She wiped her face.
“I didn’t think you’d leave.”
“Why not?”
“Because you never do.”
I stared at her.
She looked ashamed.
“You always find a way to make things okay. When Dad was sick, you handled the appointments. When he died, you organized the photographs. You always say it’s fine, even when I know it isn’t.”
I thought about all the times I’d swallowed an insult because I didn’t want to lose my sister.
Vanessa continued.
“I thought you’d sit at the other table, and we’d take the pictures, and then everything would go back to normal.”
I looked at her.
“So you expected me to accept being humiliated because it was easier for you.”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
For a moment, I almost reached for her.
She was my sister.
I’d loved her since I was old enough to recognize her footsteps on our porch.
I knew how much she had missed our father.
And I understood, at last, that she’d been carrying a resentment much older than either of us had been willing to discuss.
But I couldn’t make the hurt disappear by pretending it had been reasonable.
“Vanessa, I wish Dad had done better by you.”
Her face crumpled.
“I do too.”
“I wish you’d told me how angry you were.”
“I didn’t know how.”
I nodded.
“But you still chose to hurt me today.”
She lowered her eyes.
“Yes.”
“And it wasn’t an accident. You planned it.”
