“You just left. And I’m sure she has her own dinner to eat.”
“She likes it when I come over.” Goldie jerks her arm free with a little more force than necessary, considering I’m barely holding it.
“Fine, whatever, but we’re not going back right now. I told you we’ll go somewhere—”
“—tomorrow. Yeah, I won’t hold my breath.” That’s a lot of sarcasm for most ten-year-olds, but Goldie is a pro. She doesn’t even look at me when she says it.
“Hey.” I stop walking, and she takes a few more steps before reluctantly stopping too. “What is with you?”
“How do I know you’ll even be around tomorrow? You weren’t here yesterday. Or last night.”
Ice trickles down my back. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not stupid. I know you didn’t come home.”
That ice pierces through to my insides. “Why didn’t you say anything to Mom?”
“Because now I know something that you don’t want her to know.”
“You’re going to blackmail me?” Who is my little sister right now?
She smiles at me coldly, and I shiver. “We’re going thrifting tomorrow.”
“I already said I’d take you. You don’t have to do it like this.”
“This way, you can’t break your promise. And I want to show you Mrs. Mayhew’s house too.”
I shake my head and start walking, quickly passing her. She hurries to catch up.
“It’s not gonna be terrible,” she tells me. “Just wait until you see inside.”
I don’t answer her.
“Where were you last night anyway? With Wren?”
“I was doing research and accidentally fell asleep.”
“If that’s true, then why didn’t you just explain it to Mom?”
“Because I didn’t feel like getting into it. And I don’t feel like getting into it with you either.”
“Are you still looking at Kezia Gardner’s diary?”
I’m not even going to ask how she knows about that. “Yes.”
“Can I look at it?”
“No.”
She’s silent for a minute, and I have a strong suspicion that she’s considering forcing me, but she doesn’t.
“I could help.”
“No, you couldn’t. Dad, me, and”—I hesitate for some reason, not wanting to say Wren’s name—“a museum expert are struggling with it. What could you possibly do?”
“I just wanted to see it,” she mumbles under her breath. “Why is it so important anyway?”
She’s deliberately walking slowly to drag this out, and I’m seriously tempted to just leave her behind. Instead, the words gush out of me. “Because Dad died before he could prove that she wasn’t the villain everyone said she was, so now I have to prove it for him. And it’s really hard, and I feel like I don’t have enough time. The time I do have, I’m constantly being pulled between you and Mom and the museum, and now things with Wren are more complicated, and I don’t know if I can do it all, okay?” I gasp after it all pours out of me.
