CHAPTER 9 — MEREDITH’S VERSION OF LOVE
Meredith broke in the blue room.
Not loudly.
That would have made people too sympathetic.
She broke like a glass cooling too fast: a fine crack, then another, then suddenly the shape no longer held.
Paul whispered, “Meredith, don’t.”
She laughed.
A horrible small sound.
“Don’t what? Lose? That already happened when Nora walked into the airport.”
Sienna looked at me, warning me not to speak.
I listened.
Meredith stood, brushing dust from her linen pants as if court officers, lawyers, and a half-open wall were an inconvenience at a luncheon.
“You all think this is simple,” she said. “Poor Nora. Evil Meredith. House saved. Father rescued.”
No one answered.
Good.
She looked at me.
“Do you know what it was like after Mom died?”
“Yes.”
“No, you don’t. You were Dad’s grief. I was his assistant.”
That hit somewhere old.
Meredith’s face twisted.
“He smiled when you entered a room. He told stories about you. Nora passed her boards. Nora works so hard. Nora has your mother’s hands. Nora understands him.”
My throat tightened.
“I never asked him to love me more.”
“But you let him.”
There it was.
Not motive enough.
But motive rarely is.
She went on.
“When he got sick, I stayed because someone had to. Then you called from Arizona with your advice and your checks and your tired voice, and everyone acted like that was noble.”
“I tried to come home.”
“You tried after the hard part had already made me ugly.”
The room was silent except for the air conditioner rattling behind the wall.
Meredith looked at Dad’s old chair by the window.
“He begged for you. Every week. Even when he couldn’t remember the year, he remembered Nora.”
Her voice cracked.
“So yes, I told him you weren’t coming. Then I told him you were missing. Then I told him you were dead. And for one month, he stopped asking.”
I closed my eyes.
One month.
That was what my death bought her.
Quiet.
Then Paul spoke.
“Meredith.”
She turned on him.
“You signed the affidavit.”
His face collapsed.
Everyone looked at him.
Paul’s mouth opened.
Closed.
Sienna’s pen moved.
Meredith laughed again.
“Yes. Write that down. He signed. The neighbor affidavit too. Arthur wouldn’t do it, so Paul found a man who used to rent our carriage house and owed him money.”
Paul sat down.
The last wall fell.
Sienna asked quietly, “The pearl button?”
Meredith looked at me.
“I cut it off Mom’s cardigan.”
My body went cold.
“You had no right.”
“I had every right to something in that house.”
“Not my life.”
She stared at me.
For a moment, I thought she might apologize.
Instead, she said, “You should have answered Dad’s calls sooner.”
I almost moved toward her.
Not to strike.
To shake loose whatever poisonous thing had replaced my sister.
But Dad’s voice came from the doorway.
“No.”
He stood there in his wheelchair, brought by Delia and Arthur, against every facility suggestion and probably several rules.
His hands shook.
His face sagged.
But his eyes were clear.
“No more,” he said.
Meredith covered her mouth.
“Daddy—”
He flinched at the word.
Then he looked at the judge, at the lawyers, at me.
“My daughter,” he said slowly, forcing each word through damaged pathways, “is alive.”
May you like
His eyes moved to Meredith.
“And you knew.”
