Page 61 of What You Never Knew

I didn’t know then that she was essentially signing me up for a life sentence to her, that I would be imprisoned by our bond of secrecy until she died. I would never not be able to do her bidding. I would never be able to disagree or argue or assert myself. When she was sad, I was to be the one to comfort her; when she got sick, I was to be the one to care for her; when she was alone, I was to be the one to keep her company. She held my secret, which meant she held my freedom too.

“I’m going to take care of everything,” she continued. “No one will ever know what you did. I will make sure of it.” She got up off her knees. “Now, go lock June’s bedroom door so that she doesn’t come down until we’ve got everything cleaned up.”

I surrendered to the calm, competent direction of my mother. It kept me from thinking about what I’d done, about the reality of the situation. I tiptoed back upstairs. From a hook in the hallway I retrieved the skeleton key that locked and unlocked all the bedroom doors. I went to June’s door and, as quietly as I could, inserted the key and turned the lock.

Waiting on the verandah with my mother for West to arrive, I watched her, waiting for some signs of grief, but they never came. She paced, she chewed at her nails, but there were no tears. She was deep in thought, not deep in sorrow, over the loss of her husband. I realized not long afterward that I had in fact done her a favor. Saved her from the wrath of my father and the revenge he had planned for her after finding out about her affair with West. I had saved myself and June at the same time, but it was a price I should never have had to pay.

The first thing West asked when he got there was, “Where’s June?” I told him that she was sleeping, that I’d locked her door just to be safe. He said that was for the best, and without a word we all knew that June was never to be told what had happened that night.

The cottage was dark—my mother thought it would look suspicious to have lights on so late if someone drove by in a boat. My mother told me to scrub the blood from the floor and wait for them there. Then they both disappeared into the forest, my mother carrying a shovel, West carrying my father’s body. By the light of one candle I got down on my hands and knees and washed away the evidence of the murder I’d committed.

“May did that?” June asks, as soon as Willa finishes describing the fatal push I committed that night.

Willa gives one conclusive nod. “So you see, I do know everything. I know about my West helping you hide the body and how you made him drive your husband’s boat to an abandoned island so his fingerprints would be on the steering wheel and how you stashed Simon’s watch in his boat, then called the police accusing my West of murder.” Willa stops to take a deep breath, tears suddenly shining in her eyes. “You see?” she says again. “I know too much.”

I want to fade away, forget what I just learned about myself, not see the hurt and confusion and shock on June’s face after learning that her sister is a murderer or hear any more of Willa’s ramblings about that horrible night. But the fading won’t come. I’m supposed to be here, remembering, suffering, witnessing.

Tears are running down June’s cheeks now, too, from all that she’s just learned. “Willa, it’s me, June.” Grief has stripped her of the ability to keep up the charade. “Please untie me. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not my mother. I’m on your side.”

Willa starts shaking her head and wringing her hands. “I can’t. I can’t untie you. There are too many secrets. My boy, he’s going to find out if I don’t do something. You never should have come back. You promised.”

June sighs deeply and wipes her tears away with the back of her tied hand. “I know you had a deal, Willa. You keep saying that, but it was with my mother, and I’m not my mother.” The last four words come out as a yell, and Willa jumps.

Willa’s own tears start to fall, and she roughly wipes them away. “I tried other ways, I did, but they didn’t work,” she explains. “It wasn’t supposed to come to this.” Willa looks down at the floor. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I’m so sorry. It’s for my boy.”

Before June can say anything, Willa disappears from the room, and then there’s the sound of the back door slamming shut. I expect June to try to get free from the ropes, to yell out, but all she does is sit there staring straight ahead, looking defeated and sad.

I move right up close to her, wishing I could wipe her memory clean of everything or at the very least be there to explain, to comfort. I flood the space around her with my presence, making myself as big as I can.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice is low and quiet. Tears start to slowly roll down her cheeks. She glances around the space as though looking for something. “I know you’re here, May. I can feel you.” I push in closer so that I’m almost passing into her body but not quite; it’s as close as I can get without coming out on the other side of her. “Whatever made you do it, I would have understood. I would have kept your secret.” Her tears are coming faster now. The sound of footsteps arrives on the front verandah, and June quickly tries to wipe the tears away.

Through the glass of the front door, I see Willa appear. She’s holding something red, but she disappears from sight before I can tell what it is. When she doesn’t come into the cottage, I move to the windows that look out onto the verandah.

The red thing in her hands is a gas can, which she has tipped forward so that a steady stream of gasoline pours across the wooden floor of the verandah. I can see that she’s doused the entire length of the front of the house. She walks backward down the steps, coating them as she goes. Only when the gas can runs empty does she set it down. Reaching into the pocket of her nightgown, she pulls out a book of matches.

I swing back to June, who’s still sitting on the couch, unaware of Willa’s plan for her and the cottage. June, I scream, at the very same time that a wall of flames jumps up in front of the windows. As it builds, it makes a loud whooshing sound that causes June to twist around to see what it is.

The bright orange light of the fire is mirrored in June’s blue eyes, which are already full of panic. Twisting her wrists, contorting her hands, she frantically tries to free herself from the rope. I can see that it’s no use. Willa may not know who’s who or what day it is, but she definitely knows how to tie a rope.

An ax sits against the side of the fireplace, tucked away so that it’s mostly out of sight. If I can make June see it and she can somehow get over to where it is, she may be able to free herself.

The sound of the fire is growing stronger. The glass in the windows has started to crack, and there’s a gentle groaning as the fire eats through the wood of the building. It’s only a matter of minutes before those flames find their way inside.

I leave June struggling with the rope and go to the ax. I’ve never moved anything so big before. I focus all my strength on it, call on every bit of will I have, and then move myself as forcefully as I can right at the inanimate object. I may be imagining it, but I think it slips just slightly. If I can get it to fall over, it should make enough noise for her to notice.

Behind me June starts to cry softly. She’s scared, sure that she’ll die in this fire all alone. She’s thinking about her girls and Leo and how badly she wants to get back to them. I feel all of it.

I push in against the ax again, but nothing happens, so I start a swinging motion, moving back and forth over it as fast as I can. I feel it pass through me each time, the wood, the cold metal. The windows blow out, sending a shower of glass into the living room. The flames quickly find their way through the windows and start to lick up the wooden wall to the ceiling.

June screams and slides down to the floor, cowering awkwardly, her hands and feet still tied. I can feel the draining start to happen. I’ve used up almost everything I have. I stop swinging; it’s not doing anything.

So instead I think of all the things I love about my sister—her throaty laugh, the set of her face when she’s trying not to cry, the way she looks at her girls when she thinks nobody is watching, how her body folds into mine each time we hug, her scent, her jokes that people can’t always tell are jokes, her pain and her strength. I think of it all and then fling myself at the ax with the power of all those things.

It topples and falls forward onto the floor. Better than I’d hoped for. June looks up and sees it sitting there and starts to shimmy across the floor on her bum. I see her slide it between her knees, blade side up, and start rubbing the rope stretched taut between her wrists.

This is why I’m here. Why I’ve been here all along. To save her at the very same place where I caused the end of my father’s life. The thought floods me with peace and calm. June will be okay. Somehow I know this to be true. The fading comes on slowly; I don’t fight it. I finally know that I’ve done what I was meant to do.

JUNE