Evelyn nodded.
“He said, ‘Remember what we buried beneath Grandma’s oak. Some things
stay safer underground.’”
I sat slowly.
“That sounds like Dad.”
“I know.”
For ten years, Evelyn had believed our father ordered her to disappear.
For ten years, I believed she was dead.
One of us had been lied to.
Possibly both.
“Why stay gone after Dad died?”
Her eyes widened.
“Dad is dead?”
I stopped breathing.
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
“He died four years ago.”
Evelyn began crying.
Her entire body folded.
I watched my supposedly dead sister grieve our father six years late.
Something inside me cracked.
I sat beside her.
For several seconds, I fought myself.
Then I put one hand on her shoulder.
She grabbed me.
The hug was desperate.
Familiar.
Wrong.
Right.
I cried too.
Ten years collapsed.
We were children again.
Two girls sharing one bedroom.
Two teenagers whispering after midnight.
Two halves of something we thought life could never separate.
Eventually, we pulled apart.
I wiped my face.
“Mom is alive.”
Evelyn closed her eyes.
“Does she know you’re here?”
“No.”
“Do you want her to?”
Evelyn looked terrified.
“I don’t know.”
“She thinks you’re dead.”
“I know.”
“She visits your grave.”
Evelyn covered her face.
I immediately regretted saying it.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“She deserves the truth.”
“Yes.”
“But first I need proof.”
Evelyn looked at me.
“Proof that I’m me?”
