Annabelle had been staring down at the three thin bracelets on Mom’s arm, but now she picked up her head. “Why?”

“Because you amaze us, Belle. How hard you work? The way you don’t give up even when something goes wrong?” Mom angled her head down a little, making sure Annabelle was looking right into her eyes. “That’s brave, honey. That’s strong.”

Usually, Mom’s compliments didn’t fill Annabelle up the way Mitch’s did. When Mom told her she did great in a swim meet, she didn’t really know what she was talking about. And when she said she was proud of Annabelle for working hard at school, it felt like she’d be prouder if Annabelle’s grades were as good as Jeremy’s or Mia’s. But this time, the compliment warmed up Annabelle’s whole body. Not that hot-chocolate warmth in her belly, like she’d gotten with Connor, but a gentler, more even warmth, like stepping out into the sun.

“I mean, I’d rather you didn’t hop on a ferry by yourself to track down your father,” Mom said. “But I’m not worried about you in the grand scheme of things. I worry day-today, sure. But I know you’re going to be okay. You hear me?”

Annabelle nodded, and her stomach growled. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Mom stood and surveyed the area. “Then how does a greasy, sugary pretzel sound?”

“Really, really good,” Annabelle said, and they walked up to the pretzel counter, hand in hand.

Chapter 31

On the drive to Cape Cod, Mom told Annabelle that Dad had called her in the spring, back when he’d first moved to Boston.

“He said he wanted to be in touch with you,” she said. “I should have told you right away.”

Mom was watching the road, and Annabelle studied her profile. She and Mom had different coloring—Mom’s hair and eyes were darker—but Mitch always said how much they looked alike from the side because they had the same chin and nose.

All this time, Annabelle had thought she was keeping something from her mom, but her mom had been keeping it from her, too?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

Mom sighed. “It wasn’t the first time I had heard from him. He used to leave messages sometimes, saying how much he missed you. How he wanted to talk to you or visit, but then . . . he didn’t follow through.”

Mom paused and mushed her lips together. It looked a lot like she might be biting her bottom lip the way she always told Annabelle not to.

“I didn’t want you to be disappointed if you didn’t hear from him. I thought . . .” She paused again, and now she was definitely biting her lip. “I misunderstood. I told him he could write to you when he was ready, but I thought he’d tell me before he sent a letter. I thought I’d be able to prepare you. To talk through what it would feel like to hear from him.”