“No, no, Milo, no.” I sit up, forcing his hands to fall to the side of his lap. “How didyouknow that?” I ask slowly.
He keeps his face turned away from me, pushing one hand through his hair before resting it on the back of his neck. “Tom told me.”
“Told you?” I ask, moving away from him. “Wh-when?”
He turns toward me, his expression hardened into a pleading sadness. “Prue…”
“You knew what? About his cancer? H-he toldyou?”
“Yes.”
“You knew my father was sick, that my—” I pause, shaking myself. “That he put off treatment? That he won’t be able to run the store soon? That he can’t help look after Mom? Why would he—Why wouldyou…”
“Prue, I…Tom was going to tell you, tomorrow. He—”
“Tell me what?”
“Everything, I think.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“That’s convenient.”
“He was, I swear.”
“Why didn’tyoutell me?”
He takes his face into his hands then slides them up, resting his forehead against his wrists as his fingers pull at his hair.
“Answer me!” I yell, unexpectedly. I shake myself, crossing my arms in front of my chest as a hysterical laugh breaks free. I pace in small circles, holding myself tightly. “How long have you been lying to me?”
“I’m not sure, exactly,” Milo whispers. “That night we spent in your parents’ living room after I’d—”
“Then?” I ask, my voice wavering. “You’ve known for that long? What…Why?”
For a moment, it’s quiet, everything sounding far-off and muffled. I hear the creaking step beneath his foot, sounding off every half second as he bounces his knee. I hear the faint sounds of the brewery down the road, the party ongoing. I hear the crickets and the lake and the fucking cicadas, but I donothear a reason. An apology. An explanation.
Instead, Milo just covers his face with his hands once more, hiding from me.
“Why?” I ask, my heart threatening to pound out of my chest. “Just…tell me why.”
Milo lifts his head as if it’s heavier than his neck can bare. Looking up at me, the moonlight reflects the wetness in his eyes and casts his exhausted expression in a perfect, white glow. “He asked me not to tell you.”
“Why would he…Whyyou?” I ask, pacing in a small circle. “Why would he tellyou?”
“I was just…there, I guess. I’m not sure. I think that’s a better question for Tom.”
“You don’t get tothinkright now!” I snap. “I want to know whymyfather would tell a near-perfect stranger that he’s sick and thateverythingin his life is falling apart when he wouldn’t even tell his own daughter.”
“I can’t tell you—”
“This is insane!” I say, cutting him off as I fight off another bitter wave of laughter. “It’s…”
“Prue, it’s complicated.”
“Okay, so uncomplicate it for me!Pleaseexplain to me how the fuck he came to the decision to not tell me. Matter of fact, while you’re at it, please tell me whyyouchose not to tell me too. Explain why you’d rather save face with him than be honest with me.”
