I sat forward on my end of the couch and rubbed my face with both hands, my elbows on my knees. “Krystal, look at yourself. I don’t think this is good for you.”

“What do you mean?” She kept looking toward the tree. “Look at everything I did! I put all this together!”

“I know, that’s what I mean. None of this is good for you. This house isn’t good for you. And look at yourself,” I said again, gesturing toward her shoes and housecoat. “Those are Geannie’s things. You should sell them, like you were going to. All of this stuff, you should sell it.”

“Come on, Bonnie.” She wouldn’t look at me. “You have so much money now. I’m not even asking for that much. I know how much you won. I know how much.” Her smile twisted around and she started tearing up. When she started speaking again her voice came out broken. “You won so much money. And that’s all I’m asking for! Money!” She exhaled the words between sobs. Her eyes bulged out of her head. “It’s just money! And you can’t say”—she paused to get her breath—“you can’t say that I ever asked for you for anything, right? I’ve never asked you for anything, ever!”

I couldn’t look at her. “And if you needed money for anything else, I would give it to you. But I can’t buy this house for you, Krystal. I can’t move in with you, I don’t even like being here. It’s not right. Geannie and Jim are dead. They’re gone. You need to move on with your life. Get out of town, or maybe—”

“Oh, go fuck yourself, Bonnie.”

I’d been looking toward the tree, avoiding her face, wildly embarrassed by this entire exchange, but at this outburst my eyes darted back to her.

Her face had contorted. “Miss High-and-Mighty, Miss I-Don’t-Need-Shit. Now you’re giving me advice? Don’t you remember? That week after the shooting, you were all fucked up, and you came to me. To me. My house. And I was happy to have you!”

I felt myself flush deeply. “Okay, well. It wasn’t like that—”

“Oh fuck you, yes it was, you were fucked up, Bonnie. Lying on the couch in some kind of trance, whimpering in your sleep and crying like a titty-baby, and I held your hand and let you do it, do you remember that? Hernan was my brother. And Geannie and Jim . . .” She paused, as if thoughts were swarming inside her, and her voice changed, imitating me. “Geannie and Jim, Geannie and Jim,” she mocked. “That’s all you ever say. They were my parents, Bonnie. Why don’t you ever call them that? Geannie was my mother, Jim was my father,” she said, her voice cracking. “They were my parents but you were there crying like they’d been your parents. And why? Because you were there when it happened? You walked out of there fine. A few cuts and bruises, a graze, so the fuck what. You didn’t even try to stop them. Why didn’t you stop them?”