I knew she was the daughter of the richest man in town. I knew she was the daughter of the woman a person I cared about loved. The reason why I befriended Rachel? “Rachel isn’t Denny’s child, but I knew he wouldn’t feel right with your daughter unprotected on the streets. Don’t get me wrong, Isaiah could have taken care of Rachel without me, but...”

I lift one shoulder up and drop it. If Mrs. Young was once in love with Denny then odds are she met my father and I don’t have to explain how my reach would have been different from Isaiah’s.

“You know who my father is then?” If she’s going there, then so am I.

Her lips thin out then she nods. “I grew up in that neighborhood. I was once friends with your father and with Denny, but I had no idea who you were until after West found out about Denny. Whenever I saw Denny, I wasn’t interested in learning about the lives of those I left behind. Lots of secrets came out when West learned the truth.”

I raise an eyebrow. That means she’s known I’m Mozart’s daughter since this spring. “Yet you allowed me to hang with your daughter?” Yet she continued to pretend to believe the cover story I had given her so I could be Rachel’s friend. That I was a rich private-school girl...just like her daughter.

“Why didn’t you ever tell Rachel or West of my connection with Denny?” she asks as if I never spoke. “Even after the truth came out, how come you never told them that you knew who I was?”

“Wasn’t my business to tell. Plus I didn’t know you. I just knew of you. Hearsay, even from the people I love, doesn’t equate to gospel truth.”

She tilts her head like I said something profound and that’s when it hits me. Mrs. Young is reading me...just like my father taught me to read others for the truth or for lies. “But you saw to it to look over my son and daughter when they stumbled into your world?”

“Yes. You meant something to Denny once. I watched over them not for you, but for him.”

Mrs. Young plows into me. The hugging type of tackle and I freeze.

“Thank you,” she whispers into my ear. “For taking care of them both.”

Uh... “You’re welcome?”

She pulls away, but keeps her hands on my shoulders. “There are no more secrets in this house. No more lies. You’re a part of us now and these rules apply to you. You did what you had to do to stay alive and I understand that, but that’s your past and your future is different, do you understand?”

Mrs. Young is staring straight at me and the truth is there in those majestic blue eyes. She’s keeping me. She’s offering me a second chance.

“Yes, I completely understand.”

She flashes a brilliant smile and steps back as she releases me. “Wonderful. Now with so many of you in the house, I need to make sure that snacks are being made for later. I’ll give you a few minutes alone to take in your room.”

Mrs. Young dashes away with an air of confidence that would have made her a fantastic drug dealer. This must mean there really is hope for me yet.

I turn the knob and begin to wonder about things I should have thought of before stuffing myself with several servings of turkey and potatoes and pie. For instance, clothes. I need clothes and personal products and maybe a few things to make me feel like this place might be a...

...a home.

The light is already on in the room and staring right back at me are easily a hundred different stuffed animals. The ones my Grams gave me. The ones Denny gave me. The ones my father brought home to me. My eyes burn and my throat swells as I cross the room and lift the worn white stuffed bunny my father gave to me when I was smaller.

After Grams had washed me up, blow-dried my hair, and tucked me into bed, my father entered, crouching down so that we were eye to eye. “Mom says you’re scared of the dark.”

I had gripped the edge of the covers. “Not of the dark.” Never the dark. “She comes in my dreams and she takes me away from you.” A woman in black. A woman who looked a lot like the woman who gave birth to me.

The stuffed bunny magically appeared from behind his back. “This bunny, he’ll keep you safe when I’m not around. He’ll scare away anything in your dreams and me, I can scare away anything in the waking world.”

Like I did that night, I hug the white bunny to me and my lower lip trembles. “I love you, Daddy.” And then my heart breaks a little more when I realize I’ll never see Grams again, that I’ll never return to my small tucked-away bedroom at the end of the hall. That I’ll never stand in her doorway and count her breaths. That she’ll never brush my hair again, that I’ll never read aloud to her at three.

I realize my Grams is dead and that my father will never return home.

I sink to the floor, lower my head into the bunny and I cry.

* * *

All cried out and trying to find a way to leave without admitting I cried, I jump when there’s a knock on the door. It’s weird to say, “Come in,” because it’s weird to think I have permission to say this as if I live here, but I guess I do live here now and it’s time to own it.

Rachel pokes her head in and she reminds me a bit of her mom with the hesitant grin. How many times has Mrs. Young stuck her head into Rachel’s room to gauge what the two of us were doing behind closed doors?

“Are you okay?” Rachel asks.

A glance in the oversize mirror over the dresser confirms the answer is no. My eyes are red and swollen and it’s even stranger that I don’t care that Rachel knows I have the ability to cry. She already saw it once, at Grams’s funeral.