“Did Mark help you escape because he loved your mom?”

She looks past me. “I think he must have. My mama didn’t think of him that way at first. She was too worn and tired when we first moved here. But I think his kindness finally won her over. She wasn’t used to being treated as if she mattered.”

I can’t imagine what Gram must have seen. I hate to think about it. My dad might work too much, but he’d never hurt Mom, Clay, or me. I always feel safe with him.

Why have I been afraid to tell him about Gram? Or about me and my memory? I’m treating him like he’s the enemy, and he’s not.

“When Mark and my mama were first married,” Gram says, so softly I can barely hear her, “I used to walk in and find them dancing. Sometimes without music. And the way Mark looked at her? It’s how she always deserved to be loved. It made all my homesickness seem small and unworthy.”

“Did you think of Mark as your dad?” I ask. I can’t imagine having any dad other than my own. I don’t want to.

“Eventually, yes,” Gram says, stifling a yawn. “It’s getting late, though. One more question and then bed for you, sweet girl.”

I have too many questions firing through my neurons. I bite my lip as I think about which one to ask. I remember Max’s earlier question.

“Do you remember a time when I was a little girl and we were in Samuel P. Taylor Park and a man yelled at you in Russian? Was it Yakov?”

34. Nodes of Ranvier

The nodes of Ranvier are the gaps between the myelin on an axon. You would think a gap would slow the nerve signal down, but the signal leaps along each gap and supercharges for the next leap. This makes transmission faster. It’s like using a ramp to make a jump on your bike.

Sometimes we have to jump over things in our way—hurdles that may seem like they’re slowing us down, but they actually get us there faster.

I’m curled up in a ball on my bed when Olivia FaceTimes me later that night.

She sighs dramatically. “I’ve been thinking—”

“The Russian man I saw at Samuel P. Taylor Park was Yakov,” I interrupt in a rush. “He was telling Gram she couldn’t run from love forever. That she was betraying them if she did.”

She leans closer to the phone, her eyes huge. “Your gram told you?”

“Yeah, we talked. She wants to answer all my questions.” My pillow is wet with tears. Just when I think I can’t cry any more, they start all over again. I know the truth about everything, but none of it matters. I can’t fix anything.