“It’s always good to know what your enemy is up to. Mr. Northcutt considers himself more clever than he really is. Anyway, I thought you were here to discuss our siblings.” Her green eyes were catlike, and I realized she thought I was a toy she could bat around. She wasn’t an opponent I could beat with force. I’d have to spar on her terms.

“Why did you hate my sister so much?” I asked.

“Oh, are we playing truth or dare?” she asked. “Fine, I’ll go first. I hated her because she was the perfect little blonde daughter doll my father always wanted. She was pretty and skinny and eager to please. Father thought the sun rose and set on her.”

“Are you fishing for compliments?”

“I know I’m hot,” Juliet said. “But I’m the plush, deluxe, sardonic version of that doll. My father started sending me to fat camp when I was eight.”

“There’s a lot that’s messed up about your family.”

“Unlike your family, I suppose,” Juliet shot back. “The untroubled Crawleys.”

“Fair enough,” I admitted.

“I answered your question. Time to answer mine. What did you hate about Caroline?”

That caught me by surprise. “I loved my sister.”

“I’m not talking about that,” Juliet said. “We’ve all got mixed feelings about family lurking under the surface.”

“I don’t. Caro was a good person. She tried to help people.”

“If you’re going to stay, you have to be honest, Deirdre. Otherwise, you may as well leave now.”

I wanted to walk out, but that wouldn’t get me anywhere. I liked to think of myself as a person who faced up to the truth, but I had run away from it too many times. “I hated that Caroline stayed close to our father, even after all the times he hit our mother.” My mouth was dry, and my heart squeezed tight inside my chest. It felt like it might explode through my rib cage. I put my hands on my knees and leaned back a little.

“I didn’t know that. About your family, I mean.” Juliet uncrossed her legs and reached for a strawberry from the fruit plate on the ottoman. “I’d say I’m sorry, but that’s so patronizing. I wish Caroline had told me that.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes sense of her,” Juliet said. “I thought she was a little bitch who enjoyed being Miss Perfect. Instead, she was just being the good girl trying to manage every last detail. You get that in families with abuse. Some people think they can create order by doing everything right.”

“What is this, Psychology 101?” I tried to make it a joke, but Juliet’s words landed hard. When I’d been in the psychiatric hospital at fifteen, I’d had doctors prodding at me, trying to trick me into talking. Nothing made me feel more vulnerable than that.