I decided I was as ready as I ever would be for lunch with my family. I braced one hand against the tree trunk to push myself into a standing position. But the weight of Katie’s hand on my shoulder stopped me.
“Let’s stay here for a minute,” she said. “So we can talk privately.”
I settled back against the tree, thinking that maybe I could avoid a nasty confrontation at lunch by talking with Katie now. By convincing her to accept the conditions she’d so readily agreed to when she’d returned to Maryville. At least until Gran, who was already talking about retiring, gave up her leadership of the Underground. Aunt Lucy, I was sure, would willingly reroute rescued women away from the Cherokee Rose. For Katie’s sake.
Katie lowered herself to a patch of nearby grass, spent a moment smoothing her tailored skirt and the white chef’s apron that covered it, and another moment concentrating on brushing back a few ash-blond tendrils that had escaped from her barrettes. Then, without warning, she flicked her hand against my hip, her fingers striking the place where my holster usually hung.
When our eyes met, hers—so much like our mother’s—were troubled.
“Did you really think I’d grab your gun and shoot you?” she said.
Her accusation surprised me, and my face undoubtedly reflected that surprise. It had never occurred to me that my sister—my long-time protector—would ever deliberately hurt me. The only concern I’d ever had was that she might hurt someone else.
“Of course not,” I blurted. “I’m a cop, and that was purely reflex.”
Though she didn’t look convinced, she shrugged dismissively, then looked out at the river. Not at all like the Katie I remembered from the past, who had often been reduced to tears or inspired to fury by an unintended slight.
No doubt the years away had been good for her, I thought. For the first time, I considered the possibility that Aunt Lucy was right. That Katie was not the only one wounded by childhood trauma. And I asked myself if my newest suspicions—based on finding the kind of inhaler that was prescribed to millions every year—had anything to do with evidence or instinct. Maybe it was another symptom of my chronic inability to trust those I loved.
“What do you want to talk about?” I asked into the lengthening silence.
Katie turned her head to look at me again.
“I want a chance to prove to you that I’ve changed,” she said. “Aunt Lucy and Gran already believe it. That’s why they’ve agreed to let me help out with the guests. So the only one I have left to convince is you.”
I opened my mouth to offer my compromise, to ask her to give the situation just a little more time, to tell her that I thought she was doing a fine job at the Cherokee Rose. But she cut me off.
“No, let me finish,” she said. “I want to do more than just help out with the regular guests. I want to be part of the Underground again. Just like you and Gran and Aunt Lucy. I’m a Tyler. I have that right.”
I lifted the ball cap that was part of my uniform, briefly ran my fingers through my hair. Short, brown and curly. Not like Katie’s hair, or our mother’s. I wasn’t like either of them. Or even much like Aunt Lucy. I took after Gran. Or, at least, I tried to. I did what needed to be done. And said what needed to be said.
“No, you don’t,” I said firmly. “I’m sorry, Katie. But you lost that right forever when you killed Missy Porter.”
She recoiled as if I had slapped her and abruptly moved her attention from my face to the patch of heat-scorched lawn between us. She frowned as she curled her fingers into the grass and combed her short nails through it, raking out dead blades. Distressed, but still definitely under control.
“I want you on my side, but if you’re not…” Her voice was calm as, once again, she shrugged dismissively. “My doctor said that it was up to me to make amends for what I did. So I’ve decided to devote the rest of my life to working for the Underground. But clearly, you have no intention of allowing me to do that. So maybe I should go to the police. The real police. And tell them everything about that night.”
My reaction to her threat surprised me. Concern, yes. Though we’d been juveniles when the crime had been committed, I’d