Chương 7
Evelyn looked at her hands.
Margaret looked at Evelyn.
There were a thousand questions.
She hated all of them.
Finally she said, “Did you know Mom died?”
Evelyn’s face changed.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Obituary.”
Margaret swallowed.
“Did you come?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I was supposed to be dead.”
Margaret looked away.
“Did you watch the funeral online?”
Evelyn hesitated.
That was answer enough.
“You did.”
“Yes.”
Margaret stood again.
“God.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You watched?”
“Yes.”
“From where?”
“Santa Fe.”
Margaret walked to the window.
Below, headlights moved through wet streets.
“You watched me bury our mother.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t come.”
“No.”
“Did she know?”
“No.”
Margaret turned.
“Did she ever know you were alive?”
Evelyn’s face crumpled.
“No.”
Margaret nodded slowly.
Something inside her hardened.
“You could have told her.”
“I could have.”
“She died thinking she lost you.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
Evelyn closed her mouth.
Margaret pressed both hands against the window ledge.
“Why now?”
Evelyn looked at the prescription bottles.
“I’m dying.”
“That isn’t a reason.”
“It is to me.”
“It wasn’t enough when Mom was dying.”
Evelyn flinched.
Good, Margaret thought.
Then hated herself.
Evelyn rubbed her palms against her jeans.
“I was a coward.”
Margaret looked at her.
“That’s the first useful thing you’ve said.”
“I kept thinking there would be a better time.”
“Twelve years.”
“Yes.”
“A better time than twelve years?”
“I know how it sounds.”
“It sounds like twelve years.”
Evelyn nodded.
Margaret returned to the chair.
“Richard told me about the money.”
Evelyn’s expression went still.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“Did he tell you about Laura?”
“Yes.”
Evelyn looked down.
Margaret waited.
After a long silence, Evelyn said, “I killed her.”
Margaret’s throat tightened.
“You caused the accident.”
“I killed her.”
“Were you trying to?”
“No.”
“Then don’t use the worst possible word just because guilt feels more honest than accuracy.”
Evelyn looked up.
“That sounds like you.”
“It is me.”
For the first time they really looked at each other.
Twelve years sat between them.
Not symbolic years.
Practical ones.
Birthdays.
Thanksgivings.
A mother’s hospitalizations.
Margaret’s retirement party.
Evelyn’s invisible addresses.
The sale of their childhood house.
All the ordinary days that could not be restored because ordinary days were the first thing death stole.
Evelyn said, “Laura found the transfers.”
Margaret nodded.
“She gave me until Monday to tell the partners.”
“Why?”
“She thought I could still fix it.”
“Could you?”
“No.”
Evelyn picked at a loose thread on her sweater.
“I had convinced myself I could. That was my whole talent back then. Convincing myself the next thing would undo the previous thing.”
Margaret said nothing.
“I had stopped gambling six months earlier,” Evelyn continued. “I thought that meant I was better.”
“Were you?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
Evelyn gave a tired little shrug.
“I learned eventually.”
Margaret looked at the medications.
“How sick are you?”
“Stage four.”
Margaret’s jaw tightened.
“How long?”
“Doctors hate that question.”
“How long?”
“Three months. Six. Maybe more.”
“Treatment?”
“Palliative chemo.”
“Where?”
“Memorial Sloan Kettering.”
Margaret looked at her sharply.
“You’re using a false identity for cancer treatment?”
“No.”
Evelyn reached toward a folder on the table.
Margaret tensed.
Evelyn noticed.
She stopped.
“Can I?”
Margaret felt foolish.
“Go ahead.”
Evelyn opened the folder.
Inside were documents.
A driver’s license.
Social Security card.
Court papers.
Margaret picked up one page.
“What is this?”
“A legal name change.”
Margaret stared.
“Elena Morris is legally real.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Years later. With an attorney.”
Margaret frowned.
“You told a court you were alive?”
“I didn’t tell them I was Evelyn.”
“So you committed fraud again.”
“Yes.”
Margaret dropped the paper.
“You’re very consistent.”
“I’ve been told.”
“By who?”
“Mostly myself.”
Margaret hated how familiar the humor felt.
She looked away.
“Why did you use the old credit card tonight?”
Evelyn’s expression changed.
“That card is new.”
Margaret looked back.
“What?”
“I applied for it four months ago.”
“In your dead name?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Richard.”
Of course.
Margaret almost laughed.
“What did he do?”
“He had preserved enough of my financial identity that the systems never fully closed me.”
“Why?”
“Because he was afraid.”
“Of?”
“Me coming back.”
Margaret frowned.
“Why would preserving your identity help him?”
“It didn’t. Not really. It just kept options open.”
“That sounds like Richard.”
“Yes.”
“What options?”
Evelyn leaned back.
“He paid some accounts. Renewed one dormant card every few years. Kept my credit profile alive.”
“Why?”
“He said it made him feel like I wasn’t completely gone.”
Margaret stared at her.
“That’s either romantic or psychotic.”
“Mostly cowardly.”
“Did you know?”
“Not until last year.”
“How?”
“I checked.”
“Why?”
“I started thinking about coming back.”
Margaret felt anger rise again.
“You keep talking about coming back as though you went on vacation.”
Evelyn nodded.
“You’re right.”
“Don’t agree with me.”
“I forgot.”
Margaret almost smiled.
She didn’t.
“What do you want?”
Evelyn looked at her.
“Nothing.”
“That’s not true.”
“I want to tell the truth.”
“To whom?”
“The police. The firm. Laura’s family.”
“Why?”
“Because I should have twelve years ago.”
“That isn’t why now.”
Evelyn was quiet.
Margaret waited.
Finally Evelyn said, “I don’t want to die as Elena Morris.”
There it was.
Not justice.
Not responsibility.
Identity.
Margaret felt something ugly.
“You want your name back.”
“Yes.”
“After letting us carry it.”
Evelyn looked down.
“Yes.”
“And you expect what? Forgiveness?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I want you to know before strangers do.”
Margaret stood.
“I’m going home.”
Evelyn did not try to stop her.
That made Margaret angrier.
At the door she turned.
“Tomorrow morning, you call an attorney.”
“I already have one.”
“Who?”
“Dana Kaplan.”
Margaret knew the name vaguely. White-collar defense.
“Of course.”
“I meet her at ten.”
“I’m coming.”
Evelyn hesitated.
Margaret stared.
“You don’t get privacy anymore.”
Evelyn nodded.
“All right.”
Margaret opened the door.
“Magpie.”
She turned.
Evelyn’s face had gone pale.
“I’m sorry about Mom.”
Margaret looked at her sister.
May you like
She wanted to say something cruel.
She wanted it so badly she could feel the sentence forming.
