How devastatingly unfair I’d been, to all of us and especially to myself. A few tears escaped, and she handed me a tissue from the box on my desk. We each folded and touched them to the skin below our bottom eyelashes, a trick passed down from Cricket. We saw this and laughed, rueful.

Wallis wrapped her arms around me. Into my shoulder, she whispered, “I know you were doing your best. So why do I get the feeling like you are disappointed in yourself?”

“Because I am. I’m not particularly strong, or brilliant, or even good.”

“Don’t talk about my sister that way.” Wallis released me, dabbed her eyes once more, then entwined our fingers. “She’s my best friend, and I won’t let you disparage her like that.”

I smiled, buoyed by my sister, who, I saw now, was incredibly brave. Her vulnerability and loyalty to those she loved, her ability to remain staunchly by my side in spite of everything I’d hidden from her was an act of grace, really. One I wasn’t sure I deserved.

“Now, the tuition. Tell me more.” Wallis led me to my chair, had me sit.

I needed a few deep breaths. Then: “Atlas did some sleuthing,” I said softly. “But he’s not the only one who knows. Melinda Darley does, and at least a few of her staff. They’re not doing anything with it for now. But I don’t know how long the détente will hold, and others might find out themselves.”

Wallis stood before me, sure-footed, full of conviction. “Okay, so, like I said earlier. Why bother holding it, if it’s going to come out? You’re still looking at me like I’m out of my mind. Listen, Daisy. All this time you’ve been dealing with Mom and me, Dad, and now Atlas, I think you’ve been picturing yourself as the broken glass, lying in shards on the floor of our old house. But you’re not.” My office phone rang, but I ignored it. “You have another option, Daisy.”

“I do?” It was an honest question.

Her smile, before she made her big pronouncement, was broad and easy. “Be the brick.”

Thirty-Three

After Wallis left my office, I sat for a long time, thinking.

By a long time, I mean a full workday. Imagine a movie montage. The sun rises high then sets. The shadows shift across my face. The flurry of activity around my desk, people coming and going, dropping papers, picking them up. Miles, pacing. The fluorescent lights go on, the janitorial staff vacuums around me. Everyone in double time, except me, so still I might’ve been confused for a statue.

It was a news alert on my phone that woke me up around dinnertime. Another man—prominent, respected, you can surmise the rest—had been caught cheating. The details didn’t really matter; I knew them by heart anyway.