I stopped breathing.
I clicked the first link and read as fast as I could. I flew past words like “diazepam,” “digoxin,” “morphine,” and “propranolol” until I understood—DDMP2 was a drug, a mixture of four medicines that made terminally ill patients fall asleep, slip into a coma, and die.
I slammed the laptop shut and clutched my chest. If Gordon was right, Mom hadn’t died because it was her time. She’d died because a doctor had given her some pills. I squeezed my eyes shut, picturing her gaunt in bed, staring down eternity alone.
I reopened the computer, head spinning. After clearing the browser history and cookies, I powered down the laptop and shoved it back into the drawer.
But she hadn’t been alone, had she?
I traveled back to that patch of concrete on the Vegas strip. The aftertaste of Bacardi coated my tongue—I hadn’t been able to stomach rum since. I was vaguely aware that my knees were skinned and bleeding as I clutched my phone. What had Nat said? How had she reassured me?
I’ve been by her side the whole time. She didn’t go alone.
She knew, then. They both did. Mom knew. Natalie knew. They had made a pact, a plan to get rid of me, and then they jumped, hands held, leaving me behind.
Everyone I trusted had lied to me.
“Sick” wasn’t a strong enough word. I pushed the chair back from the desk and jammed the heels of my hands into my eye sockets. I choked back a howl, but a whimper escaped.
I didn’t know how long I’d been sitting there when the room chilled. I sensed her presence before she said a word.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Teacher asked from the doorway. Every time I’d opened that door, every single time over the past six months, it had creaked like it was going to fall off its hinges, sending echoes throughout the entire house. Yet the one time I saw Teacher enter the room, the door was silent. How could you explain something like that? How could you spend any amount of time around her and remain unconvinced she was extraordinary?
I pulled my hands from my face and met her eye. “I have to tell you something.”
42
Natalie
JANUARY 10, 2020
KIT GLARES AT me. “I know, Nat.”
I frown. “Know what?”
“How Mom died. I’ve known for weeks.”
I freeze, mouth open. The e-mailer had told her, then.
My sister’s voice cracks. “I didn’t want to believe it. I told myself, no way you two were capable of such deceit. I’ve never wanted so badly to be wrong about something.” She works her jaw. “That’s why I wanted you to come here, so you could explain that I had it backward.”
“Wait, you sent the e-mail?” I say, dizzy.
“Figures this is the one time I’m right.”
“How did you find out?” She scowls as my brain struggles to compute the facts. Then I remember.
The second attachment.
Mom’s death certificate with DDMP2 written neatly in blue ink. Someone must have shown Kit the document.
My tongue feels fuzzy. “Why didn’t you pick up the phone? You could’ve asked me to come out.”
“What, and give you the chance to prepare some sob story? You hadn’t even thought about telling me the truth until I threatened it out of you.”
“You’re wrong.” I take a rickety breath. “I thought about it every day. I couldn’t figure out how to do it in a way that wouldn’t devastate you.”
“How about not lying to me in the first place?”
My chest tightens. “If you had just signed the e-mail . . .”
“Gordon monitors the account, so I couldn’t. He would’ve known I was having a setback and reported it.”
A pounding builds in my ears. My pulse jabs at my throat. “Is that what this is about? Impressing Rebecca? She matters more to you than getting closure on Mom?”
Kit narrows her eyes until her pupils are barely visible. “Are you fucking serious? Don’t put this on me. You were scared for a few days, and suddenly I’m the sociopath?” She jumps to her feet. “You let me panic for two years. How many times did I cry to you about how guilty I felt? Every single time you kept it going. You could’ve given me that closure.”
“I know.” I drop my head in my hands. “I know, I know, I know. I have no excuse other than it’s what Mom wanted. For once I actually listened to her.”
“What a time to grow a conscience.”
“I deserve every insult you’ve got.” I scoot forward on the bed. “I even deserved being left in that forest. Not because of the phone, but for what I did to you. I’ve been a shitty sister.” My chin quivers. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, I swear.”