CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

The family was gathered in the living room of Clare's house when Tillie returned. It was only Clare, Levi, Sage, Paula, and all the animals, scattered around the room. A fire burned on the hearth.

Clare held out her hand. "Will you sit with us, Tillie?"

She felt Liam look at her, and she gave him a slight nod, then joined Clare and Sage on the sofa. Clare sat in the middle, Sage on the other side, their hands clasped together. When Tillie sat down, Clare continued to hold her palm up, and Tillie hesitated, then gave in. Clare had long white fingers and neatly shaped oval nails. They were Sage's hands, and Tillie's. That was a thing she'd never had before, seeing her traits in the body of another person. She felt both resistance and comfort in that recognition as the two long-divided parts of herself began to come together. A little wail somewhere deep cried her other mother's name, and yet, she saw something in this mother's eyes that felt real and true. Recognizable.

It had been such a long, long, strange day, after a long, long, strange week. She was tired to her bones, and had a great many things to think about, but she didn't feel off-center, or lost, or any of the things that had undermined her. The memories that had returned were only tatters and bits, but they were like rocks, mooring her to this place, these people.

Clare held the hands of both of her daughters. "I know you must be very, very tired, Tillie," she said. "I promise not to keep you long before we feed you and send you to sleep, but I have a little story to tell you, if you can bear it."

Tillie nodded. For the first time, she let herself really look at Clare, at the sharp nose and dark hair. At her temple, the skin was thin enough to show the veins beneath.

"The Evelys have been a part of this village for centuries," Clare said. "Some say since before William the Conqueror, though I have my doubts it has been that long. We've been farmers for the most part, ordinary village folk, and happy to be so. We were not complete here in this generation without you, and I just want to welcome you back into our fold. Maybe it will never feel quite like home, but I hope it will feel like a home. We want you, and we are glad you're found."

An opening creaked through Tillie's soul, and she saw how Clare had been in her paintings, over and over, through the years: an owl, a coyote, a bobcat. Her throat ached with the possibility, suddenly untenable, that she might never have realized that simple truth.

"We don't expect you to love us right away, or come to terms with everything, but we are here for you. Take as long as you need."

A tear spilled over her cheek, and Sage said, "Mum sandwich?"

And Tillie knew what that meant. She leaned in and let her sister and her mother embrace her. She smelled home in Clare's shoulder, and her sister's hand touched her head, and although she had so many, many, many things to think through, she felt moored, too. "Thank you," she whispered.

The moment ended, and they got up and went to the table, where a spread of fresh food and pie and big goblets of cider waited. Liam sat next to her, and Sage on the other, and they feasted.

And later, Liam curled with her in his bed and said, "I think I have to finish the European leg of the tour."

"I think you do," she said, brushing a finger over his knuckles. Light shone in through the window, illuminating his bright hair.

"And you have to finish your show."

"Yes."

"I hate the idea of not sleeping with you every night."

"Me, too," she said. "But I think if the universe or whatever worked this hard to get us together, we can probably trust that it's going to be okay."

"What would you think of coming here to live when we get through this round of stuff?"

Tillie paused, testing it.

He brushed his hand through her hair. "It is fast. I understand if you're not ready."

She made a soft noise. "But I am. It feels like so much has been lost that it would be almost criminal not to see where this goes."

He kissed her, visibly moved. "Yes."

They wove their hands together, and Tillie rested there, in the space he made for her. Time spun out ahead to a thousand moments like this, resting together as the world turned around without them, and she took a long, easy breath.

"You're going to be an auntie."

"I am!" Tears filled her eyes. "I was so alone as a child, Liam. I know you can barely imagine, being one of six, but it was always just my mother and me, away from town. I made up siblings and cousins and a father who was away on a journey."

"A journey?" he echoed with a smile.

"Well, I didn't want him to be at war or anything."

He nodded. "Now you have a giant family. And more to come. There're a lot of us on my side, too."

She hadn't even thought of this. The swell of longing rose so high and hard that she had to bury her face in his chest. Liam gently stroked her hair. Kissed her part.

When she had settled again, he asked gently, "Do you think you might want to be a parent eventually?"

"Not too eventually," she said. "I'm not exactly a spring chicken."

"Oh." He sighed, curling closer. "That's fine with me. The sooner the better." He kissed her shoulder. The tip of her ear.

Tillie closed her eyes, suddenly wishing again she could tell her mother—who would always be her mother, no matter what else transpired—about all this, about Liam and finding her sister and Clare. She wasn't mad at her, at least not right now. That would likely come as her memory filled in and she had more time to process.

But Arlette had been a broken, mentally ill woman, who'd stolen her, yes, but had also given her a good childhood and a strong foundation.

"I'm thinking so much of my mom," Tillie whispered. "I wish you could have known her. She wasn't a bad person. She really, really loved me."

"I believe that."

"I still miss her so much." Grief, never far away, circled back and filled her. "I wish I could tell her about all of this. About Sage and Clare. And you."

"I feel so sorry for her," Liam said. "Losing her daughter."

"Yeah." Tillie stared into the dark. "I wonder how she did it, got me back to the US."

"I think that's why your name is the same as the child who died."

"Oh!" The puzzle fell into place. "Of course." She frowned. "I wonder when my real birthday is."

"Will you want to change it?"

She thought about it. "Maybe I'll have two birthdays."

"Grand solution." His voice sounded slower. He'd had a few hard days, too. She should let him sleep. Turning into the fragrance of his chest, she closed her eyes. "Good night."

He kissed her head. "Good night."