Claire’s breathing became ragged.
“Then what?”
“We struggled over the steering wheel.”
The room went silent.
Daniel whispered, “Oh God.”
Margaret nodded.
“The car swerved.”
Claire stared at her.
“You caused the crash.”
“No.”
“You touched the wheel.”
“Yes.”
“You
caused it.”
“I was trying to stop her from turning toward the highway.”
“You killed my mother.”
“I never meant—”
Claire struck her.
The sound cracked through the room.
Margaret didn’t defend herself.
Claire hit her again.
Daniel pulled his sister back.
“Claire!”
“She killed Mom!”
Margaret touched her bleeding lip.
“I have lived with that every day.”
Claire sobbed.
“Good.”
Russell looked destroyed.
For years, every person in this family had carried a different version of one night.
And every version protected the person telling it.
I suddenly understood something.
“Rebecca knows all of this.”
Margaret looked at me.
“Yes.”
“How?”
Silence.
“Mom.”
Margaret looked away.
“Because Rebecca is Eleanor’s daughter.”
