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into it. And I will, too, of course.
I realize I m rambling, the same way Trish did moments before. But Trish is staring at me, empty-eyed
and slack-jawed, all traces of life gone from her face. I take a step toward her, but she backs away.
I m really sorry, Trish. I wish I could make this easier for you. Your grandmother is here. She doesn t
know where you are. If you d like, I can get a message to her.
As I speak the words, I want to bite them back. Why did I say that? I can t imagine that cold, arrogant
bitch being of any comfort to Trish. I just don t know what else to offer. Trish doesn t know about the
relationship she has to my family. I m afraid telling her will only add to her confusion about her mother.
Trish is staring at me, but with the shocked, glazed expression of one whose thoughts are turned inward.
I can only imagine what terrible images are projecting themselves inside her head.
Trish? Talk to me, honey.
Comprehension creeps into her eyes. Like a drowning man who has been pulled from the sea, she
draws a deep, ragged breath. Her chest heaves, but there are no tears. She begins to shake. I slip out of
my jacket and hold it out to her. But once again, she draws back.
How did it happen? she asks.
The picture of Carolyn s battered face and the knowledge of what had been done to her comes rushing
back. But I could no more tell Trish any of that than I could remind her of why she is here. I lay the
jacket on the back of a chair, using the time to gather my thoughts before answering.
The police aren t sure. It seems the least painful response.
But she grasps the ambiguity and it sparks a flash of anger. Don t, she snaps. Don t treat me like a
child. You know what happened to me. You know the part my mother played in it. Was she killed like
Barbara? Was she killed because of me?
I realize now that the image Trish projected when she first walked into this room had nothing to do with
Sorrel. Trish wanted desperately to believe the things that happened to her were a nightmare from which
she had finally awakened. Twenty-four hours in a safe environment and the possibility that her life might
be her own again had made her giddy with youthful optimism.
God, I do not want to be the one to shatter the illusion. And yet, this is the second time I ve been the
bearer of bad news. Telling her about Barbara was bad enough. How on earth can I tell her about her
mother?
I ve never felt so helpless. I m the adult. I should have instincts about this sort of thing. But seeing the
distress in her face and the dread in her eyes renders me speechless.
I wish my mother was here.
The door opens, and for just an instant I irrationally think maybe it s my mother come to rescue us.
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But of course, it s not. Frey comes in and his expression softens when he looks at Trish.
Anna told you about your mother? I m so sorry.
Trish goes to him, letting him put his arms around her, leaning against him and accepting from him the
kind of solace she refused from me.
It s a bitter rebuff. If I m to believe Sorrel, Trish is my niece. I should be the one comforting her. I take a
step toward them.
I look into Frey s eyes and he seems to be reading my reaction. He shakes his head gently in a warning
to respect Trish s feelings.
It stops me. I know he s right. Trish needs to have someone she can open up to. I d hoped it would be
me. But we ve only known each other one day. Frey is a teacher she likes and respects. It s natural she
would choose him.
I don t have to like it, though.
Frey guides Trish over to one of the chairs and gently lowers her into it. She sits, clutching one of his
hands as if afraid to let go. He smiles down at her and then turns to me.
There s someone outside who wants to talk to you, he says.
To me? I ask, surprised. Who knows I m here?
He shakes his head, sitting down beside Trish. Don t worry. It s someone you know. He s waiting for
you outside the door.
His words are a subtle push for me to leave the two of them alone. I bend down to look at Trish, to
engage her eyes. I ll be right outside, Trish. If you need me, Frey will come get me.
She is looking at me, but I can t tell whether my words are registering. All I see in her eyes is a dreadful
void.
I straighten up. Frey, can I talk to you outside a minute?
He seems hesitant, but the expression on my face must convey the meaning behind my words. I m not
asking. He opens his hand, freeing himself from Trish s grasp. She gives a little gasp and reaches for him
again, but he strokes her hair and says softly, It s all right. I ll be right outside the door.
She doesn t look reassured but she lets her hand drop into her lap and offers no objection.
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