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Briar turned to her aunt. Normally her temper was like a flashbulb, bright and hot but quick to dissipate. Now, she felt like there was a volcano inside her, full of seething lava, ready to blow.

“You’ve been getting money to take care of me, all these years?”

Patrice tossed her head. “It was only fair.”

“Is that why I started paying rent when I turned eighteen? To make up for the income you lost?”

Patrice’s face was red. “It’s not like you stopped eating.”

Slowly, Briar came to her feet. “Since I came here, I’ve had twice the chores Norine did. I literally made the clothes on your back.”

“It’s important to learn the value of hard work.”

“You made me feel guilty for every bite I ate. For every drop of water I used, every second of electricity. And you were being paid to keep me all along?”

“That money should have been mine!” Patrice hissed. “He was my brother. He ran off to Texas when I was still a teenager and married your white trash mother.”

“How dare you—”

“He should have come back here to help me after the war, but instead that crazy brother of yours killed him.”

“He was defending me. He was trying to save my mother.”

Patrice turned to Lt. Cavanaugh. “I’m sure your research turned up the fact that Briar’s brother killed her father. Maybe her mother too, it’s hard to say.”

“You’re a liar,” Briar said, the words burning in her throat. “You know you’re lying about that.”

“Who made it out of that house alive?” Patrice said with a shrug. “You and your brother. How do I know you weren’t in it together?”

The lie was so outrageous Briar almost couldn’t make out the words. “That’s not true,” she whispered.

“I deserved that money for taking care of you. It helped put food on the table. It paid for all those specialists, even though you never got any better. What difference does it make where it came from?”

“Because it was mine,” Briar replied. “I deserved to know. And these last two years, I’ve been working so hard—” 

Patrice gave a short laugh. “Please. You haven’t been able to keep a job more than six months. Here’s something you may not know, gentlemen. The reason Briar did so poorly in school—”

“No—”

“—Is because she can’t read. She’s illiterate. She’s all but useless,” Patrice spat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to be heading to work. Where I go to make the money that supports all of us. Norine, go to your room. I don’t want you hearing any more of her lies.”

Norine sat frozen on the couch for a moment as her mother stalked from the room. She was looking from Briar to Lt. Cavanaugh, open-mouthed.

“Norine!” shouted Patrice from the doorway. 

Norine hopped to her feet and scampered out. 

There was a long, quiet moment before Lt. Cavanaugh cleared his throat. “Well. We’re aware of your background, Miss Steele. Despite your father’s faults, he was a talented strategist and an incredibly brave soldier.”

She shook her head. “The father I remember was a monster who beat his wife and children.”

Lt. Cavanaugh sighed. “Some men have difficulty adjusting after a long stint in combat. Your father … again, it’s classified, but he endured some horrific conditions during the war.”

Briar absorbed that. It seemed impossible to imagine her father as victim as well as villain. There was so much she didn’t know. So much she hadn’t bothered to learn because she was too busy pretending her life had been different. 

“Are you saying,” she said, guilt coating her throat, “that my brother was blamed for both of our parents’ deaths?”

“He knifed his own father,” Sgt. Pangburn said, eyes narrowed on Briar.

“He was beating my mother to death,” Briar said, aghast at his callousness. 

Sgt. Pangburn shrugged. “File says inconclusive.”

“Well, the file’s wrong.”

“Your father was very popular with his men. Very respected,” Lt. Cavanaugh said. “Sometimes people have trouble believing that someone so revered could do something evil.”

“It’s the truth,” she said, looking imploringly at Lt. Cavanaugh.

He shifted in his seat. “Perhaps, if you join the military, you can set the record straight. It’s possible we can arrange something for your brother. A better facility? There’s been some very promising developments with something called electroconvulsive therapy. Our testing facilities are—”

“No,” Briar said abruptly. “No, I’m not interested. I want you to go. Please go.”

“All right,” Lt. Cavanaugh said softly. “If you change your mind, please feel free to contact me.”

After they had gone, Briar sat in the living room alone. Jerkily, she poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot sitting on the table. It was still hot. She held the cup between her cold hands for a long time.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Briar

When Briar finally moved again, it was to go to her room and start packing her things.

There was a soft knock at her door. When Briar didn’t answer, Norine peeked her head in anyway. “Can I come in?”

Briar sighed. “I don’t really feel like talking.”

“That’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” Norine came in and perched herself on the edge of the bed. 

They had sat, just like this, so many times. Neither of the girls looked at each other. 

“When you first came here, I resented you,” Norine began. “I liked being an only child and having all the attention. Momma didn’t tell me what happened with your family, just that your parents were dead and your brother was in a hospital because there was something wrong with his brain. I was worried that you would come and be miserable and make everything around you miserable.”

“I didn’t want to be miserable, either.” 

“I know. In fact, it was the opposite—you made everything fun. You had the greatest stories, and it never mattered to me if it was true or not. And you seemed so much like me. You loved everything I loved, you liked the same movies, the same boys. I felt like we were sisters.”

“So did I,” Briar said quietly.

“What I didn’t realize was that all the things we had in common were just as fake as your stories. After the Firelight Festival, when you came home, you were so different. Suddenly, you didn’t care what I had to say anymore. You wouldn’t do anything fun.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want to spend time with you. I just couldn’t stand being around anyone.” 

Norine nodded. “I thought, at first, that it was just another one of your stories. After a while, I was just telling myself that because I was hoping things would go back to the way they were. But that’s not going to happen, is it?”

“No.” 

“Nothing is ever going to be the same.”

“No.”

I didn’t know about your brother,” Norine said quietly. “I just thought he was a simpleton, or had some sort of birth defect. I never realized … It must have been awful.”

“It was,” Briar said, sitting up. “But I should have told you about it. I should never have tried to hide where I came from. Pretending it didn’t happen ruined any chance I had at being who I really am.”

“I’d like a chance to get to know you. Really know you.” Norine had her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

“I’d like that,” Briar said. “I want to be friends again.”

“Do you think …?” Norine took a deep breath, and Briar realized she was fighting back tears. “Do you think we’ll ever be like sisters again?”

Briar suddenly found she had to battle tears herself. “We’ll always be sisters.”

Even though Briar and Norine had begun to repair their friendship, Briar still didn’t want to stay in the house. She didn’t let herself think about where she was going to go until she had all of her suitcases in the trunk.

Maybe she could live out of her car until Mimi bought more of her knitting. Or stay in the mine where the Independents met. She needed to talk to Lt. Cavanaugh again to find out how to access the money her parents had left her. But there were other things she needed to ask him—about her father’s service records, about Arthur’s criminal status—that she didn’t feel ready to face. 

So much had changed for her that afternoon. So much that she could barely comprehend. The narrative in her head, with her father a monster and her brother a hero, was the opposite of the official record. She suddenly had the wherewithal to support herself, but the money was the product of violence and murder. She would trade every dime for one living parent who cared for her. 

She started when Charlie knocked on her window. “Hey,” he said with a smile when she opened the door. “Are we still on for a movie?”

She had completely forgotten their plans. “Oh, Charlie, I’m so sorry. I can’t tonight. I have to … I have to find a new place to live.”

Tears hadn’t come until she said it out loud. Patrice’s house had been home for a decade, and despite her aunt’s cruelty, she had felt safe here after her parents’ death. Would she ever feel that safe again?

“Whoa, hey, what’s going on?” he asked, folding her into his arms. 

She couldn’t get the words out. Where to begin?

“Charlie?” a woman called. It was Mrs. Huston, who was pulling bags of groceries out of the car. “Everything okay?”

“Ah …,” he said, looking down at Briar. “Not exactly. Mom, would it be all right if Briar came to dinner?”

Briar shook her head frantically. She couldn’t go to dinner with the Hustons, not tonight. She wasn’t ready to face a happy family when her own was in shambles.

“Sure,” Charlie’s mother called, oblivious. “You’re cooking, Charlie, so you better get in here.” She headed into the house with a load of groceries.

“Charlie, I can’t,” Briar said as soon as she was gone. “I’m too upset to meet your parents tonight.”

“What do you mean, meet? You’ve known them for years. And what’s this about not having anywhere to stay?”

“My aunt … I can’t live with her anymore.”

“Come on inside,” he cajoled. “You can tell me all about it.”

That’s how she found herself sitting at the Huston’s table, watching Charlie and his mother putter around the kitchen. To her amusement, Charlie put on an apron before he rolled up his sleeves and started mixing ground beef and spices for meatloaf. 

“I can help,” she said for the third time.

“Not at all,” Mrs. Huston said. “You’re a guest. You just sit right there and tell me what’s going on.”

Something about Mrs. Huston encouraged confidence. Slowly, Briar found herself telling her everything. Her power, Norine’s reaction, even an abridged version of what happened to her parents. By the time she got to the conversation with Lt. Cavanaugh and Sgt. Pangburn, Charlie was mashing potatoes and Mrs. Huston was tossing a salad to go with the meatloaf. 

“So you never knew that your parents had left you some money?”

Briar shook her head. “It’s fine that my aunt didn’t tell me when I was younger. Of course, she should have used that money to support me. But since I turned eighteen, the money should have been coming straight to me.”

“What I don’t understand,” Charlie put in, “is why she wouldn’t just give it to you. It seems like she wanted you out of the house.”

“
Hmm
,” Mrs. Huston said. “Patrice never was very good about sharing. She always wanted what other people had, even when we were kids.”

“Wait,” Briar said. “Did you know my father too?”

“Not very well,” Mrs. Huston said. “He was a few years older, and he left here before he even finished high school.”

“Oh,” Briar said, slumping over. “I feel like I don’t know him at all. Most of my memories of him are after he came home from the war.”

“I can tell you this much,” Mrs. Huston said. “Patrice always felt like she got the short straw. And maybe she did. Her mother was a sickly woman, and Patrice took care of her. I suppose that’s why she got into nursing. When her husband George died in the war, she was all alone with a young girl to care for. She might have reached out to your father for help.”

She didn’t want to feel sympathy for Patrice, but Briar could imagine her—a young widow, looking for solace with her big brother. And not finding it. 

“Honey, I’m home,” Charlie’s father called as he came in the door. 

“We have a guest, dear,” Mrs. Huston called. “Briar Steele, from next door.”

“My girlfriend,” Charlie added.

Both of the elder Hustons looked at their son with raised eyebrows. 

Mrs. Huston recovered the fastest. “Yes. Charlie’s girlfriend. She needs to stay with us tonight.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

“Of course you can, don’t be silly. You can have Charlie’s old room on the second floor. I’ll make it up for you after dinner.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble. I’ll just—”

“I’d feel better if I knew you were safe,” Mrs. Huston said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Jimmy, you’re timing is perfect. Charlie made meatloaf and I think it’s just about ready.”

Charlie’s father didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the idea that his son’s girlfriend would be staying the night. “I’ll set the table then.”

“No, I can do it,” Briar said, jumping to her feet. “I’d like to help. Really.”

Charlie father winked. “I like her already.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Briar

It was hot in the hallway. Briar’s nightgown stuck to her girlish legs as she walked toward the stairs, toward the deafening silence. She could feel the nubs of the carpet under her feet, feel the wallpaper under her fingers, and in her head she was screaming to turn back, to run and hide, as if not seeing would make the truth disappear.

Then she was at the bottom of the stairs, standing behind Arthur. His back was heaving with sobs. Blood covered the family photos on the mantel, covered the radio that had been playing
Abbott and Costello
earlier that night. It was hot, too hot, and the air stank of blood and entrails and her mother’s perfume.