Page 176 of The Final Cut

“Oh. Oh, my. Okay, then.” I can hear the blush in her voice. “And you?”

The question is soft enough to slip past my defenses before I can raise them.

I look toward the closed door, as if I could see through walls to the room where Reva sleeps. My sister. My little sister by minutes.

“I don’t know how to do this with her,” I say.

“That does not mean you don’t love her.”

My eyes burn. Annoying.

“Love got people hurt in that house.”

“Yes.”

“So I stopped making it visible.”

“I know, honey.”

This time, the words are almost unbearable because they are true. I pick up the pen and write St. Agnes House beneath the names. East gate sticks after rain.

“They’re going to come for you,” I say. “If you can make it happen.”

Mother exhales. I hear her moving again, a rustle of fabric, a drawer closing, the pieces of a life being touched without being packed.

“All right,” she says. “I’ll make it happen as soon as I can.”

Relief hits wrong. Too sharp. Too close to fear.

“Don’t get caught.”

A sad little breath. “Bossy girl.”

“I learned from terrible women.”

“You learned in spite of them.”

I have to close my eyes for that one.

Voices sound on her end again, closer this time. Mother’s tone changes at once, smoothing out, becoming the woman Isabel expects her to be.

“I have to go.”

“Mother.”

“Yes?”

There are a hundred things I could say.

Be careful.

I’m sorry.

Reva needs you.

I need you.

None of them are safe enough for the line or my throat.