June’s smile died.
“Did you ever drink it yourself?” I asked.
She paused. “I’m healthy—”
“Did you ever make it for Derek?”
I turned to Derek. Everyone at the party watched him.
“Derek. Did Mom ever make it for you?”
He looked at me. His throat moved. Then he said, “No.”
“Four people in this family. I’m the only one who drank it.” I looked at June. “I’m not your family’s patient. I’m the outsider. You made me drink it because it was never medicine. It was how you got me to shut up.”
I pulled my collar down. In the sun, the red mark had faded — but it was still there, like a river pressed flat against my skin.
“Take a look, everyone,” I said. “Medicine — or a mark?”
Nobody spoke. But every eye went to my neck. Somewhere, an old lady drew in a sharp breath.
June spun to Derek, her voice going shrill. “Son! Say something! Tell your wife I’m not someone who’d hurt her!”
