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Because it’s all the same, isn’t it? When one of us is hurt, we both are. You’re me and I’m you.
Quote?
But if that’s the case, why do you and Monica appear so happy?
I wonder if the narrator ends up killing Monica?
You’ve always found value in things others might find worthless.
Okay this sounds like Lenora talking about Cassie. So has Lenora been the narrator of the chapters set in the past?
There’s a bite to your voice. A tone that has me flinching backward. And your face. There’s an expression there I’ve never seen before. A seething anger.
She deserves to die. She doesn’t.
I think the narrator is talking about Monica
You’ve been lying to me. About everything.
Hmmm so is the narrator's sister obsessed with Monica? See that sounds like L
But the person sinks backward into the thick forest.
Karen?
“It’s gone. Everything’s gone. But you. You’re my home. Where you go, I go.”
L to C
And I didn’t tell Lenora what I know. That Karen was released last night.
And I can’t figure out why Sarah and Cassie are so afraid to leave me alone.
“I didn’t set that fire. I’m not our mother.”
L to C
“I’m not evil like her.” “She wasn’t evil.” I shake my head, my mouth trembling, barely able to form the words. “She killed our father. Could have killed us too if we didn’t get away.”
L and C
How could you do this? How could you do this to our family?
What if their mother found out about the abuse from their Dad
Somewhere in Texas, I think.
San Antonio
But she was never the evil person Lenora makes her out to be.
But she hit one of y'all
“Sarah Hill doesn’t exist.” Her voice curves upward, coming to life with every word. “But the girl in this picture does. Her name is Sandra Wells, and she’s been missing for fifteen years.”
Who is Sandra Wells?
“What truth are you running from, Cassie?”
Lenora
“You think I’m going to hurt her like I did Kate?”
Narrator's sister
But the sudden downpour is welcome. It reminds me that as dead as I feel, I’m unfortunately still alive.
“I knew,” she whispered, “that I should have felt the instant love deep in my soul. It’s what all my friends felt. It’s what I expected. But,” she told us, “I could only feel the ache between my legs and the annoyance at the too-tight grip of your dad’s hand on my shoulder.”
C and L's mother
We come into the world the same way we leave it. By blood.
Christian music, I think. Old-timey Christian worship music.
What if their mother is down here
There are three people standing in front of me.
But it isn’t a question. Not really. Mom is lying sideways across her bed. A knife sticks from her chest, but there’s so much blood—over her, on her sheets. So much, I can’t gauge the extent of her injuries.
“I’m sorry.” But the look on your face is different now. More somber as you step to the side. I see what you were blocking. Monica slumped over. No blood on her or injuries. Almost like she’s sleeping.
But I see you now, the way your eyes roam over her body and Mom’s. Even I can see the flash of pleasure, the flash of pride. The lack of remorse.
A roaring in my ears. “So you told me he was abusing you?” “I just wanted you to understand how much he hurt me. I wanted you to hate him like I did.” You’re a liar, I think. You’re also so much worse than that.
“You still love me, don’t you, Sandra?” you ask.
Ahhhh okay so Sandra/Sarah is narrating the past chapters. I made a guess earlier that these chapters were featuring Sarah
Hurting them is hurting us.
We want what we can’t have, and no one could have you. You are the sun and stars and moon. A meteor shower, brightly burning and then gone. The good parts of you are fleeting and persuasive.
Until we came and her field was covered in tents, and two teenagers were sitting on her rock. Her grave was now a campground. It would be another three years before we came back again. After Lenora’s breakdown. After we hit our lowest point. We decided to get away. To go camping. We came here. And we never left.
“I know what it feels like to think I’m going to die.” I stand on bare feet, my toes squishing into the soft ground. I grab my sister’s clean hands as the first drop of rain falls. “And it wasn’t lonely at all.”
