Has he grasped the fallout from my sister’s actions, or am I the only one lamenting what might have been? “Say something,” I say at last. He looks down at his hands, fisted on the edge of the bar. “What is it you want me to say?” “I want you to say you believe Corinne switched the letters, and to acknowledge what that means.” “It was a lifetime ago, Marian. At this point, I don’t think it matters.” The use of my real name—so foreign on his tongue—is like a dash of icy water, but his cavalier response cuts to the bone. I blink at him, stunned. “You came all the way to Boston to crash an awards
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yeah, excuse me, Bud! don't be fucking stupid!
