By this time your furious brother has ceased shouting. Or you are out of earshot and can’t hear him. You are flooded with adrenaline, in a delirium of terror that is close to exaltation, such certainty—but also anger, rage. That you were so deceived, so blind—your brother had been planning to attack you all along, you’d had no idea.

Wanting to forgive him. To love him. Take care of him. Wanting to be forgiven. How could you!

The Guilty Sister

OH, VIOLET . . . REALLY?”

You have told Katie that you’ve just had a call from a friend in Mohawk, you must leave South Niagara today and return.

In fact, within the hour. Though it is already early evening, and you will have hours of night driving ahead on the Thruway.

Katie stares at you uncomprehending. Clearly she is very surprised, and hurt. Just when we’d started to be sisters again! Violet has always been so—unpredictable. Disappointing.

Searching your face, hoping not to see whatever she fears to see, that you are withholding from her.

(Though you will tell Katie what happened, in a day or two. When you’ve recovered and feel that you can speak on the phone calmly, convincingly.)

Managed to wash your dirtied face, quick when you entered the house. Grateful Lionel hadn’t bloodied your nose, blackened an eye. Wincing with pain, he’d kicked you hard in the back, lower back, legs, lurid bruises will blossom across your lower body but safely hidden inside your clothing where Katie, for one, will never see.

Palms of your hands scraped, bleeding. How you’d hauled yourself up the steep hill, desperate not to die . . . You shake your head, no. Not something you will want to recall if you can help it.

Your hands, scrubbed with soap, stinging, are still shaking badly. Managing to repack your small suitcase which you’d only just unpacked. Too distracted to help you Katie stands in the doorway staring.

“But what about Mom, Violet? What should I tell her?”

Tell Mom that I have escaped with my life.

“Tell Mom that I love her. I will call her, I will keep in touch. I will come to see her again, soon. Sometime.”

Not wanting to think—But Mom won’t remember me. Already, Mom has forgotten me.

“We’d thought you were going to stay a week at least, Violet. There are relatives who want to see you . . .” Katie’s voice trails off, she doesn’t want to sound reproachful. Though yes, your sister is disappointed with you. Again.

You are thinking—relatives. But why did these relatives make no effort to contact you, let alone see you, for thirteen years?

“Who is this friend who has called you, Violet?”—Katie sounds skeptical.

“A friend. No one you know.”

Of course. You know no one in my life.

“I will keep in touch, Katie. I will be back, I promise.”