Her hair was gone. Chemotherapy probably, and she wore a silk scarf wrapped around her head. Her face was gaunt, her skin salow, her eyes sunken. But those eyes, Margaret would have recognized those eyes anywhere, the same pale blue as their mothers, the same sharp intelligence, the same calculating coldness that Margaret had somehow never noticed until now. Diane stared at her sister. For a moment, her expression was blank, uncomprehending. Then recognition dawned, and Diane smiled. “Maggie,” she said, her voice thin and raspy.
I was wondering when you’d find me. The inside of Dian’s house was exactly what Margaret had expected. Expensive, tasteful, cold. Everything was white or cream or pale gray, like a showroom that no one actually lived in. There were no family photos on the walls, no personal touches, nothing that suggested a real human being occupied this space. Diane led them to a sitting room with floor to-seeiling windows overlooking the f desert. She moved slowly, carefully, one hand pressed against her stomach like she was holding herself together.
“Please sit,” Diane said, gesturing to a white leather sofa. “Can I get you anything?” “Water, tea.” “We’re not here for tea,” Margaret said. She hadn’t sat down, couldn’t sit down. She stood in the middle of the room, her hands clenched at her sides, staring at the sister she hadn’t seen in 20 years. Diane lowered herself into an armchair, wincing slightly as she settled. “No, I suppose you’re not.” She looked at Jessica. “And who’s this?” “Your lawyer?” “My name is Jessica Huang.
I’m with the Tennessee Innocence Project.” “Ah.” Diane nodded slowly. “So, you figured it out, then?” “Took you long enough?” Margaret felt something snap inside her. “Took me long enough?” Her voice came out louder than she intended. I spent 20 years in prison, Diane. 20 years. You framed me for murder. You stole my house. You took everything I had. And all you can say is it took me long enough. Dian’s expression didn’t change. If anything, she looked almost bored.
What do you want me to say, Maggie? That I’m sorry? That I regret what I did? She shrugged, a small, delicate gesture that somehow contained more contempt than Margaret had ever seen. I don’t. I did what I had to do. You were just collateral damage. Collateral damage. 20 years. Robert dying alone. Her house was sold. Her savings were stolen. Her life was erased. Why? The word tore out of Margaret like something physical. Why did you do this to me?
What did I ever do to you? Diane looked at her for a long moment. Then she laughed, a dry, bitter sound that turned into a cough. “What did you ever do to me?” Diane repeated. “Oh, Maggie, you really don’t know, do you? After all these years, you still don’t understand. Then explain it to me. That’s why I’m here. I need to understand.” Diane was quiet for a moment. Her eyes drifted to the window to the desert landscape beyond.
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