“I just want to move out, but you know what she’s like.”

“Yup,” I say. She would make us feel so guilty if we even thought about leaving. She seemed to have a sixth sense when any of us were fantasizing about life beyond the trailer. “Could you and Kitty find a place to share together?” I know as I say it, it will feel impossible to Marion. When you’re in it, under Mom’s watchful eye, it’s like being a prisoner. And because we had no experience of our own to compare it to, we accepted it as normal.

I press the exit button and hit the fresh, cold Colorado air. The sky’s blue and the sun’s shining. I don’t know what it is, but the blue sky makes everything feel a little bit more hopeful. I step out onto the gravel that surrounds the main building and lean against the pine shiplap.

She sighs. “I made the mistake of suggesting that to Kitty. She went and told Mom on me.”

Mom used to encourage us to tell on each other, even when we were little. We could win her favor by complaining that someone had smashed a glass or wasted some of the new shampoo. Looking back, it was like a constant war; we were either on Mom’s side against each other, or we were on defense, fighting our way back into her camp.

She was a puppet master. We were just a game to her.

A huge bubble of grief and pity forms in my chest, and I start thinking about ways Marion can escape. And then it becomes obvious. The Colorado Club needs staff. And they’re offering accommodations. All my sisters could come here and get jobs.

But I can’t get the words out.

For some reason, I don’t want to give Marion my escape route. But I want her to find her own.

“Have you thought about what your options could be? What happened to working your way through community college?” Marion was always an excellent student. Looking back, we all had been. But Mom never encouraged college. Instead, she wanted us to go to work as soon as we could. We’re a team, Mom used to say. We all had to play our parts and contribute as soon as we’d left school. Boyfriends were strongly discouraged. Mom had her eyes on the prize, and the prize was her daughters providing her with an income.

“There’s no way she’s going to let me go to community college.” I want to say, you’re an adult, Marion. You can make your own decisions, but I don’t because I know it won’t help. Even if she knows it’s true, it won’t feel like she has the power or control. I know because I lived it.

“Do you have to tell her?”