She lifted it.
There they were.
Faded but unmistakable.
N.V.
My mother’s stitches.
I started crying.
Not quiet tears.
Eight years came out of me at once.
Ruth moved as though she wanted to comfort me but didn’t.
Michael held my hand.
After a while, I asked, “Where does she live?”
Ruth didn’t answer.
“Please.”
“She asked me not to tell you.”
“She is my daughter.”
“She’s twenty-four now.”
The words felt impossible.
Nora had frozen in my mind at sixteen.
I had missed seventeen.
Eighteen.
Twenty-one.
Her first legal drink.
Her twenties.
Eight birthdays.
Eight Christmases.
Every ordinary Tuesday I should have known about.
“I’m not asking you to drag her here,” I said. “I just need to know she’s safe.”
“She is.”
“Is she married?”
“No.”
“Does she have children?”
Ruth paused.
That pause told me everything.
I stared at her.
“Does Nora have a child?”
Ruth closed her eyes.
“A little girl.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“How old?”
“Four.”
I started crying again.
I had a granddaughter.
For four years.
And I hadn’t known she existed.
“What’s her name?”
“I think Nora should tell you that.”
I suddenly became angry.
“No. You don’t get to decide what information I can handle after eight years.”
Ruth looked at me.
“You’re right.”
Then she whispered:
“Her name is Evelyn.”
My mother’s name.
I couldn’t speak.
Nora had named her daughter after the grandmother who made the turquoise cover-up.
The grandmother who died believing she would never know what happened to her.
Michael stood and walked outside.
I knew he was crying.
I sat with Ruth for another hour.
Then we went back to the hotel.
I didn’t sleep.
At 2:13 in the morning, someone knocked on our door.
Michael sat up.
I already knew.
I opened it.
Nora stood in the hallway.
For a moment, neither of us said anything.
She looked older than I remembered.
Of course she did.
But certain things were unchanged.
The way she pressed her lips together when nervous.
The tiny crease between her eyebrows.
The way her right hand played with the edge of her sleeve.
“Can I come in?” she asked.
I stepped aside.
She sat in the chair near the window.
I sat on the bed.
Michael offered to leave.
Nora shook her head.
“No. Stay.”
Then she looked at me.
