“I’d like to speak to my sister alone, if that’s okay with you. And I feel better with more eyes on this place after what happened to Deputy Zane.”
“Not a chance.” She turns to me, our eyes mirroring anticipation for the day to come. A charged alertness. “I’m coming, but I promise to give you some alone time with your sister.”
“Okay then.” I point to the cabinet to the left of the range where I keep some travel mugs.
We take Greene’s vehicle.
When I get in, it hits me that I haven’t been in an official law enforcement vehicle with all its bells and whistles in over a year now. A deep sadness falls over me, but I brush it off. I have more important things to concentrate on.
I call Jess, waking her up. When I ask if everything is fine, she says it is, that Sam is asleep, and that Allison came over, true to her word, and ended up staying the night after watching a movie.
When we arrive, it’s still dark. Jess’s and Allison’s cars are in the driveway. The same uniform from yesterday is out front watching the house in her dark sedan. Greene grabs a flashlight and says she’s going to chat with the officer posted out on the street and make the rounds.
To my surprise, Jess is alert and already making coffee. She gives me a cursory hug in the open doorway.
“Come in.” She stands aside to let me enter, still a bit cool over the sour telephone call. “Allison’s asleep on the office futon.”
Jess’s hair falls across her face. She looks at me with puffy eyes. I scan her place. Everything is in order, except for a few of Sam’s toys and one of Jess’s bigger throws strewn across the end of her couch. I figureshe’s been waiting for me, curled up under it. In loose sweats, my little sister looks frail and painfully defenseless.
“What’s this about?” Jess asks.
Surprise that she’s not showing more relief to see me—isn’t wrapping me in a bigger bear hug or offering a condolence or two—stalls me for a moment. “Some coffee would be nice,” I finally say, even though I’ve already had a cup on the drive over.
We go to the kitchen, not speaking, and she pours me a cup. After Greene’s done with her walk-around, she enters the back kitchen door and announces she’ll be in her car making calls.
Jess turns to me. “So, what’s going on?”
“I spilled my guts to a journalist. Every little scrap. The article is coming out soon this morning and I don’t want it to take you by surprise. Your name isn’t mentioned, as I promised. It just refers toa woman.” I say it softly so Allison can’t hear, but even if she does, she’ll read about it soon enough.
She stares dully at me, but she doesn’t erupt, which, in a way, frightens me because she might be moving beyond anger to total apathy. There’s a deadness in her eyes that worries me. I press on. I’m here for more than apologies.
“I want to explain the article before you see it. There’s a lot in it, everything from what happened with Sophie, what happened to you,a woman”—I use air quotes—“someone I care deeply for but no use of the wordsister. And with Mark, then Leon. I told him about the shooting and my omission of the truth to the investigator.”
“Omission,” she mimics. “Don’t bother. I get it. You need to confess something. Your life depends on it.”
“I didn’t do it just to confesssomething. If that was the case, I would have had the article come out last night. I did it for other reasons.”
“Like what?”
“For you, in large part. To confess to you and the world, to finally get all this out in the open so we can all move on. I don’t want us to hide anymore, or cower, behind the secret of it all, what Mark did toyou. And for me, the guilt. I figured, ifIput it out there, in the tangle of all this Confession Artist commotion, most of the attention falls on me, not you. I know you think people will figure out that it’s you, but they can only speculate, and even if they do, then if you get any negative media attention, whatever victim shaming or blaming or accusations of making it up for attention for your podcast can be dismissed because I’m the one who put it out there, not you.”
I want her to say something, anything. I can’t help it: I’m still shocked she hasn’t expressed relief that I’m okay on the day after the deadline. And hurt, given how much I’ve always gone out of my way to protect her. Also, it feels a little like a slap in the face she thinks my confession is just to save myself, that she can’t get out of her own headspace long enough to see how tortured I am by it all.
“Now that it’s coming out,” I continue, “you’re free to do what you need to do to thoroughly deal with the rape. It’s time. You need help. No more excuses. Your podcast is flailing anyway, you’re not sleeping well, you jump when someone comes up behind you, you never smile or laugh anymore. Like you said yourself up on the stage in Dallas: Secrets are rarely better kept locked away.”
She bites her lower lip. A storm is approaching, despite all her efforts to remain calm. “That’s rich, Crosbie,” she hisses at me. “Using my own words to justify you exposingmysecrets to the world, stuff I could’ve exposed to a counselor or my own inner circle of support instead, on my own terms.”
A part of me is glad to see her anger. She hasn’t been to a counselor. The only friend she knows is Allison, and she’s sworn her to secrecy. But the anger is better than detachment, which I know all too well is a defense mechanism.
In addition to the deep ache piercing my heart, I’m also furious at her, too. There’s so much that hasn’t been said.
“You can do this on your own terms,” I say. “Like I said, your name’s not even mentioned.”
“Anyone who knew Mark Coleman in this small town knew he and I were hanging out at the Silvertip.”
“That’s conjecture, Jess. And for that, I’m sorry. But also, in a way, I’m not. This might be for the best.” I know I sound a little callous, but quickly—very quickly—it’s dawned on me that I can’t shelter my sister anymore, even for Sam’s sake. I clearly have done no good by doing so, and in fact, have made things worse. I brace for her reaction, but Allison comes into the kitchen before I get one.
“I smell coffee,” she says. Sam is behind her, wide awake like he’s already been playing in his room. Allison’s in a pair of jeans and a rumpled T-shirt. “This little guy came and got me in the office wanting to play, can you believe it?”
