Chapter 18: The Wrong Daughter

Kerry's POV

Margo's mother did not stay on the porch.

She took one key off a ring in her coat pocket and set it on the stone rail.

"That's the key to my house," she said. "You won't need it."

"Mom," Margo said.

"I'm going to my sister's in Warwick. Don't call me."

"You can't leave me here."

"I'm not leaving you. You left me first."

Margo's mother turned to me, and her eyes were wet.

"Kerry, I raised her wrong, or I raised her right and she did this anyway. I don't know which."

"It isn't your fault," I said.

"It's a little my fault."

She walked down the steps, past the officer and the movers.

She got back into her cab.

Margo watched it go.

She did not cry and she did not shout, which was worse.

Then she took the leather folder, tucked it under her arm and walked to her car.

The movers loaded the sofa back onto the truck.

Constance stood in her ruined doorway with her cane planted.

"I will want a new lock by noon," she said to nobody.

The next afternoon my mother had her rehab session at St. Luke's.

It was in a bright room on the second floor, with exercise bikes and a row of parallel bars.

The nurse counted everything out loud.

I sat in a plastic chair by the window.

I had a stack of spelling sheets I wasn't allowed to grade yet.

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