Chương 12
“I am saying we spoiled her.”
Ashley was crying harder now.
I almost told Grandma to stop.
The impulse embarrassed me.
Even after everything, hearing my little sister get dismantled in front of the family made my chest tighten.
Emily reached over and touched my wrist.
Not to stop me.
Just to remind me she was there.
Ashley sniffed.
“I hate all of you.”
Then the call ended.
Not disconnected by me.
Someone on their end had hung up.
The apartment became painfully quiet.
Rachel stared at the phone.
“Well.”
Emily sat back on the couch.
I expected relief.
Instead, she looked exhausted.
“I don’t feel better.”
“I don’t either.”
Rachel folded her arms.
“That’s probably normal.”
Emily glanced at her.
“You always say things like you’re legally required to be sensible.”
“I work in compliance.”
“That explains so much.”
Rachel smiled.
Then nobody spoke again.
I picked up the phone.
There was already a new message from Dad.
Give us the night.
I wrote back one word.
Okay.
Emily went to bed early.
Not because she was sleepy.
Because she said she did not want to hear another human voice.
Rachel took the armchair.
I sat at the kitchen table with the fake-story problem still circling in my head.
The messages mattered.
Even if Ashley had invented them badly, she had moved from minimizing what happened to manufacturing evidence.
That was different.
I searched the original video file Nathan had sent.
The metadata showed the creation time.
3:39 p.m.
I saved copies to two folders.
Then I stopped.
Rachel noticed.
“You done playing detective?”
“For tonight.”
“Good.”
I closed the laptop.
She rubbed one foot against the opposite ankle.
“Can I say something you’re not going to like?”
“Probably.”
“You’re trying to solve Ashley.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“You keep looking for the thing underneath it.”
“Jealousy.”
“Maybe.”
“Feeling replaced.”
“Maybe.”
“Mom protecting her.”
“Also maybe.”
Rachel leaned forward.
“But if you find the perfect explanation, then what?”
I looked at the dark laptop screen.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s my point.”
She lowered her voice because Emily was in the next room.
“Understanding why somebody hurts you does not automatically make the damage smaller.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I did not answer.
Rachel leaned back.
“You are very good at understanding people when it gives you a reason not to be angry with them.”
That annoyed me because it sounded true.
“I am angry.”
“You are.”
“Very.”
“You’re also already trying to write Ashley a psychological pardon.”
“I’m not.”
She gave me a look.
I stared at the table.
The wood veneer near one corner had peeled up and been glued badly.
I pressed it down with my thumbnail even though it immediately lifted again.
“I don’t want to lose my sister.”
Rachel’s face softened.
“That makes more sense.”
I swallowed.
“When she was little, she followed me everywhere.”
“I know.”
“She used to sit outside my room waiting for me to finish homework.”
“I know that too.”
“How?”
“Emily told me.”
That surprised me.
Rachel smiled slightly.
“She talks about the good stuff.”
I looked toward the bedroom.
“She does?”
“A lot more than you think.”
Something in my chest loosened and hurt at the same time.
Rachel stood.
“You can love Ashley and still let this cost her something.”
She picked up her water glass.
“Those ideas are not enemies.”
The next morning, Dad called at seven-twelve.
I answered from the balcony so Emily could sleep.
He sounded clearer than the night before.
“Your mother and I talked.”
I waited.
“She doesn’t believe the texts anymore.”
I leaned against the railing.
“Why not?”
“Ashley wouldn’t show us the actual thread.”
“Of course.”
“She said Emily deleted her copies.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I know.”
Dad sighed.
“We asked her to unlock her phone.”
“And?”
“She refused.”
Below me, someone unlocked the dental office.
A woman in blue scrubs carried a plastic container of muffins inside.
Dad continued.
“Then Nathan asked her to search Emily’s number.”
“What happened?”
“She lost it.”
“What does that mean?”
“She started screaming that nobody trusted her.”
I closed my eyes.
“So Mom finally sees it?”
“Some of it.”
Some.
The word bothered me more than it should have.
“What does Mom still think?”
“That Emily has never liked Ashley.”
“That isn’t the same as threatening her.”
“I know.”
“Does Mom?”
“Yes.”
Dad sounded irritated now.
“At least intellectually.”
I almost laughed.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“Saturday cannot become a trial about whether Emily likes Ashley enough.”
“I agree.”
“Good.”
“I also think you should talk to your sister.”
My jaw tightened.
“Not today.”
“She asked for you.”
“After lying about Emily.”
“Yes.”
“After fabricating messages.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m supposed to show up because she feels bad?”
“No.”
Dad’s voice sharpened.
“You should show up because she’s your sister and because she finally looks scared enough to hear something.”
That stopped me.
I looked through the balcony door.
Emily was still asleep on the pullout couch, one arm over her face.
“What does she want?”
“She won’t tell me.”
“Then she can text.”
“She says she won’t.”
“That sounds like a her problem.”
Dad was silent.
I heard myself.
The sentence was crueler than I intended.
I rubbed my forehead.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to me.”
“I’m not going over there while Emily’s asleep and doesn’t know.”
“Fine.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“Today?”
“I said I’ll talk to her.”
Dad accepted that.
Before hanging up, he said, “Your mother canceled the family dinner tonight.”
“What family dinner?”
There was a pause.
“The one she planned.”
I stared at the phone.
“She never told me about a dinner.”
“I know.”
“What was it supposed to be?”
“Everyone who’s in town.”
“For the wedding?”
“Yes.”
“And she canceled it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Dad hesitated.
“Because half the family said they weren’t coming.”
I straightened.
“Because of Ashley?”
“Because they don’t know what to say to Emily.”
That was worse.
Not anger.
Avoidance.
May you like
Dad continued.
“Diane told your mother people are uncomfortable.”
