Contents (85)
- Contents
- Part I
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Part II
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Part III
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- One
- Two
- Reading Group Guide
- A Conversation with the Author
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
“You could have said something for the last twenty-two years,” he says. “But you didn’t. So don’t tell me how innocent you are.”
“I was fifteen. Can you imagine what that was like for me?”
“You’re not fifteen anymore, Rosie. Haven’t been in a long time. So where’s your conscience now?”
I want to tell him he’s right and that I’ve already asked myself the same thing, and I’ve already come up with an answer. I want to tell him the reason I’m going back to Milwaukee is to stop all this hiding. That’s all Bury is, after all. A place to hide. A fortress of my past. I’m done.
I’m done.
I’m about to tell him these things when I’m jolted by a horrible noise.
I look over. Cora’s left my peripheral vision and walked ten feet over to the far side of the study, next to the unlit fireplace. She’s swinging an iron fireplace poker with both hands, smashing it against the floor. I can’t comprehend why she’s doing this until I see what it is she’s striking.
My phone.
She’s shattering my phone into a thousand pieces.
All my recordings are gone.
All my innocence erased.
All I have left is my anger. Twenty-two years of rage. A lifetime of guilt. And a sense of needing to put the universe back into place.
For the first time in my life, I am my sister.
The monster with an unquenchable desire.
The desire to kill.
I launch at her.
Fifty-Eight
She pivots too late. Cora’s unable to raise the poker again before I plow into her, crushing her into the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Tolstoy, Melville, and others scatter to the floor, spines cracked open, probably for the first time. We fall with the books, Cora landing on top of them, and I on top of her.
The poker leaves her hand and clangs against the hardwood floor. I’m dizzy and confused, scared and elated. I want to kill my sister, but I also want to hold her tight, squeeze the crazy out of her, tell her I love her. My arms are wrapped around her in a bear hug, and the battle of my emotions rages in my head, unable to make a next move.
Cora has no such problem. From beneath, she begins hitting me with tight, balled fists, alternating blows to each side of my rib cage. They aren’t desperate flails but rather measured attacks, each punch dealing swift, efficient pain.
She’s trained, I think. Why this thought overrides all others in the moment I don’t know. But my delicate sister who’s never worked hard for anything in her life knows what she’s doing.
How to fight. How to hurt.
I try to punch back but can’t get any momentum. She keeps hitting me, sapping more of my strength with each contact. I have to get off her, regroup.
I start to push up and she grabs my hair and yanks back, opening my neck to her. She bares her teeth, and for a moment, I picture them tearing into my skin, my jugular, gnashing, blood spraying.