Page 28 of The Wrong Reciprocation

Twyla jerked out of Arturo's arms at the sound of her aunt's yell. Mable rounded the island and grabbed Twyla's hand in her arm. Her grip was firm, sure.

"I'm so sorry, niece. It never occurred to me that you didn't know."

"Mable—"

"Know what, Auntie?"

Ignoring the warning in Linda's tone, Mable nodded at Arturo. "Him and your bull-headed mama are not related."

Twyla's gasped. "What?!"

"Mmhm."

"But…how?"

"Linda has a different daddy than the rest of us and he has a different mama. They are each our half sibling, but they have no relation to each other. I had no idea that your mama hadn't told you this."

Twyla glanced at Arturo, expecting to see him look as shocked as she was, but he simply nodded.

"You knew?" She asked accusingly.

He shook his head. "Not until just ten minutes ago. Nelson just told me and I hopped out of the pool to find you and let you know."

Her mind was whirring. All of the time that she'd spent worrying and stressed, it was all for nothing. The heartache, the tears, the damn trip to the candy shop—all for nothing. Looking over her aunt's shoulder, Twyla found her mama standing there glassy-eyed with a hand over her mouth.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

The other woman shook her head. "I didn't know—I didn't think it mattered."

"How could the truth not matter, Mama?"

"It matters because you've painted Poppy as some adulterous heartbreaker who took Gran for granted and broke her heart. Knowing that she cheated and had a baby on him first is important context." Silent tears tracked down Linda's cheeks but Twyla was unmoved. "It's also important because it changes the narrative from my aunts and uncles choosing not to support their daddy, to them collectively washing their hands of both of their trash-ass parents. It explains why they don't fool with you too much either. You made Arturo feel like he had nobody when you had the same amount of connection to the family as he did. That matters!"

By this time, several other members of the family had entered the great room and were watching the drama unfold.

"Did Gran tell you that you were somehow better than him? How did she spin it? What did she say to you that made you think that this was okay?" Her voice cracked and Arturo gently pulled her hands from Mable's grasp and tugged her to him, pulled her into his chest. She pressed her face against the damp fabric and sobbed.

Without releasing her, he led her out of the crowded area and down the hall where their bedrooms were.

13

RECKONING

"This is all my fault," she cried, throwing herself down the bed and rolling over to face the wall, giving her back to her problems.

"Not—" Arturo paused for a moment, and when he spoke again his words were measured, as if he were holding a teaspoon steady and concentrating as he poured each one out onto the tiny surface.

"Not everything is your fault. There were things that happened before your birth that you couldn't control. Not even if you had wanted to."

"That's not what I'm talking about!" Twyla jerked upright and twisted toward Arturo. He stood near the bed but just out of reach. If she wanted to touch him, she would have to get off the bed and walk over to him. She waved a hand between them. "I'm talking about this. Whatever this is between us now. Everything we've been doing."

He looked pained. "That part is my fault. You didn't do anything—I came to you."

Bringing one hand to her hip and the other to her forehead, she blew a breath out through her nose. "Well, I didn't stop you."

He huffed. "I couldn't even stop myself." The shame in his voice pulled her gaze from the ceiling to his face. She hated that sound. She hated this.

"I know, but it's—" Pressing her lips together, she stopped talking. That wasn't what she'd meant to say. Not like that. And because her eyes were on his face, she saw the way he cocked his head to the side and furrowed his eyebrows as she spoke. Immediately, she realized how it sounded and began to scramble, trying to think of a way to make it not sound like what the fuck it was. She brought her fingers to her lips, willing them to say something. Her brain was empty, the words that could be strung together to make herself sound less terrible having escaped without a trace.