Page 86 of Speechless

“What do you mean, dear?”

“When he asked why you never had a child of your own. What did you say?”

“I told him he was my own. And then I told him he was such a piece of work that after him I couldn’t even think of having another.”

* * *

We found lightertopics of discussion on the journey back to Bedford. But when we got off the last train, I thanked her for sharing her story. Then I asked her if she would be interested in adopting me.

“I think Henry may have some objections to that, sweetheart. But you’re welcome here any time, no matter what happens with you two.”

“Do you ever think about throwing her in the Thames? Henry’s birth mom?”

“Oh, I’ve thought of many worse ways of ending that woman. But no, most of the time when I think of her, and I do think of her often, I remember what joy Henry has given me, and I wonder if maybe things all worked out the way they should. Maybe she has a family of her own and they’re all perfectly happy, never dwelling on her past mistakes.”

I’m so impressed with Mary’s attitude; she’s such an amazing mother. And I think—yes, she is absolutely a mother.

Why have I kept doubting that I could be one?

“Although, sometimes, when I’m watching the news and I see some horrid event, a stabbing, shooting, you know. I do secretly hope it’s her. I’m only human.”

When we get to her street, she tells me she’s going to a neighbor’s to spend the evening.

“I think you two could use some privacy. Thin walls, you know.” She taps her pointer finger to her nose. “I will probably stay the night with Jeanette. She’s a bit of a lush, tends to rub off on me when we visit. Good luck, dear.”

And now I’m on the front step of his house, trying to figure out what I want to do, to say, when I see him.

Don’t choose to be unhappy.

I open the door before a single decision is made.

40

Henry

I walkedthe entire town this morning. And then I did another lap.

A girls’ day. Agirls’day? Mum wouldn’t say anything else, but she seemed determined as all hell. She was claiming Lucy today with or without my acquiescence. I’m glad they seem to get on so well; it’s what I was hoping for. I’m just not sure if it even matters anymore.

I’m still trying to figure out what happened last night. It felt like an ending. An ending I refuse to accept. I keep running through our conversation, trying to pinpoint the exact moment I could have changed its course. I should have said . . . more.

Never in my life have I talked willingly about my early childhood, about my own complications with the wordfamily. My upbringing was unconventional to say the least. I’ve seen therapists, have been told how unhealthy it is to keep these things locked away; but truthfully, I feel best when I imagine that my life began here, with the Turners. Is it so wrong to choose my own story? To choose my own happiness?

But Lucy let me in, shared her most painful truth with me. Why couldn’t I do the same? I’m a fucking coward, that’s why. Of course I don’t deserve her if I can’t be as honest with her as she is with me.

I decide right now I am going to tell her every last detail. I cannot just give up without knowing I tried everything I could to keep her. Maybe it won’t make a bit of difference, but maybe itwill. Maybe she’ll realize she’s wrong about me, about what’s most important to me, about what I want from her. Because all I really want is to have her by my side, to find new ways to make her smile every moment that I can.

I make my way back home, back to the piano, the one place I can distract myself from everything pulsating in my head. I think it’s time I finally finish the piece I’ve been working on for the last two months.

I’m ready.

41

Lucy

When I walk inside,Henry is sitting on the couch, elbows resting on his knees with his head cradled in his hands. His red-rimmed eyes find mine when his head pops up. It looks like he hasn’t slept, and I feel a flood of guilt for all the ways I’ve caused him pain.

I’m not sure how I didn’t notice it yesterday, but there’s a quote framed on the wall behind him next to the piano, the same one he has in Malibu by Stevie Wonder:Music is a world within itself, with a language we all understand. I don’t think I ever realized the significance before, why his music is such a huge part of him. My throat tightens with emotion.

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