The Good Twin(71)

“We’re even now,” I said to her once we were free from the prison property.

“I suppose so,” she answered, a sad look on her face, before she turned and walked away from me.

Being even didn’t mean we could ever become sisters. Too much had transpired. She returned to her townhouse, to her life of wealth. I knew I couldn’t go back to The Dump.

I called the person who’d been a substitute father for me since I’d met him—Brian. He brought me back to his apartment and installed me in the guest room. I told him and Stan the whole story, including my ignoble part in it. To their credit, they didn’t pass judgment on me. I’d already passed enough on myself.

I felt protected living with Brian and Stan. Each evening, Stan and I would concoct something special for dinner, and Brian would ooh and aah over how delicious it was. Their kitchen wasn’t as grand as Charly’s, but it had room enough for two cooks and was stocked with everything a chef would need.

After a few weeks, I began searching the newspaper ads for waitress jobs and a place to live. When Brian caught me doing that, he pulled the paper from my hands.

“Mallory, you could stay here forever, as far as we’re concerned,” he said. “But from everything you’ve told me, your heart is someplace else.”

He was talking about Jake, and he was right. But I couldn’t imagine ever explaining to Jake what I had agreed to with Ben, what I had done in furtherance of that agreement, what I had done both to, and for, my sister. Night after night, Brian and Stan tried to cajole me into calling him. Night after night, I refused.

And so, they called him on their own. I answered the doorbell one day, and there he was, a bouquet of flowers in his hands. I rushed into his arms, and he held me tight. We took a long walk, and I told him about my pact with Ben, and what had happened since I’d left High Falls. I even told him the truth about who had really shot me, something I’d withheld from Brian and Stan. When I finished, he held me again.

“I can’t imagine what your life had been like growing up. But I know you’re a good person. And you proved that by going to the police. And I know you have a good heart, because you cleared your sister.”

I was so relieved, all I could do was cry.

“Come back to High Falls with me,” Jake said.

Through my tears, I answered, “Yes.”





EPILOGUE

September 2018

I moved in with Jake the day he brought me back to High Falls, and we’ve been together since. It took me a while to tell the rest of his family what I had done, but they, too, welcomed me into their lives.

I became immersed in the extensive art community in Ulster County and have been learning from my fellow artists. Katy Patel, the first artist I’d met when I’d lived in Ben’s parents’ house, offered me space in her shop to hang some of my paintings. Three of them have sold, and I guess that now makes me a professional artist.

Jake introduced me to his friends still living in the Hudson Valley, and they’ve become my friends, too. Of course, they don’t know about my past. Still, I’d grown up as an outsider, and now, for the first time, I feel like part of a group.

One of the gardens Jake designed was written up in Architectural Digest, and they named him one of the top ten landscape architects in the tristate area. Since then, he’s been busier than ever. Now, it wasn’t just clients south to Westchester County and east to Putnam County that tried to commission his services—he fielded calls from Connecticut and New Jersey as well. He’s had to expand his staff for the eight busy months from March through October. It sometimes takes him away from home for days at a time, but that’s okay with me. I’m busy myself.



Today is my birthday, and Jake and I headed to Manhattan to celebrate it with Charly. Although I was the one who should never have forgiven my twin—after all, she’d chosen revenge over me and shot me in the process—it was Charly who had trouble letting go of her anger at me for leaving her in jail for seven months. It hadn’t seemed to matter to her that she belonged in jail for killing her husband and was only free because I’d lied for her. For months she wouldn’t talk to me or answer my e-mails. Then, a few months ago, Charly contacted me. At her grandfather’s insistence, she’d been seeing a therapist three times a week. She asked to see me, and I’d jumped into my car and headed to Manhattan.

As soon as she’d seen me, she’d drawn me into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Mallory. I’ve been horrible to you, and you don’t deserve it.” We’d spent the afternoon together, talking and laughing like I always thought sisters would. Since then, we speak almost daily.

I wondered sometimes whether Charly had planned to kill Ben from the moment I’d told her about his scheme, or she’d just snapped, as Poppy had said. Whether she’d taken the gun to commit murder, or for protection from Ben. I didn’t know the answer, and it didn’t matter to me.

The what-ifs kept swirling around my head so long that I finally had to force myself to stop. I decided I can’t go back, only forward.

I’ve chosen not to condemn Charly, because to do so, I’d have to condemn myself as well. Although I deserve condemnation, Jake’s acceptance has helped me forgive myself.



Charly sold her townhouse—it held too many bad memories for her. Instead, she moved into her father’s apartment. I’ve let my hair return to its natural color, and it’s back to its original shoulder length, so it wasn’t confusing to Carlos, the doorman, when we all walked in, laden with bags. Charly was waiting at the door for us, and as soon as the elevator opened, she ran and grabbed Susan from my arms. My beautiful daughter, named after our mother, six months old now, was all pudgy legs and arms and constant smiles.