PART 3
Mom stepped forward.
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“Lily, sweetheart, go get in the van.”
“But—”
“Now.”
Lily disappeared.
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I waited until her footsteps faded.
Then I said, very quietly, “You were going to leave Emma and me here Friday night?”
Mom folded her arms.
“Rachel, it’s not like that.”
“Then tell me what it’s like.”
“It’s one dinner.”
“A dinner you didn’t tell me about.”
“Because I knew you’d make it complicated.”
I laughed once.
There was nothing funny about it.
“You invited me to drive seven children six hours to North Carolina. You didn’t tell me I was supposed to babysit them while everyone else went on a boat.”
Mom frowned.
“You make it sound terrible.”
“I don’t have to make it sound anything.”
I pointed toward the dining room.
“You made a schedule.”
She didn’t answer.
“Where is it?”
“Rachel—”
“Where is the schedule?”
Melissa finally spoke.
“It’s on the counter.”
I walked over and picked up the paper.
There it was.
Friday.
4:30 p.m. — Adults leave for marina.
5:00 p.m. — Children dinner.
6:30 p.m. — Movie.
8:00 p.m. — Baths.
9:00 p.m. — Bed.
Underneath, in bold letters:
Rachel + Emma — children
I stared at those words.
Then I looked at my daughter.
Emma was staring at the floor.
Her cheeks were red.
I suddenly understood why.
She already knew.
Maybe not everything.
But enough.
“Emma,” I said softly.
She shook her head.
“Mom, please.”
“No. Look at me.”
She did.
“When did you know about this?”
She swallowed.
“Grandma told me last week.”
My stomach dropped.
“Last week?”
“She said it would be easy.”
Mom interrupted.
“I was going to explain.”
“To me?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before we got there.”
I held up the schedule.
“After I had driven six children six hours?”
“Seven,” Mom corrected.
That one word hit me harder than it should have.
Seven.
She counted Emma as one when she needed a babysitter.
Six when she was buying gifts.
I looked at my mother.
“Why?”
She seemed genuinely confused.
“Why what?”
“Why are you doing this to her?”
Mom’s face hardened.
“I am not doing anything to her.”
“Then why isn’t she treated like the other grandchildren?”
“She is.”
“No.”
My voice cracked.
“She isn’t.”
Emma whispered, “Mom.”
I turned toward her.
She looked embarrassed.
Not angry.
Embarrassed.
That was worse.
I knew my daughter.
Emma wasn’t the kind of teenager who demanded attention.
She didn’t complain when her cousins got birthday gifts she didn’t receive.
She didn’t ask why Grandma forgot her favorite cake.
She didn’t ask why family photos sometimes seemed to happen after she’d already been sent upstairs to help with something.
She had learned to make herself smaller.
And I had been letting everyone call that maturity.
Mom crossed her arms.
“Emma is older. She understands.”
I looked at her.
“She understands what?”
“That she’s not a baby anymore.”
“She’s fourteen.”
“She is practically fifteen.”
“That is not an adult.”
Mom sighed.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“No.”
I folded the schedule.
“I’m being her mother.”
Nobody spoke.
Then Jason appeared in the doorway.
“Are we leaving or what?”
I handed him the schedule.
“Ask Mom.”
He glanced at it.
His expression changed.
“What’s this?”
Melissa said, “Mom arranged a grown-up dinner Friday.”
Jason looked at Mom.
“And we’re taking the kids?”
Mom nodded.
“Rachel and Emma will stay.”
Jason looked at me.
“You agreed to that?”
“No.”
He scratched his chin.
“I thought everyone knew.”
That sentence made something inside me go cold.
Everyone knew.
Except me.
And apparently Emma.
Or maybe everyone knew except the people who were expected to say yes.
I looked at my daughter.
“Go wait in the van.”
She hesitated.
“Mom—”
“Please.”
She nodded.
She walked out.
I watched her through the window as she crossed the driveway.
She climbed into the passenger seat.
She sat very still.
My mother came closer.
“You are going to ruin the trip.”
I turned around.
“No.”
I picked up the schedule again.
“You already did.”
I walked outside.
Nobody spoke as I opened the driver’s door.
I started the engine.
Emma looked at me.
“Are we going?”
I looked at her.
Then at the six aqua bags lined up beside the other children.
“Not yet.”
I stepped out again.
I walked toward my siblings.
“Everyone needs to decide right now whether this trip is a family vacation or whether I’m transportation and Emma is childcare.”
Jason opened his mouth.
Melissa looked uncomfortable.
Dana stared at Mom.
Finally, Jason said, “Mom didn’t tell me about the babysitting part.”
Melissa nodded.
“Me neither.”
Dana raised her hand slightly.
“I didn’t know either.”
Mom looked around.
Suddenly, her carefully arranged plan wasn’t looking so carefully arranged.
She sighed.
“Fine.”
She looked at me.
“It’s optional.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“It isn’t optional anymore.”
Mom’s eyebrows rose.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean Emma is not babysitting.”
A silence followed.
“And I am not driving seven children if I’m expected to spend the vacation taking care of them.”
Mom looked at the van.
“You would leave them?”
“No.”
I pointed at the parents.
“Their parents will drive them.”
Jason looked toward his wife.
Melissa looked at her husband.
Nobody looked thrilled.
But nobody argued.
Mom picked up one of the aqua bags.
“You’re making a mountain out of a bag and a dinner.”
I looked at the bag.
“No.”
I looked at Emma.
“I’m making a boundary out of them.”
Emma’s eyes filled with tears.
She quickly looked away.
I pretended not to notice.
Because I knew she didn’t want to cry in front of everyone.
We eventually left.
Not seven children in my minivan.
Four.
Jason took his three.
Melissa took Lily and Owen.
Dana took her daughter.
My van suddenly felt enormous.
Emma sat beside me in silence.
For the first hour, neither of us said much.
Then she asked, “Are you mad at Grandma?”
“Yes.”
“At me?”
I nearly slammed on the brakes.
“What?”
She looked out the window.
“For making everything difficult.”
I pulled into a gas station.
I parked.
Then I turned toward her.
“Emma.”
She looked at me.
“You have never made anything difficult.”
Her eyes immediately filled.
“I should’ve said something.”
“You shouldn’t have had to.”
She wiped her cheek.
“I thought maybe she didn’t like me anymore.”
My heart broke.
“Why would you think that?”
She shrugged.
“Because she doesn’t act like she likes me.”
I reached across the console and took her hand.
“Listen to me.”
She did.
“You don’t have to earn your place in this family by being useful.”
Her lower lip trembled.
“You’re allowed to just be fourteen.”
She nodded.
Then she whispered something that stayed with me for the rest of the trip.
“I don’t think Grandma remembers that.”
Neither did I.
Not until that moment.
By the time we reached the Outer Banks, the sky had turned orange.
The ocean was almost black in the distance.
The house was beautiful.
White siding.
Wide porches.
Huge windows facing the water.
Mom stood on the front steps waiting for everyone.
She smiled when she saw us.
But her smile disappeared when she realized the children weren’t all in my van.
“What happened?”
Jason answered.
“We switched cars.”
Mom looked at me.
I didn’t explain.
I carried Emma’s suitcase inside.
Her assigned pullout sofa was exactly where the room chart had promised.
The den.
A narrow space between the stairs and kitchen.
No door.
No privacy.
I stared at it.
Then I looked upstairs.
The bunk room had three bunk beds.
Six beds.
Six children.
But the youngest could have shared.
I called Mom.
“Where’s Emma sleeping?”
She appeared behind me.
“Down here.”
“No.”
“Rachel—”
“She is not sleeping in a hallway.”
“She likes staying up late.”
“She also likes having walls.”
Mom sighed.
“There isn’t another bed.”
I looked upstairs.
“There are six beds for six children.”
“Yes.”
“And seven grandchildren.”
Mom said nothing.
I walked into the bunk room.
There were three bunk beds.
Six mattresses.
One empty corner.
I stared at the space.
Then I looked at the room chart.
I understood.
This wasn’t accidental.
Someone had decided Emma didn’t need a place.
She could use the pullout.
She could help with the children.
She could sleep nearby.
She could sit out.
She could be the responsible one.
She could be the almost-adult.
Except nobody had asked her if she wanted to be.
I went downstairs.
Emma was standing near the window.
“Mom?”
“Pack your things.”
She looked confused.
“Where are we going?”
“To a hotel.”
Her eyes widened.
“What?”
“I’m not letting you sleep in a hallway.”
Mom came running.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Rachel, this is ridiculous.”
“No.”
I looked around the house.
“You rented this place for seven grandchildren, but somehow forgot to make room for one.”
Mom’s face changed.
For the first time, I saw something other than irritation.
I saw fear.
Not fear of losing the vacation.
Something else.
Before I could ask what it was, the front door opened.
Dad’s old friend, Mr. Harris, stepped onto the porch.
He was nearly seventy and had driven down separately.
He looked at Mom.
Then at me.
Then at Emma.
His eyes stopped on the six aqua bags.
He frowned.
“Diane.”
Mom stiffened.
“What?”
“Where’s the seventh?”
Nobody answered.
Mr. Harris looked at Emma.
Then back at Mom.
He shook his head slowly.
“You’re still doing this?”
My mother’s face went completely pale.
I looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
He seemed to realize he had said too much.
“Nothing.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“What does that mean?”
Mom whispered, “Harris, please.”
He looked at Emma.
Then at me.
Finally, he said something that changed everything.
“Your mother promised your father she would never let Emma feel what he felt.”
I stared at him.
“My father?”
Mr. Harris nodded.
“Before he died.”
Emma came closer.
“Mom?”
I looked at Mom.
“What is he talking about?”
Mom’s eyes filled with tears.
But she still didn’t answer.
Mr. Harris did.
“Your father had another child.”
The room went silent.
Emma stopped breathing for a second.
I felt the floor shift beneath me.
“What?”
Mom whispered, “Harris.”
But he continued.
“Your father had a daughter before you were born.”
I looked at my mother.
“No.”
She closed her eyes.
I shook my head.
“No. Dad had no other children.”
Mom opened her eyes.
“He did.”
“Where is she?”
Mom looked toward the ocean.
And then she said the name I had never heard before.
“Rebecca.”
Emma whispered, “Who is Rebecca?”
Mom looked at her.
And for the first time that day, she didn’t call her honey.
She didn’t tell her she was old enough to understand.
She simply cried.
“Your aunt.”
My daughter looked at me.
I couldn’t speak.
Then Mr. Harris added quietly:
“And that’s why your mother has spent fourteen years treating Emma differently.”
I looked at Mom.
“Why?”
She wiped her face.
“Because your father left Rebecca behind.”
I felt anger rise in my chest.
“That has nothing to do with Emma.”
Mom shook her head.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it.”
She looked at Emma.
Then at me.
And finally said:
“I was afraid your father would do the same thing to her.”
I stared at her.
“What are you talking about?”
Mom’s voice broke.
“Because Emma isn’t the only child in this family who was left behind.”
She walked to the kitchen counter.
She opened a drawer.
From underneath a stack of napkins, she pulled out a small envelope.
There was a name written across it.
Rebecca Cole.
And beneath it, in my father’s handwriting:
For the day Rachel finally asks why.
CONTINUE READ NEXT PART… 👇
