But I hurt, too. My heart and my body ache from the anger. I try to storm past her, but she follows me. “I was trying to stand by you. You needed someone to,” she says.

“That’s what you call standing by me?”

“Yes.”

“Did she want me?” I ask, not sure which answer I want anymore.

“Yes. She did. She loved you, Delsie. But she wasn’t able to be responsible for you. So, we all—Henry and Esme and me and Papa—decided to keep you safe here.”

My fingernails digging into my palms begin to sting.

“I know this isn’t easy to understand. But it was because we loved you. You’re my girl. My Delsie.”

Everything hurts from shoving away all this stuff that makes me sad inside. I want to blast her, but she already looks broken. I want to tell her I’m not her girl. I’m my mother’s girl. And that it’s her fault that I’ll never be anyone’s daughter. Ever. I want to hurt her, this Grammy I love so much.

But I can’t.

I think of my mom and imagine her walking down our driveway and leaving Dennis Port. Knowing that someday I’d be old enough for her leaving to really hurt me. I know she’s the one I’ll really never forgive.

Chapter 22

OPTIMISTIC ELEPHANTS

After our argument, Grammy and I act like nothing happened, which is fine, I guess. I know sometimes Grammy has a hard time talking about things, but I can tell she’s not mad at me, and I’m not mad at her.

Still, it feels good to get out of the house when Esme invites me to lunch. She looks beautiful when she comes to get me. She has her purple heels on and her Afro is in a sideswept updo, but there’s one thing she doesn’t have that surprises me.

“Where’s Ruby?”

“Your grammy’s going to watch her,” she says, reaching for my hand. I take it, and I smile.

Esme and I slide into her car and head toward Route 6A, which Grammy calls Captain’s Crunch because of the string of captains’ houses and weekend traffic in the summer.

We pull into the parking lot of a yellow house called the Optimist Café. Esme turns the car off and then holds up one finger, telling to me to stay put. She runs to my side of the car and opens the door for me.

“Now, this is a fine tea house, and they have some darn good food, but there’s something else I think you’ll really like.”

We are seated at a corner table, and Esme immediately takes her silverware out of the fancy cloth napkin and spreads the napkin on her lap. I do the same.

“So they have a bunch of fruit teas that you’ll like. And the crepes are delicious.”

“What’s going on?” I ask. “Is something wrong?”

Her eyebrows scrunch. “No. Why would you think something is wrong?”