A Lily in the Light(77)
“I know what you mean,” he said. His blue eyes stared into hers. Fatigue etched around them. He might be the only person who actually did.
He lifted a stray shirt from the floor and folded it. Together they packed the last of her things until all that was left were the two of them and her suitcase. This room would be someone else’s soon. She wondered if Lily would think of the past eight years that way, a place that was and wasn’t hers, a bizarre memory she could tuck away after she figured out where she belonged. Esme leaned the suitcase against the wall. She was ready to find out. She hoped her sister was too.
PART THREE
TODAY
Chapter Twenty
The living room furniture was still the same. The sewing machine was still in the corner, the mannequin beside it. There was a layer of dust over the TV and different shoes by the door, but the bin with Lily’s toys was still under the window. Even after everyone else had moved out, the bin had stayed. A Bargain for Frances peeked out from the top. Everyone was here now, except Lily. The police had sent Detective Molina and a social worker, Nancy, to discuss what they’d found and what came next. They were both female, young with kind faces, and Esme was glad. That would make Lily feel safer.
The basement Lily had lived in had a bathroom, a small refrigerator, and a TV without cable. There were lots of videotapes—family videos with the real Elizabeth and Disney movies in thick plastic cases. There were shelves full of books and a neatly made bed. The floor was covered in rubber play mats with roads where a child could drive toy cars and trucks. It would have looked like any other playroom if there hadn’t been a padlock on the door. Only Gloria Santos could lock or unlock it. They’d found the key on her person.
Gloria Santos had been a nurse. She’d worked four days a week at NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital in the trauma ward. Her colleagues said she was quick on her toes and even tempered no matter what came through the door. The administration had had concerns about her ability to work in trauma after her family’s accident, but she’d begged to stay. If her family had come to her ER, she’d said, they would’ve had a better chance. “Let me do that for someone else’s family,” she’d told them. “It’s all I have left.”
The police believed Gloria Santos had suffered a heart attack and couldn’t reach the phone. Esme smiled sadly at the irony: after all the pain she’d experienced and caused others, her heart had quit.
Lily didn’t remember the night she’d been taken. There was no one to ask now and no one to punish. They’d have to live with the unknown, the injustice of it, but that was nothing new. It paled in comparison to the work they’d start with Lily soon, and Esme was almost relieved there wouldn’t be a long, drawn-out trial, that Gloria Santos wasn’t alive with a parole date looming. She could never contact Lily again. It was over.
Gloria Santos was not cruel, Detective Molina and Nancy explained. She was mentally ill. Lily replaced the child she had lost. There was no indication of physical abuse.
“But you have to remember”—Nancy paused—“Lily thought Gloria Santos was her mother for eight years. She thought she was Elizabeth Santos. When we found her, she was very upset. She knew something had happened to Gloria, but she couldn’t do anything to help.
“And she also knew,” Nancy said slowly, “that she wasn’t supposed to leave the house. She alluded to ‘consequences’ and was very upset at the idea of it, but we haven’t established the extent of what that means yet.”
Esme’s father stiffened. He was holding Cerise’s hand, moving his thumb in small circles, but it stopped now. Esme couldn’t remember the last time they’d held hands without Cerise pushing him away. It didn’t have the ease it once had, but it was a start. Cerise rested her chin on her hand. She’d waited eight years for today, and now she was crying softly for Lily, still here but different from the person she would’ve been if she hadn’t been taken. Esme watched her parents carefully to see what they felt. Their emotions seemed more nameable than the things she was feeling.
“We do believe Gloria was sorry for what she’d done.” Detective Molina paused again. They were talking so slowly, Esme realized, giving her family time to process. “There were videotapes of ballets and newspaper articles.” She met Esme’s eye. “About you. We think she wanted Lily to have some connection to her family, even if Lily didn’t know who you were.”
The psychic’s words from long ago echoed. “She’ll know you,” she’d said. “She’ll know you without knowing you.” Hadn’t she always hoped Lily might be in the audience? Gloria Santos had gone to and from work, collecting newspaper articles and videotapes to feel better about what she’d done. It couldn’t have been too terrible, she must have decided, if Esme had done all right. Esme wanted to feel sorry for Gloria, who’d lost her family and snapped, but Gloria had known what the hole of losing someone was and had done it to them anyway. It made the whole thing worse somehow, unforgivable. She’d always hate her, Esme decided, but she’d never show it because Gloria had meant something to Lily. She wouldn’t let it come between them.
And Lily was here, all ten fingers and all ten toes. She hadn’t been physically abused. It would take a long time to unravel the psychological trauma, but at least they’d have the chance to do so. Lily was still here.