The Family Plot

It’s hard to hold grudges against someone who can’t remember what they did to earn them.

But what I didn’t understand, never paused for a moment to consider, is that cocoons are inherently temporary, too tight a space in which to grow.

Here is a girl who loved my brother—even with his anger, his tornadic moods—and I wish I knew what drew him toward her all those nights, what the two of them laughed about, if Ruby ever saw him cry.

But don’t we all have darkness? Pitch-black parts of ourselves that even those who love us can’t see?

Why would he protect him like that? Why would he work so hard to save birds with broken wings, but wouldn’t even try to save the island’s women?

They’ll take you away and throw you in jail.’ Because he planned it that way. He made me his partner in crime.

When we learned Andy was murdered,” she continues, “I knew, without a doubt, that I was to blame. I’d made the wrong choice, been the wrong kind of mother.” Her voice narrows to a whisper. “It was karma, Andy’s death. I lied about my parents being murdered, and then my child was murdered in return.

I’m annoyed by his tone—smug, self-satisfied. I can picture him writing in his notepad, hand hurrying across the page to describe my silence.

I don’t want anyone to think, she said firmly whenever we tried, that because they created something that killed so many people, it was karma that they were killed by that thing in return.

To be honest,” he continues, “I resented him for most of my life. I hated that he paid such little attention to me so he could basically stalk you all instead.

I bet they killed him themselves. Some Satanic ritual.

I know who you are,” Lyle says, eyes like arrows aimed at my face. “And I know what I said. Your brother Andy got what he deserved.

doubt it. Chief Kraft was like everyone else: suspicious of us, monitoring us, believing himself entitled to his intrusions.

It’s poetic, really. Dad hunted so many deer in his lifetime, and in the end, he died on top of one. Seems almost… intentional, doesn’t it? Like his heart knew what he’d been up to and murdered him for it.

Which left just me, alone in my anguish for years after that, lighting the candles with Mom and Dad, saying the Honoring prayer that I’ve since learned they created themselves.