Willa gives one conclusive nod. “So you see, I do know everything. I know about my West helping you hide the body and how you made him drive your husband’s boat to an abandoned island so his fingerprints would be on the steering wheel and how you stashed Simon’s watch in his boat, then called the police accusing my West of murder.” Willa stops to take a deep breath, tears suddenly shining in her eyes. “You see?” she says again. “I know too much.”

I want to fade away, forget what I just learned about myself, not see the hurt and confusion and shock on June’s face after learning that her sister is a murderer or hear any more of Willa’s ramblings about that horrible night. But the fading won’t come. I’m supposed to be here, remembering, suffering, witnessing.

Tears are running down June’s cheeks now, too, from all that she’s just learned. “Willa, it’s me, June.” Grief has stripped her of the ability to keep up the charade. “Please untie me. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not my mother. I’m on your side.”

Willa starts shaking her head and wringing her hands. “I can’t. I can’t untie you. There are too many secrets. My boy, he’s going to find out if I don’t do something. You never should have come back. You promised.”

June sighs deeply and wipes her tears away with the back of her tied hand. “I know you had a deal, Willa. You keep saying that, but it was with my mother, and I’m not my mother.” The last four words come out as a yell, and Willa jumps.

Willa’s own tears start to fall, and she roughly wipes them away. “I tried other ways, I did, but they didn’t work,” she explains. “It wasn’t supposed to come to this.” Willa looks down at the floor. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I’m so sorry. It’s for my boy.”

Before June can say anything, Willa disappears from the room, and then there’s the sound of the back door slamming shut. I expect June to try to get free from the ropes, to yell out, but all she does is sit there staring straight ahead, looking defeated and sad.

I move right up close to her, wishing I could wipe her memory clean of everything or at the very least be there to explain, to comfort. I flood the space around her with my presence, making myself as big as I can.