Page 24 of City of Liars

There was an unexpected ache in the pit of my stomach: regret.

Liv stepped forward, giving me a warning glance, and cleared her throat. “Grandma,” she said, “this is Theo. Theo, this is my grandmother, Ella Carter-Brentwood.”

I forced myself to cross the room, taking the small hand she’d extended. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hello, Theo,” she said in the upper-crust accent Chloe had imitated so precisely. “I understand you’re a gifted musician. My son and daughter-in-law are putting the finishing touches on brunch. While we wait, shall we play?”

She patted the bench next to her and I sat, then put my hands to the keys.

13

Ghost Girl - 1927

She was a block of ice, carved in the shape of a girl. Her fingers and toes never got warm, no matter how much she moved or how she hunched under the thin blanket they’d given her. The People were nice enough. They smiled a lot and didn’t yell. But there were too many of them and she’d given up trying to remember their faces. They dressed all in white like ghosts and wore funny hats and their words blurred together: What’syournamedoyourememberyourfamilyeatsomeofthisstew.

Maybe they were ghosts, after all. Maybe the girl had become one too.

The Ghost People’s questions were like the roar of the subway: meaningless noise, always coming and going. The girl didn’t have to answer, so she wouldn’t. Instead she shoveled the stew into her mouth with her fingers, ignoring the way the People clucked at her. Likeananimalthesepoorchildrenit’sablessingwefoundherwhenwedid.

The stew burned the girl’s fingers, and she clenched her fists tight, seeking to hold the warmth inside. But it faded, like the memory of the things she ought to remember, retreating bit by bit until she was just a small ghost of a girl with her hands in knots.

Around her the other children jostled, pushing each other, trying to get to the stew while it was still warm. An older boy shoved her and she fell sideways, tumbling into one of the People. The woman caught her, gripping her shoulders to prop her upright, scowling at the boy who’d knocked her over. Then she knelt, peering into the girl’s eyes.

When the woman spoke, her voice was kind, with a thick brogue that wrapped around the girl like a hug. It was a thousand times warmer than the ragged blanket or the lumpy stew. “What’s your name, sweetheart? It’s all right. You can tell me.”

The answer bubbled up in the girl’s throat. My name is. My name is. My name is. She knew the word; she could taste the shape of it. But it wouldn’t leave her lips.

The woman’s voice meant safety. It meant home.

I am not a ghost, the girl thought, hard as she could. I am real. My name is.

She opened her mouth, inhaling the reek of scorched meat and the bleach-lemon scent of the Ghost People. Help, she thought. I’m right here. My name is. But it was too late, and the words wouldn’t come.

A single tear trickled down the girl’s cheek, hardening to ice as the woman turned away.

14

Liv

Iperched on the couch in my grandmother’s living room, Chloe at my feet, while Theo and Grandma Ella played a duet. The song was lively and intricate, bringing my parents out of the kitchen to listen.

Dad had offered to pay Ruth, my grandmother’s all-around companion, to help with brunch, but my mom had insisted on preparing the meal herself. She’d been baking mini-muffins and whipping up quiches since nine, sending my father out for bagels and smoked salmon and enlisting Chloe to scoop capers. My job had been to set the table, which I’d apparently done all wrong. After the second time I’d caught my mother refolding the napkins and rearranging the centerpiece, I’d offered to entertain Grandma Ella instead.

I stole a sideways glance at my parents, forcing myself to relax. My mother was like a bloodhound when it came to reading a room; it was what made her so successful on the many philanthropic boards she chaired. The last thing I wanted to do was make her suspect something was amiss before Theo had even introduced himself. I folded my hands in my lap, fixed an attentive expression on my face, and let the music fade to background noise.

No matter how hard I looked, I could find no resemblance between my grandmother’s silvered, once-blond hair and Theo’s inky black, or her chocolate-brown eyes and his mutable hazel. Their bone structures didn’t echo each other’s, either. But the way his head bent toward hers, how they filled in each other’s silences, evoked an eerie sense of foreboding in me.

I told myself it wasn’t odd that they both loved to play the piano. It meant nothing.

But then…what if?

I knew what it was like to have a life separate from the people who’d raised you, the longing that came from wanting to find out the truth of your origins. The feeling that you never quite fit in. I’d known I was adopted as far back as I could remember, but my parents had been adamant I wait to find my biological family until I turned eighteen.

I’d brought it up the day after my sixteenth birthday, my brand-new driver’s license in hand. Getting my license had triggered something in me—panic that I was on the verge of adulthood, and my biological family had missed everything. My entire childhood, all gone. Now, maybe they’d miss the chance to know me as an adult, too…and I’d miss the chance to know them. I didn’t want to feel inexplicable anymore, like someone who’d sprung from Zeus’s head fully formed. I wanted to understand where I came from, to make sense of the parts of me that couldn’t be explained by the way I was raised. But based on my parents’ reaction, you’d think I’d asked to join a polygamous nudist colony rather than track down my roots.

“This family has had quite enough of that kind of confusion, don’t you think?” my mother had said, her mouth pursed in a moue of distaste. “Are we not sufficient for you, Olivia? Haven’t we given you every opportunity, everything you ever wanted?”

Of course they had. And of course it was enough… Except, it wasn’t.