times since then—for school trips, and back when she’d actually hung out with a friend group in her first two years of high school. The coast was simply a place to go, only an hour’s drive west. Why not see the Pacific? And why not eat some good seafood, while you were at it? There was nothing noteworthy about a trip out there. Only this trip stood out.
Murphy dropped an elbow on the piano keys, producing a dissonant jumble of notes.
“Maybe that was the start of Mom’s menopause,” she said. “Or, like, she was having a midlife crisis.”
Eileen didn’t know where to begin with that.
Claire said, softly, “Who knows what it was about.”
Murphy hopped up from the piano and joined her sisters by the fireside. She grabbed a new packet of Pop-Tarts from the box, ripped it open, and bit into both pastries, double-layer style.
Through a full mouth she said, “Uncle Pat had bad taste. Didn’t he know strawberry is the lowest of Pop-Tart flavors?”
Uncle Pat. The familiarity made Eileen’s skin prickle. Had he known about her mom’s affair? Had she been sleeping with him, too? Was it a brother fetish? God only knew.
But maybe Eileen would know too, if she finally got the chance to go through the boxes. Her gaze drifted to the wall, stacked high with them. Eileen couldn’t have dreamed this shit up. And for this to fall in her lap, right when she was feeling her shittiest, most directionless—it was almost enough to make her believe things happened for a reason.
Almost.
Not entirely.
Of course not. That idea was bullshit.
Claire lay out on the ground, stretching her arms above her head. The firelight danced on her face in patches of orange, and her eyes were intensely blue. So opposite of Eileen’s.
“Remember what we did with the shakes?” Claire said.
“Oh my God,” said Murphy. “FLAVORNADO.”
Claire nodded, repeating the word as a reverent prayer: “Flavornado.”
The memory hit Eileen in a sensory-packed punch. The three of them had conspired in the back seat of the Subaru while in the drive-through line at Arby’s. They’d each ordered a different flavor milkshake and asked for an extra-large soda cup. They’d pooled their shakes into the cup and mixed the flavors with a plastic spoon. Then, with the finesse of a practiced mixologist, Eileen had poured the concoction into their individual cups. So flavornado had been born. A perfect combination of vanilla, mocha, and mint. They’d only had flavornado that once, but clearly it had been enough to make a memory.
That queasy feeling was inside Eileen again. She was thinking of three years ago, of the way things had been. Some of those things had stayed the same: Mom’s absence, the clogged bathroom sink, rainy winters and springs. Other things had changed, though, and for the worse: what they’d had as sisters, how they’d goofed off, joked, confided, kept their doors open. Eileen had shared a room with Claire, then. She’d given Murphy regular piggyback rides. She’d believed she was one of them—a Sullivan sister.
Then, after the letters, she’d begun to think differently. She’d pulled away, barricading herself into the garage. Because Eileen knew a secret they didn’t, and that secret would change everything. Telling them, or confronting Mom … that made it too real. Saying the truth aloud was impossible, and if Eileen had mustered the guts to do it, she knew what would’ve happened: Claire and Murphy would’ve looked at her differently, treated her differently, known she was the daughter of a murderer.
That’s what Eileen had decided.
Only now? She watched the firelight dance on Murphy’s freckles and in the blue-gray flecks of Claire’s eyes. And she wondered if, maybe, she’d misjudged her sisters. Even if the worst was true, and she was Mark Enright’s kid, would Claire and Murphy turn their backs on her?
Claire, who—for better or worse—had given Eileen gas money and not allowed her to drive drunk? Murphy, who’d had the guts to stow herself away and to call Eileen and Claire out on their bullshit?
Maybe Claire was less of a bitch than Eileen had painted her to be. And maybe Murphy wasn’t so little or weak. Maybe they were kind and strong enough to hear the secret and be okay. They were her own goddamn sisters.
But … what if sisterhood wasn’t enough?
Eileen was growing numb, the way she had the first time, when she’d discovered the letters. She wondered if she would remain this way, frozen, no matter how close she scooted to the fire.