Page 136 of The Final Cut

Reva slapped me.

I probably deserved it.

That might be the first honest thing between us.

She looked at me like I was part of the house that took her apart. Maybe I am. Maybe fifteen years beside Isabel stains a person past washing.

I wanted to tell her I missed her.

I wanted to tell her I was sorry I kept breathing in the wrong place.

Instead, I gave her teeth because teeth are the only language I’m fluent in now.

My little sister is alive, and my little sister hates me.

Somehow, I need to reconcile both of these things.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

REVA

Because I gave it to you.

For a second, the chapel has no walls. No floor. No door. Only her face staring into mine, both of us breathing too hard, both of us standing inside a truth that shouldn’t exist.

My mother is dead.

She has to be.

I saw the sheets. I heard the voices. I remember the police officer carrying me past blood and telling me not to look.

I looked anyway. Didn’t I?

The woman takes one careful step toward me. I step back so fast my hip bangs into the pew.

She stops at once, which is almost worse than if she had kept coming. She knows not to touch. She knows the shape of fear in me before I realize I’m showing it.

“Don’t,” I say. “Just…stop right there.”

Her eyes fill, but she doesn’t move again. I take a shaky breath in and let it out, watching her warily. My hand moves to cradle my wrist, searching for my bands. I need one thing in this room that makes sense.

I look at her hands. No rings. Short nails. A faint scar across one knuckle. Hands that held Cal’s like they had the right to do that. Hands that might have held me once, buttoned tiny coats, brushed hair back from my face.

My throat closes around a thousand questions that clamor all at once.

Where were you?

Why didn’t you come?

Did you know I was alive?

Did you know about Delia?

Did Cal know about you?

The last one is different. Harder. Because Cal is in a room down the hall with tubes in his throat and secrets in his bed.

“You…you’re supposed to be dead,” I say. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”