Chapter 7: Migraine

It was Corinna.

She stood in the doorway in a silk robe with her hair loose and a damp cloth in her hand.

Her eyes went to the desk, to the papers on the floor, to Sullivan's shirt hanging open, to me with my zipper half up.

Nobody moved.

I waited for the scream, the slap, the tears.

I had waited for them for two weeks, and I was ready.

"Oh," said my sister. "There you are."

She gave a small, dry laugh.

"I took a pill and lay down in the blue room. I heard the quartet stop and I came looking for you both."

"Corinna," Sullivan said.

"Don't." She held up one hand without looking at him. "I'm sorry I missed it. I heard the toast went wonderfully."

I stared at her.

"Corinna, did you see..."

"I saw nothing. I have a migraine. I'm half asleep."

She said it to the bookshelf behind my head.

Her lips were pressed white, and the damp cloth was shaking in her fingers.

"Go to bed, Sullivan," she said, still not looking at him. "You're tired. Jolene, I'll see you at Mom's in the morning."

She turned and walked away down the corridor with her back very straight.

Her bare feet made no sound on the carpet.

Sullivan closed his eyes.

"She knows," he said.

"She said she saw nothing."

"Jolene."

"She saw. She just won't say it." I yanked my zipper up. "That's worse. She wants me to sweat."

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