I had planned—insofar as I’d done any planning at all—to tell my uncle what I’d remembered, leaving out the part Nick played in the revelation, of course, and ask him what to do next. In my confused mental state, I’d never figured Barbara into the equation at all. And I was not anxious to be alone with her.

“I’m really—just—drunk,” I said.

Joseph left the room. I heard the low murmur of his voice and knew he was summoning the medicos. If they brought a net, I’d make a run for it, sore feet or none.

“Drunk?” Barbara asked, sniffing delicately. “I don’t smell alcohol.”

I started to cry. Why hadn’t I called Jolie? Now I’d painted myself into a corner, and I might never get out. I would probably go to jail, even if I had been only five when I committed the crime. Uncle Clive would advise me to turn myself in, I was sure. And plead insanity.

Joseph came back. He carried a first-aid kit in one hand.

“What did the doctor say?” Barbara wanted to know.

“He’s out of town,” Joseph answered, pushing back the coffee table, forcing Barbara to wheel back out of the way. “It’s a judgment call. We can look after her ourselves, or take her to the emergency room.”

“I’m not going to any hospital,” I said.

Prison, maybe. But no more hospitals.

“Well, I’d like to keep this out of the news if possible,” Barbara said practically. She tilted a lamp shade so Joseph could get a better view of my feet, which were now in his lap. He sloshed them with alcohol, and I winced and tried to pull away.

“Good luck,” Joseph said.

I wasn’t sure whether he was talking to me or Barbara.

“Everything will look better in the morning,” she said.

I heard the words like an odd, muffled echo, coming from the long ago and far away.

Everything will look better in the morning.

Scented hands, tucking me into a strange bed. I was small and scared. Earlier, a maid had scrubbed me clean in a bathtub big enough to swim in, and before that, men in uniforms had asked me a lot of questions I couldn’t answer.

I wanted my mother, and the hopelessness of the longing was a giant, pulsing bruise inside me.

Everything will look better in the morning.

Back in the present moment, I covered my face with both hands.

“Are you all right?” Joseph asked.

I felt a peculiar tension in the air, looked up. It was coming from Barbara.

I knew what she was thinking.

Her husband was a state senator. A cinch for governor.

And now this crazy relative had turned up, just in time to ruin everything.

“I want to go home,” I said. “I can drive, really.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Joseph replied flatly.