Chương 3
“You used my portfolio.”
Caroline nodded once.
It was barely a movement.
“Which pieces?”
She looked down at the tablecloth.
“The senior housing project.”
My stomach dropped.
“That was my capstone.”
“I know.”
“What else?”
“The restaurant concept.”
I waited.
“And the pediatric clinic.”
A dry laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
Three projects.
Not sketches she had borrowed or photographs she had misunderstood.
Three projects that had taken me most of senior year, hundreds of hours, and enough foam board, printer ink, and caffeine to make my tiny college apartment smell permanently like spray adhesive and burnt coffee.
“You submitted all three under your name?”
“I changed some things.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“Yes.”
My father rubbed both hands over his face.
“Jesus Christ, Caroline.”
She flinched.
My mother spoke quickly.
“She was nineteen.”
“She was twenty.”
“Fine, twenty.”
My mother’s voice sharpened.
“She was young, she panicked, and she made a mistake.”
Daniel finally spoke.
“That wasn’t the problem we were investigating.”
Everyone looked at him.
He adjusted his glasses and turned to Caroline.
“When our recruiter contacted your university, the faculty member she reached recognized Claire’s work immediately.”
Caroline’s chin trembled.
Daniel continued.
“We had already offered Claire the internship by then.”
My mother stepped closer to the table.
“And you were going to destroy Caroline’s future over a stupid application.”
“No.”
Daniel’s tone stayed even.
“We were going to inform the university and document the incident.”
“That could have gotten her expelled.”
“Yes.”
My mother stared at him.
The honesty of that single word seemed to offend her.
My father looked from Daniel to my mother.
“So you called them.”
“I called to explain.”
“You said you didn’t call.”
“I didn’t call pretending to be Claire.”
Her answer came too fast.
Something shifted in the room.
My father heard it.
So did I.
Caroline shut her eyes.
Aaron’s hand moved off the back of my chair.
He did not touch me.
He knew better when I got that still.
“Who did?” I asked.
My mother glanced at Caroline.
That was enough.
I looked at my sister.
She shook her head immediately.
“No.”
“Caroline.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Then why is she looking at you?”
“Because she always looks at me when something goes wrong.”
My mother said her name through clenched teeth.
Caroline pushed her chair backward.
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“That thing where you say my name like I’m twelve and about to embarrass you at church.”
My aunt Denise made a small sound into her hand.
My mother ignored her.
“This has gone far enough.”
“It went far enough nine years ago.”
Caroline’s voice rose.
“I told you we should tell her.”
My mother’s face changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
My father saw it too.
“You knew?” he asked Caroline.
Caroline wiped under one eye with her finger.
“Not at first.”
My throat felt tight.
“When?”
She looked at me.
“After Mom made the letter.”
The room blurred at the edges for a second.
I gripped the side of my chair.
There it was.
No more supposedly.
No more formatting differences.
No more signature analysis.
My mother had made it.
I turned to her.
She looked suddenly older than she had an hour earlier.
Not frail.
Not defeated.
Just stripped of the certainty she usually wore like expensive perfume.
“You forged the letter.”
She folded her arms.
“I created something that prevented a worse situation.”
My father stared at her.
“A worse situation for who?”
“You don’t understand what was happening.”
“Then explain it.”
“I was trying to protect both girls.”
The sentence landed with such familiar authority that for a second I was twenty-two again, sitting on my bed while she decided which version of my future I could handle.
I stood.
My knees felt unsteady, but standing made it easier to breathe.
“How did ruining my internship protect me?”
My mother looked at me with genuine frustration.
“Because if you had gone there, they would have questioned you.”
“About Caroline.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And you would have told the truth.”
I stared at her.
She seemed not to hear what she had just said.
Daniel did.
His mouth tightened.
My father whispered, “Evelyn.”
She waved him off.
“You would have told them those projects were yours, and then the university would have opened a disciplinary case, and Caroline could have lost her scholarship.”
Caroline laughed once, bitterly.
“You mean your scholarship story.”
My mother swung toward her.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I wasn’t going to lose it.”
“You didn’t know that.”
“Yes, I did.”
Caroline looked at me again.
“The school had already called me.”
My father lowered his hands.
“When?”
“The day before Mom gave Claire the letter.”
I could hear the hum of the ballroom’s air conditioning.
Somewhere behind us, a fork fell and clattered against a plate.
“What did they say?” I asked.
Caroline pulled in a breath.
“They said the department chair wanted to meet with me.”
“And?”
“I met with him.”
My mother went still.
That seemed to be new information even to her.
Caroline nodded toward her.
“I never told you because I knew what you’d do.”
“What happened in the meeting?” I asked.
“He knew the work wasn’t mine.”
Her voice had gone flat.
“I admitted it.”
My mother’s lips parted.
Caroline kept going.
“He told me I was being removed from consideration for a summer placement through the department and that the incident would be documented internally.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“They didn’t expel you?”
“No.”
“Academic probation?”
“No.”
My mother stared at Caroline.
“You told me they were threatening to expel you.”
“I said they could.”
“You said they would.”
“I was scared.”
My mother’s voice dropped.
“So I did all of that because you lied to me.”
Caroline recoiled.
I almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
Then she looked at me, and nine years stood between us.
May you like
“You still let her do it,” I said.
Tears finally spilled down her face.
