She must have realized that, because her words burst out, like horses breaking from the Derby gate. “It makes sense, Mal—us looking alike and thinking alike. I don’t believe in chance, and I don’t believe in cosmic voodoo, but what are the odds that we’d end up beside each other in the gym? So maybe it was meant to be, and maybe I was afraid to let you know who I was, because I suffered through talking about Bay Bluff with my own therapist, and it was too painful to repeat. Maybe I wanted it so badly that I was afraid to give you a chance to say it was not.” She takes a breath, as reality slows her down. “Then your dad got sick. I couldn’t say anything, because it was inappropriate. And once you were back here, you were with him and Anne, and then Margo came, and there was everything you were learning about your mom. When was I supposed to tell you, Mal?” she pleads. “Would it have helped in the middle of all that if I’d told you we were sisters?”

“You’re not,” Paul says in a voice that is kind but firm.

I don’t know when he and Jack approached, but here they are. I’ve been so lost in Chrissie that after years without Jack, I’m actually startled to see him again. In that surprise, he is a momentary distraction. He has taken off his blazer and tie, rolled the sleeves of his shirt to the elbow and pushed a hand through his hair—stunning in all regards.

He has been a rock these last two days.

My rock.

But so has Paul. And since he’s the one who has just spoken, my attention slides there. “You sound sure.”

“I am, Mallory. I told you that Monday.” He eyes Chrissie. I’m not sure if she knows who he is, but between his dark suit, the lines on his face, and his manner, he exudes quiet authority. “The rumors were unfounded. Eleanor Aldiss was never with your father that way.”

Chrissie frowns at Lina, who has come to us right along with the men. “He told me he was,” the older woman says in self-defense. That explains the scrutiny she gave me Saturday morning. She was looking for Roberto in me.

Paul’s voice is gentle, but all the more weighty for its reluctance. “If he said that, then he lied. I know,” he returns to me, just me now, “because your mother denied it. I believe her, because she never lied to me.” Quietly, he adds, “And because I know who is.”

I press a fist to the center of my chest. “Who is?”

Chapter 25