Chapter 6 - Caroline’s Questions
Caroline requested coffee.
Public place.
I almost refused.
Nadine said:
“Go only if you want. Don’t interrogate. Assume anything may be repeated.”
I went.
Caroline looked exhausted.
“Mom thinks I’m betraying her by meeting you.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“Clara.”
“What?”
“She’s scared.”
“Of losing the house?”
“Yes.”
“Good reason to sell.”
“You know what that house means.”
“I know what Lucy means.”
Caroline rubbed forehead.
Then:
“Did CPS come?”
I stared.
“How do you know?”
Her face changed.
“The school has to report.”
“How do you know school called?”
Silence.
There.
I leaned back.
“Caroline.”
“I guessed.”
“No.”
She looked away.
“Mom said Lucy’s counselor had concerns.”
“When?”
“Before Christmas.”
“Mom knew?”
“She said Lucy was telling school things.”
“What things?”
“Food.”
“How would Mom know what Lucy told her counselor?”
Caroline’s hands tightened around coffee cup.
“I don’t know.”
Lie.
I did not push.
Instead:
“Did you report me?”
“No.”
Too fast.
“Did Mom?”
“I don’t know.”
Maybe true technically.
Then she said:
“Clara, you do leave Lucy with Mom.”
“Not anymore.”
“She’s helped you for years.”
“That does not buy permission to starve her.”
“No one starved her.”
“Locking a child away from dinner while telling her she doesn’t deserve food qualifies as enough for me.”
Caroline flinched.
Then:
“Mom says you’ve always used money to control us.”
I laughed.
“I pay your mortgage and I’m controlling because I stopped?”
“Our mortgage.”
“No.”
That came out sharper.
“Her mortgage.”
Caroline stared.
I continued.
“You live there. I don’t. I don’t own a room. I don’t have a key anymore.”
“Dad wanted the house kept.”
“Dad is dead.”
She recoiled.
I regretted tone.
Not truth.
Then Caroline whispered:
“Mom says if Lucy lived there more, you would have to keep helping.”
My pulse slowed.
“What?”
“She’s not trying to steal Lucy.”
“I didn’t say she was.”
“You’re looking at me like that.”
“How much more?”
“Weekdays maybe.”
“Why?”
“So you can work.”
“I already work and parent.”
“She says you’re exhausted.”
“I’m not.”
“Clara…”
“Did Mom talk to a lawyer?”
Caroline stood.
“I have to go.”
There.
Not answer.
She left coffee untouched.
That night my mother texted from a new number:
Caroline has always been weak under pressure. Do not mistake her guilt for truth.
I had not told Mom we met.
Caroline had.
Or Mom monitored.
May you like
Either way, the sisters were cracking.
And whatever they were hiding depended on them telling the same story.
