Chapter 2

Caprice POV

“Tomorrow,” Elena said, one hand on the car door. “You promised. Everything.”

“Everything,” I said. “Go to bed.”

“Text me when you're inside.”

“It's a block and a half.”

“Text me anyway. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

“Rule number one,” she said. “Remember?”

“I remember.”

She shut the door. I watched her go inside, then drove to my house and parked the old Jetta on the street. I sat there until my hands stopped shaking. Hypnosis. Glowing eyes. None of it made sense.

Inside, Antonio and Max were playing Xbox in the living room.

“Hey,” I said.

“Mm-hm,” Antonio said, not looking up.

“Die, Max, die!” Max yelled at the screen.

Nobody noticed me. Fine.

Vanessa was in the kitchen loading the dishwasher. “Hey, sweetie. How was the beach?” She kissed my cheek.

“Okay.” I'd told her we were staying out late with friends. I hadn't mentioned a frat party. Or the beer.

“Just okay?”

“Yeah. I have a headache, actually.”

“Poor thing. Go lie down.” She stopped. “Wait. You got a letter.”

“A letter?”

“Handwritten.” She handed me an envelope. “Look at that writing. It's beautiful.”

It was. The cursive looked like something out of a museum. “Probably more college stuff,” I said.

“On a Saturday?” Vanessa raised an eyebrow. “Open it.”

“Later.”

“Caprice.”

“Later, Vanessa. I promise.”

“Is it from a boy?”

“No!”

“A girl?”

“Vanessa!”

“Fine. But I'm nosy, and I want to know.”

I took it upstairs and stopped in my doorway, like I always did. Two years in this house and the room still didn't feel mine. Vanessa had bought the emerald comforter just for me, and let me hang band posters. But other foster kids had slept here before me, and another would sleep here after. In six weeks I'd be in the dorms at UMBC.

At least Elena was coming too. We'd have each other's backs.

I leaned against the door and tore the envelope open.

Dear Caprice,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and happiness. My name is Isabella Sorrentino, and I am your grandmother, your birth father's mother. I have been searching for years to find you, and I am so glad that I finally have.

I would love to meet you. Travel does not agree with me at my age. I live in Oregon, and I would like to buy you a plane ticket so that you may visit me this summer.

My phone number is at the bottom. Please call me and I will arrange everything. I look forward to telling you about your family.

All my blessings, Isabella

I crouched down so I wouldn't fall over. A grandmother. Blood family.

“Oh my God,” I whispered. Tears slid down my face and I let them. I'd dreamed about this letter for years, back when I was little and still hoped. It never came. Until now.

I read it again. And again. What if she had the wrong Caprice Sorrentino? It was never smart to hope too hard.

It was almost midnight in Baltimore, which meant almost nine in Oregon. I picked up my phone and dialed.

It rang four times. I chewed the inside of my cheek.

“Good evening, this is Isabella.”

Her voice was deep and warm, almost a purr. She sounded too young to be anyone's grandmother.

“Hello, Isabella,” I said. “It's Caprice. I got your letter.”

“Caprice.” She let out a breath. “Oh, my dear. I was afraid to hope you'd call.”

“I read it three times. I wasn't sure it was real.”

“It is very real. Are you well? Are they treating you kindly where you live?”

“They're good people. Really good. Antonio and Vanessa. I'm lucky.”

“I'm glad. I have wondered about you every day.”

“You have?”

“Every day, since I learned you existed.” Her voice shook. “Would you come and see me?”

“Why did it take so long? To find me?”

“That is a long story, and not one for a telephone.” She paused. “I promise to tell you all of it when you're here.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It is not ominous. It is only honest.” She laughed softly. “Tell me something about yourself. Anything.”

“I read a lot. Classics, mostly. I'm trying to get through all of them.”

“Which one is your favorite?”

“Jane Eyre. She never lets anybody tell her who she is.”

“Ah. Then you and I will get along very well.” Her voice warmed. “August, perhaps? I'll buy the ticket.”

“I'd have to ask my foster parents first.”

“Of course you do. That is exactly right. Ask them tomorrow. The sooner I can book the flight, the better.”

“Okay.”

“And Caprice?”

“Yes?”

“I'm so happy you called.”

We talked for two hours. She asked about school, music and books. I told her about Elena. By the time we hung up, my stomach felt light and bubbly, like it wanted to float away. In one night my whole life had changed.

Don't get too excited, I told myself. One day at a time.

*********

“A grandma?” Max said at breakfast, mouth full of cereal. “Like a real one? She just showed up?”

“She wrote me a letter.”

“So sometimes families do look for their kids.”

He said it so quietly that I looked up. His dad was in jail and his mom was an addict. I didn't want to give him too much hope.

“Sometimes,” I said, and smiled.

Vanessa squeezed my hand. “You're eighteen, but you're still under our protection. Before you make any plans, I want to know if this woman is who she says she is.”

“That's fair.”

“I'll call in a favor,” Antonio said. He was a lawyer in the District Attorney's office, and he sounded like one. “If she's really your grandmother, we decide what to do next. Together.”

Together. Two years ago I'd have said I had it all under control. I'd have bought my own ticket and left without telling anyone. But these two had taught me I didn't have to carry everything alone.

“Okay,” I said. “Together.”

“Good girl.”

“I'm eighteen, Antonio.”

“Good eighteen-year-old woman.”

Max snorted milk out of his nose.

Later, after Antonio left, Vanessa sat down beside me on the couch.

“You're quiet,” she said.

“I'm thinking.”

“About?”

“What if she's wonderful and I mess it up? Or what if she's not, and I wasted my hope on nothing?”

“Those are the same fears.”

“How?”

“They both mean you're scared of getting hurt.” She tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Sweetheart. You're allowed to want this.”

“I don't know how to want things. It never ends well.”

“Then we'll practice.”

“Vanessa.”

“I mean it. And you can always come home.” She kissed my forehead. “This is your home too.”

I couldn't answer. My throat hurts too much.

“Now go to Elena's,” she said. “Before I make you cry on my good couch.”