“Okay. Just seems like you’re a bit off, that’s all.”

“Off?”

“Well, maybe not off.” He rubs the side of his face while trying to find the wording. “Less enthusiastic.”

I take a long sip of my wine before answering. “It’s not you, Ezra.” He stares back at me, and I can tell he won’t be happy with my simple declaration. “It’s all of it. Being back here. Finding out about the affair. Being reminded of my father leaving, my childhood summers, which now seem like a lie.”

“I can understand that,” he says, but there’s still some skepticism in his voice.

“It’s like my mother has been split into two people.” I make a cutting motion with my hand, and he nods to show he understands. “The version I had in my head before I found out she’d had a decades-long affair, before I found out she lied about Avril Island, about so many things, and the version I have now.” I drink some more wine. “She was always difficult,” I continue. “Emotional, selfish, and sometimes even downright mean.” I shrug. “But I could reconcile those things, because she could also be loving and generous and fun, and she was beautiful and elegant. It was just my mother and the way she was. Now she feels like …” I trail off, not sure how to finish the sentence.

Ezra slides down onto the blanket to lie on his side, propping himself up on one elbow. “People can be lots of things, June, both good and bad. You don’t have to write them off just because of the bad. You shouldn’t think of your mother as a stranger just because she had an affair.” He takes a long sip of his beer, and I watch as his Adam’s apple moves up and down his throat.

“The thing is, my mother doesn’t feel like a stranger to me. In fact, I feel like I’ve never known her better.”

He looks up at me with confusion. “How is that the problem, then?”

“Because I think that I became her.”

He gives his head a little shake. “You’re not your mother, June. Just because you look like her and are from her doesn’t mean you are her.”

“What if I look like her, am from her, and have committed the same crimes as her?”

He pushes himself back up into a sitting position. “I’m really not following.”

I look at Ezra, right into his wide, open, trusting eyes, and suddenly all I want to do is confess. To unburden myself of it all. “I had an affair.” The words almost get stuck, and I have to clear my throat. “Affairs, actually. I’m the reason my marriage ended. Just like my mother is the reason that her marriage ended.” I have to look away from the surprise in his eyes, because I’m pretty sure it will be replaced with loathing in a matter of seconds.