The Lies I Told(29)

“But it’s not solved after thirteen years. The cops have had their shot. Now you get yours,” David said.

My opinion of David was improving. “Logic and the law don’t always mesh.”

“What would you do if you had the case files?” Brit’s expression teetered between shock and amusement, much like it had when I was nine and she’d caught me tie-dyeing all my clothes purple and white. “Follow up on old leads?”

“That’s exactly what I’d do. I’d start making the rounds just like the detective did thirteen years ago.”

“If no one knew anything then, they won’t now,” Brit countered.

“That’s not always true. People change over time. Breakups happen, someone dies, priorities shift, and someone is willing to talk. Deathbed confessions. Time can shake things loose.”

“You’ve been listening to too many podcasts.” Brit drew in a breath. “Time hasn’t changed you that much. Still ready to rush in where angels fear to tread.”

I might’ve been out of control too many times, but now I could throttle the turbulent emotions when they surfaced. “I hope I never change when it comes to Clare.” I tore my bread into smaller pieces but didn’t eat them.

“It was hard moving on,” Brit said quietly, her head inclined toward David. “But I found a way.”

And so had our father, in the arms of his second, and then his third, wife. My forward progress had been painfully slow and unsteady, like wheels mired in the mud. Two steps forward, three back. “You didn’t lose your other half.”

“Clare was your sister, not your other half,” Brit said.

Of course we’d been two very different people—I was as moody as Clare had been lighthearted—but we’d been connected since conception, and losing my twin had been akin to a physical loss. “That’s not what it felt like.”

“She was my sister, too.”

“What do you remember of that last night?” I asked. This conversation should have stayed between my sister and me, but I was just annoyed and saddened enough not to care.

Brit drained the water from her wineglass. “I was home sick. You know that.”

“You were really looking forward to Jo-Jo’s party.”

“I wasn’t feeling well and not in the mood to stand around with a bunch of high school kids.”

“You’d only been out of high school six months.”

“Felt like a lifetime,” she said.

“You were stoked to go.”

Her fingers curled into fists. “And I got one of my stomach pains, like when I was a kid.”

“You hadn’t had one of those since Mom died.”

“I had them but then I finally grew out of them,” she said.

“Why didn’t you give Clare your car to drive?”

She dabbed her mouth with a white napkin, blotting and leaving a red lipstick impression. “Kurt was picking her up, remember?”

“Did you talk to him?”

“He didn’t come in. He was late and honked the horn, and Clare went running. When I made it to the window, they were driving off.” She raised a brow, squaring her shoulders. “You never said where you went that night. And don’t say driving.”

“Buying drugs,” I said.

Brit blinked, tossed an embarrassed smile to David. “Refreshing honesty aside, I think we’ve dug into the past enough.”

“Clare called me. She said she had something to show me.”

“And I still have no idea what it was,” Brit said.

We’d never had a sober conversation about that night, and I could see why now. The long-ignored emotions came with too many sharp edges.

“You both should be proud of yourself,” David said. “You’ve both found a way forward.”

“I have,” Brit said.

If we were living in a rom-com, this would have been the black moment. I was Brit’s quirky, unreliable kid sister who had been holding her back. Now she finally had a chance at happiness, but I was stirring more cauldrons of trouble and blocking her bliss.

Settling into a silence, I took a bite of pasta. Thankfully, David picked up on my mood and began to chat about all things Brit, which seemed to shift my sister’s attention toward the positive.

Our dinner limped along for another forty-five minutes. Plates clean, bellies full, we enjoyed strawberry cake and coffee for dessert. Finally, at 7:15, I set my last plate in the sink and announced my departure.

“Thanks for dinner,” I said.

Brit handed me a plastic tub full of spaghetti. “Of course.”

David was behind me this time, as if the dinner had fused us all as some kind of family. “Don’t be a stranger. And keep us posted on your investigation. Who knows, you might unearth something valuable.”

“Do my best,” I said.

Brit hugged me. David stepped closer, as if judging whether he’d reached the next level, where hugs or maybe a kiss on the cheek were allowed. He wisely opted to hold back.

“Call if you need anything,” Brit said. “And don’t forget. Tuesday at ten a.m. We go over your books.”

She’d told me three times last week. “Got it.”

When I stepped into the night, I inhaled the cool air and crossed the sidewalk to my car, my sister’s and David’s stares trailing me the entire way. Behind the wheel, I started the engine, waved a final goodbye, and then backed out of the driveway.