidden—like mine were when I climbed from the car at the square last Friday afternoon and wanted to stay anonymous. Chrissie wanted that, too, but she has been found out. To judge from the sudden flush on her cheeks, she is mortified.

Turning her back on Lina, she clutches my arms and says in a desperate whisper, “I’m sorry, Mal. I never dreamed she’d be here. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have come. I wanted to be at the funeral for you, but the last thing I wanted was to make things worse. You don’t need this right now. I’m going to leave, just drive back—”

“You are not,” I cut in. Staring into her barely-outlined eyes, I see my own reflection. The blend of the two is as freaky as anything else. “The damage is done. What’s going on?”