Abruptly, Kennedy rose and left the room. Deven heard clattering around downstairs for a minute before she returned, surprised when she brought with her two glasses of wine. The red liquid sloshed against the side of the glass as she held it out. “Are you thirsty?” she asked. The question was so earnest that Deven had to wonder if her sister was bipolar. The hospitality was in direct contradiction to their dialogue, and Kennedy’s fluctuations were making her even more nervous. Deven accepted the glass, but didn’t drink it, instead clutching it in her lap with trembling fingers.

“I bet he didn’t tell you how terrible it was living with him did he?” Kennedy asked sitting down once more and taking a generous sip of her own wine. “You would think he would take responsibility and admit that he was a shitty father figure. The drugs, the constantly moving from place to place, so never having a stable childhood, all the men and women in and out of our house . . .” Her voice cracked, and she took another sip of wine, blinking back more tears.

Deven’s heart broke, remembering her sister’s diary entry. “I know,” she murmured. “I read about it. I’m so sorry, Kennedy. You deserved better.”

Kennedy polished off her wine and sat the glass down, running her fingers around the rim that was now stained with her lipstick. “Oh, I see you’ve been catching up on your little sis,” she said with a ghost of a smile. “Well since you know some of the happenings, did you know Keith left cocaine out once? Right on the fucking kitchen table beside the breakfast. I guess he forgot about it or got busy because he was on the phone in the other room.” Kennedy paused and lowered her head, her hair covering her face. “I tried it,” she mumbled. “I was fucking fourteen, trying drugs because that’s all we were around. Damn near died since he didn’t want to go to the ER because they would start asking too many questions. Do you know how much that could fuck up a kid?”

Deven listened in horror. No, she couldn’t imagine it. A child lying there dying but couldn’t even receive medical attention. No, Keith hadn’t villainized his daughter, but he sure as hell hadn’t been completely transparent about their circumstances. “I’m sorry,” Deven croaked, and she meant it. “I—we had no idea. Mom and me. After you asked to go live with him, she said you said that you never wanted to be bothered with us again. And then every time she called, you all had moved somewhere else, until finally you just stopped answering altogether. Like you just disappeared until we connected again on social media.”