“If I did know, I wouldn’t tell even now.”

“I suppose I should be grateful that Clare had such a loyal friend.”

“What’s that mean, Marisa?”

“You’re willing to keep her secrets after all that’s happened and all this time. Takes a strong person to hold in a secret that long.”

“Stop pressing me, Marisa. I can’t help you.”

What had Clare told Jo-Jo? I could keep pushing but knew right now she wasn’t going to tell me. I hoisted my purse onto my shoulder and stood. “Clare loved you.”

Jo-Jo’s breath was quick and ragged. “I know. I loved her. I was willing to do anything for her.”

“Secrets don’t help anyone.”

32 MARISA

32

MARISA

Thursday, March 17, 2022

5:00 p.m.

I removed the file Richards had given me and shuffled through the interviews until I reached the report on my accident. There were several pictures and notes on my estimated speed, my apparent head injury, and an interview with Jenny Taylor, the witness. Photos of my Jeep twisted and mangled were haunting. It was a miracle I’d made it out alive.

The accident was as lost as the night I woke up on the neatly made bed and my night with Jack. But since January, not a few days went by without me feeling fragmented moments of panic.

My first real memory after the accident featured Brit. My sister had been in my hospital room. She’d been talking with authority to someone about me. Brit had always been in charge of Clare and me. Even when Mom was alive, she’d run the show. Disaster struck, and it was Brit to the rescue.

“Will she remember the accident?” An unknown man’s voice felt vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Maybe one of my doctors or a nurse.

“The doctors are hopeful she’ll remember,” Brit said.

“Have you been here the entire time?” the man asked.

“Almost nonstop. I don’t want her to be alone.”

Knowing Brit, she’d been hovering over me, watching me sleep, calculating therapies, treatments, doctors’ appointments. Brit liked logistics. Taking care of people gave her purpose.

In the hospital bed, my eyelids felt heavy, and it took effort to pry them open just halfway. The light in the room was dim, but I could see the muted television playing a game show. I wanted to call out to Brit, a blurry mash of soft mauves, but the tube down my throat made it impossible. Brit’s back was to me, her attention on the man just out of my field of vision. Finally, unable to sustain even this silent communication, I closed my eyes.