“You told me he wouldn’t say anything.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Elise pressed the wristband flat against her palm. “I know.”
“What did you think?”
Her eyes filled. “I thought he was sick. Then I thought I was being stupid. Then I thought maybe he was drinking, or he’d had some procedure, or maybe the light was bad.” She shook her head violently. “You had just started treatment. You were throwing up every morning. Your hair was coming out on your pillow. I could not come home and say, ‘By the way, I think Dad might be dying too.’ I couldn’t.”
“You could have told me what you saw.”
“And if I had?” Her voice rose. “You just said you would have gone to him.”
The words struck cleanly because they were true.
Elise wiped at her face with the heel of her hand. “I made myself believe him. That’s what I did. He said he was fine, and I needed one of you to be fine, so I believed him.”
