Vivian’s older sister, Linda, was 24 and recently married.
She agreed to raise me.
“You mean the woman I called Mom was actually my aunt?” I asked.
Mia nodded.
“Vivian wrote everything down.”
Linda and her husband became my legal parents. Vivian was presented to me as my eccentric young aunt who lived by the coast and sent unusual birthday presents.
Suddenly, dozens of childhood memories changed meaning.
Vivian attending every school play.
Vivian teaching me to swim.
Vivian crying at my wedding.
Vivian calling every Sunday but sometimes hanging up after hearing my voice.
I had mistaken a mother’s restrained love for an aunt’s devotion.
“Why didn’t she ever tell me?” I asked.
“She tried,” Mia said.
“When?”
“After Linda died.”
My mother—or the woman I believed was my mother—died nine years earlier.
Vivian had visited us after the funeral. She stayed for three days but behaved strangely around Eric.
