Page 97 of Devil

“Kaitlyn’s full of shit, by the way,” is what she says.

Hope, bright and painful, flares. “I’m so relieved you think so, because I don’t know what to think about the farm?—”

“No, Ryan is still bad news, for fucking sure. But there’s nothing sure about Kaitlyn. She might have reinvented herself as someone who blends past their jawbone, but she’s still the same person, just playing by new rules to get ahead. The old rules meant she couldn’t have anything to do with you, but thenewrules are all about being trauma-informed and centering victim experiences and shit like that. She found out you were dating Bell, recognized the risk in the whole Evelyn story breaking containment, and is now trying to neutralize the situation by offering you free legal help as amends. So now she has a neatly packagedI’ve listened and learnednarrative complete with concrete action ready to go if the story ever gets in her way.”

I steer with one hand so I can rub idly at my chest. My nervous system has been too active for me to register any kind of positive emotion about Kaitlyn’s gesture, but it surprisingly still stings to think that it was cynically made. “I guess that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t mean she’s wrong about Ryan, though.”

I don’t answer. I’m not sure what to say.

I feel Busy looking at me from the passenger seat. “He was the guy, Birdie? Seriously? The entire reason your residency fell apart? Your art career? You told me he wouldn’t take no for an answer, that he pressured you, that he almost didn’t stop himself from committing what any court would consider a rape. God, I can’tbelieveI’ve sat across a table from that guy! I can’t believe I’ve been joking about him and his money and him buying you this truck—which isfucked, by the way. It is really, really fucked up that this is the guy from Evelyn and now he’s buying you trucks and clothes and lumber and shit. You see how warped that is, right?”

“It’s not like that,” I argue. “It’s not—you don’t know him.”

Busy groans, shoving her hands into her hair and pulling. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? How many times I’ve said it?You don’t know him. You don’t understand. He loves me. I love him. We’re happy.It’s the same script. It’s like the Hail Mary of women who are with bad men. We can all recite it without even knowing when we first learned it.”

I’m flushing now, rubbing harder at my chest. “This isn’t the same as the situations you’ve been in. It’s not at all like them.”

“Sure. That sounds right. Tell me why this guy who won’t listen to you when you say no, this guy who made it so you can’t make a living with your art, is doing something very healthy and normal when he showers you with uncomfortably large gifts? Why it’s super fine that he’s fucking around with the farm? Why would you be willing to let him touch property thatyou’veheld on to, with your sweat and your blood and your tears, despite him destroying your ability to make money? Your future? You’d give him our family’s past for that?”

“I can’t—I don’t know what happened yet with this trust. I need to ask him about it.”

She sits forward, looking at me with an intensity I can feel, even if I can’t look over at her to see it. “Are you saying the trust wasn’t something you did together?”

“It wasn’t, but that doesn’t mean it’s something sinister either. He’s been helping with all kinds of things, utility bills and the property taxes, and it might be something to do with all of that, you know?”

In the corner of my eye, I see Busy looking down at her hands. “Birdie.” This comes in a guarded, wary tone. “Why is he helping you with utility bills and taxes?”

Because I was breaking myself in half trying to take care of you, I want to say, but I don’t. She doesn’t give me time to answer anyway.

“You told me you had a new job, and that was why you were working at the gas station less. You made it seem like you had plenty of money now, enough to pay my rent and take care of your bills too.”

I can’t think of a lie quickly enough and certainly not one that my twin won’t see through.

“Please be honest with me,” Busy says, sounding a little frightened now. “Ishethe new job?”

I clench the steering wheel, casting up a desperate prayer, wishing I were good enough at lying to get a return on my sin investment but knowing I’m not. “It’s not like that,” I say again, and she drops her head into her hands.

“Oh my God, Birdie, what were you thinking? Why the fuck would you agree to this withhim? Why would you do that to yourself?”

Youis what I don’t say.You are the reason why.

“I needed the money,” I say instead, hoping that sounds neutral enough. “And I promise that it’s not…it’s not the same now. We love each other.”

I recognize my mistake too late. She’s too tenacious, too protective, and she can’t stop until she knows.

“You need the money?” she asks into her hands. “Since when?”

“He found me in June. That’s when it started.” I know that’s not the answer she’s looking for, but I don’t want to give her the right one. That I’ve needed the money since the day she came home.

She sits up, drags her hands down her face, and then leans slowly back into her seat. “It’s because of me, isn’t it?”

“Mary,” I say softly. Her real name. Our real name.

“You’re selling yourself to a man who hurt you. Because of me.”

“It’s not that simple,” I try to explain. I hate that I’m driving right now. I want to look at her. I want her to see my face, understand that I mean what I say. “It’s not that…stark.”