I’m working on my letter to Dad when I hear Mom clattering around downstairs in the kitchen. It’s 11:30 at night. What the underworld is she doing? I put my pen down.

It smells like cake. She’s in the kitchen, icing a cake?

“What are you doing?” I ask abrasively.

Mom looks up at me, stark fear in her eyes. “Um, it’s James’s birthday at midnight … I, I know it’s probably a stupid idea, but I wanted to … I was going to bring this over to Papa’s.”

Mara is not all bad. Mara is damaged. Mara has made terrible mistakes. But Mara never stops trying. When she puts her efforts toward something, she accomplishes it. I hope she turns her efforts on us. I don’t want to discount all the kind things she’s ever done because of the bad things.

Moving forward with her is going to be difficult, and I’m going to lose my patience, but right now, watching her smear icing on a cake at 11:30 p.m. to surprise Jamie for her birthday that I didn’t know about—I can’t bring myself to hug her, but I love her.

89. A Girl Isn’t Tired

JAMIE

September 10, Late Wednesday Night/ Early Thursday Morning

New Jersey

This bed isn’t very comfortable itself, but something about being in this tiny room and knowing it’s where my mom spent her childhood makes it comforting. It has history. I like imagining a young Mara in here getting ready for school. I wonder what she was like: probably a stuck-up know-it-all type who tattled on the kid next to her when she caught them doing something vaguely scandalous.

I’m voluntarily going to therapy with Siri tomorrow. Donya is her new therapist. Who would have thunk Donya also lives in New York. The whole Rediscover crew is out here. I guess it makes sense because it’s Terry’s retreat and she lives here.

There’s a soft knock at the door.

“Yeah?”

“Can you come out to the kitchen, Jamie?” Papa says through the door.

“Sure, Pops, in a second.” I roll off the bed and pad out into the hallway.

All the lights are off.

I creep toward the kitchen, my hand trailing along the wall until I’m in the vicinity of the table.

“What are you playing at, Papa?” My hand falls on the switch. I flip it up.

Mara’s sitting at the table with a cake full of unlit candles.

“Gah!” I jump back. “Jesus Christ.”

“Scary, right?” Mara comments. She starts lighting the candles. “I couldn’t resist.”

Papa chuckles from where he is over on the couch. Siri’s smiling over in the corner near him like a creepy lurker.