“Don’t you get it? I’ve lost enough. I lost him. I lost Sawyer . . .”
I felt the tears as I felt his name slip through my mouth.
Sawyer.
She put her hands together and then up under her face.
“Oh, Isla.”
She looked so genuinely sympathetic. So . . . remorseful. With those limpid eyes of hers that never ended.
But the anger from earlier lashed up again in me and I remembered who I was talking to. She was good at this. She was good at making people believe every word she spoke was true. She wanted me to believe she was sorry.
“The knight figurine,” I said in a low voice.
Her eyes widened with astonishment.
“Don’t even pretend to be surprised. You knew I would find out.” I ripped at her before she could even deny it.
“Isla, I wanted to tell you about it. But I never got the chance—”
“Why give it to Ada, then?”
She began to shake her head in protest. “Because there was no one else to give it to. You ran away from me, remember? I couldn’t get within a foot of you.”
“How did you get it, Marlow?” My voice hardened.
“What?”
“I said, how did you get it, Marlow?”
She narrowed her eyes. “What are you trying to say?”
“Did you pull it from his dead body? Had to have the one thing left that really belonged to me?”
Her beautiful brow furrowed with intensity.
“No. No, it wasn’t like that—”
I stormed up to her, my face as close to hers as it had been since we were little girls. I could see the tiredness under her eyes. She was weary. But it didn’t stop me.
He felt no pain.
“Did you . . .” I trailed off.
She lifted her chin. “Did I what?”
“You know, Marlow. You know what I’m asking.”
I was shaking, I couldn’t feel my arms.
“Are you really asking me this?” she said harshly.
I said nothing as I watched her eyes glaze over.
There was no room left in the cavity in my chest. It had expanded and propelled to a reckless beat.
“You said he felt no pain . . . he felt nothing.”
She sighed as if tired of my games.
“How would you know that?” I asked.
“We don’t have to do this.” She sounded exasperated and it only made me press more, my foot hard on the pedal.
“Yes,” I hissed. “Yes, we do.”
“I slipped up . . . okay?” she said, throwing her arms up. “I had too much to drink. I was out of it that day . . .”
She trailed off before becoming calm, like a horse trainer whispering to a wild and unruly mare.
“It was all an accident,” she said. “A horrible, horrible accident.”
“Was it?”
She closed her eyes and licked her lips. “Yes. And it kills me, too, that he isn’t here anymore. But, Isla. You need to finally accept this.”
“I can’t. I won’t,” I practically yelled.
