We part ways on the corner, and I walk back to the hotel in a strange mood, feeling somehow light and heavy at the same time. I can’t help thinking of Dad, of what he’d make of all this. I think back to the day of his funeral; to the picture we chose for the front of the memorial card. It was taken on some long-ago Father’s Day: Abigail on one side of him, me on the other.

And I think about how now, meeting Lorna, we’re not tying up any loose ends, only creating new ones. Adding more questions. Finding more unknowns. But maybe that’s just the nature of life.

I go through the sliding doors, and through the over-lit lobby. I hit the button for the elevator and step in. I think about the unknowns still spreading out before me in my own life. About how Lorna is nearing the end of her time here yet shows no regret, and how I’ve probably never gone a day of my life without regret. I think about Oliver and me, and what lies ahead for us. The impasse we seem to have reached, and his impulse trip here, which I guess is a kind of apology for that. But I’m not sure that an apology can give me what I need right now.

I knock on the door.

“Gillian.” He swings it open, his smile faint and tentative. Nervous, almost.

And suddenly I can’t help the feeling that he’s not just here to see me.

He’s here to tell me something.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

I wonder if I’ve imagined it, then, because once I step inside the doorway the nervous look seems to vanish from Oliver’s face and suddenly he’s back to his usual self—if anything, just more energetic, as though he, too, is running on adrenalin right now.

He pulls me in towards him. It seems longer than a day since I’ve seen him, and the familiarity of him, those wiry curls and the soft, savory smell of his skin—it feels like home.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I say into his chest.

“I’m glad I’m here too.” He pulls back. “So how has it been? Is everyone okay? What’s this Lorna person like?”

“She’s…nice,” I say. “Interesting. I like her. But…” I hesitate. “She’s still a stranger. And I guess maybe she always would have been.”

It’s true; it’s inevitable. Because true intimacy is built over time: it’s built on time, like a house is built over stone. It’s built through shared pain, shared joy, and the more mundane things, too: shared boredom and irritation and even, sometimes, disillusionment.

That’s real family.

I notice Oliver’s gaze shift from mine then, and once again I catch a flash of something in there.

“Is everything okay?” I say.