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He’d like to see her make more friends.
He’d like to see her talking more at school, would love to give her more opportunities across the board, and he wants to know if I’ve thought about music or art lessons, because sometimes they help kids who are dealing with grief.
I guess that means she told him about Dad.
What else does she tell him when she goes to sit in the safe space he made for her?
What does she tell Caroline on their long afternoons together?
Obviously a fuck of a lot more than she tells me.
Caroline faces me. “West.”
“I’m going to quit at the factory,” I say.
“You don’t have to. I can pick her up every day. I don’t have any classes that late.”
“I need to be around.”
She reaches out with a fingertip and hooks my sleeve. I watch her rub the cloth between her thumb and her finger like she wants to touch me but she can’t get close enough to do it.
“You should go,” I say. Never have I felt less like I deserved her loyalty.
She takes my hand.
I let her.
“Last year,” I say.
“What about last year?”
“I was pretending.”
“Which part?”
“The part where I had a life outside of taking care of Frankie.”
“But you did have a life here. It wasn’t imaginary.”
“Look what came from that, though.”
“You didn’t cause it. You didn’t make your mom get back with your dad, you didn’t kill him, you didn’t make it so Frankie had to see it.”
“She told you she saw it?” The knowledge sweeps through me, leaving me cold.
Of course she did.
My mother lied. My sister witnessed a murder.
She told Caroline, but she didn’t tell me.
“I’m sorry,” Caroline says. “I wasn’t sure if I should say anything, or when, or how to tell you—”
“I knew,” I interrupt. Because I did. I didn’t want to know, but I knew.
I think of Dr. Tomlinson then. Of terrible secrets that are never secrets. Not really.
“I’m supposed to keep her safe,” I say.
