“What idea?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one asking.”
His answer was too smooth.
I looked at the letter.
“Did she accuse you of something?”
“Has Ben been talking to you?”
Ben’s eyes narrowed.
“Why would Ben talk to me?”
“Because he’s been filling Rosie’s head with nonsense for months.”
My heart began pounding.
“What kind of nonsense?”
“Old financial records. Your mother’s diaries. Things that should have stayed buried.”
Things that should have stayed buried.
He realized the mistake too late.
“Dad,” I whispered, “what did you do?”
His breathing changed.
When he spoke again, the warmth had vanished.
“Where is Ben?”
“Taking me to see the babies.”
“Put him on the phone.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
It was the voice he had used when I was a teenager, the one that made obedience feel like safety.
But I was no longer sixteen.
“What did you do to Mom?”
