Chapter 23 - Anna Vale
Anna lived into her eighties.
She became part of our family slowly.
Not “Aunt Anna” at first.
Then yes.
June called her Aunt.
Lucy called Great-Aunt Anna.
She never married? Could be. Not relevant.
She kept Megan’s journals in climate box.
At eighty-one, she gave originals to June.
“No museum?”
June asked.
“Your choice.”
June eventually donated selected historical copies to legal archive connected to case, kept private journals.
No public true-crime exploitation.
Then Anna asked me:
“Do you ever feel guilty you got June?”
I hated.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Megan died and I got daughter.”
Anna shook head.
“You didn’t take her.”
“I benefited from crime.”
“You loved her.”
“Still.”
Then Anna said:
“For years I hated you.”
I stared.
“You?”
“Not rational.”
“Why?”
“You had Olivia.”
There.
Jealousy from opposite side.
Then:
“When I saw pictures of June happy, I hated being grateful.”
I understood.
We both had emotions that accused wrong people.
Then:
“Did you forgive me?”
“You didn't do anything.”
“Feelings don’t care.”
True.
Then June joined.
“What are old people confessing?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
She sat.
Anna told:
“I used to resent Ethan.”
June looked at me.
“You collect people who resent you.”
“Apparently.”
Then Anna died at eighty-four.
June was executor? Maybe Anna named June beneficiary. She had no children? Could be. Let's say Anna had one son? Avoid adding. She left Megan journals and a modest account to June, rest charity.
No dispute.
At funeral, June placed yellow flower.
Then Megan’s story had no living sister.
June became keeper.
Not obligation.
She scanned.
Then Lucy, adult, asked to read.
June said:
“When ready.”
No secret.
Then Grace.
We visited memorial garden less often.
At my eightieth birthday, June took me.
“Why here?”
“Because.”
She brought castle sketch copy.
I groaned.
“Everything circles cake with you.”
“Yes.”
We sat.
June said:
“If Grace lived, I wouldn't be you daughter.”
“Probably not.”
“Would you have adopted me?”
“Maybe if legal system found you.”
“Would Rebecca?”
“Yes.”
“You sound sure.”
“I knew her.”
Then:
“Would Blake have raised me?”
I looked.
“I don't know.”
She nodded.
No alternate-life certainty.
Then:
“Do you think Megan would like me?”
“Yes.”
“How know?”
“Anna.”
“Do you think Rebecca would like adult me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she loved child you.”
June smiled.
Then:
“Do you think Grace would like me?”
“I have no idea.”
She laughed.
Good.
Dead sister not idealized relationship.
Then she said:
“I used to think I stole her life.”
My chest tightened.
“Still?”
“No.”
“What changed?”
“I was six days old.”
Finally.
Then:
“I think they stole both our stories.”
“Yes.”
“And we fixed records.”
“Yes.”
“Not stories.”
No.
Stories cannot be restored exactly.
Only continued.
Then she leaned head on shoulder.
At eighty, my shoulder hurt.
I let.
The memorial garden was quiet.
No cameras.
No boardroom.
No yellow folder.
No one owed us explanation.
All perpetrators dead except Leonard Price? Probably also passed. No need.
All cases closed.
I realized there was no one left to punish.
May you like
Only people left to love.
That was harder and better.
