I don't think that's what I'm doing. I think I want to tell my family's story because if a story is to be told, it must be told as whole as we can tell it, not picking and choosing the bits that make us look good, as Mrs D. liked to do.
If I am to make anything meaningful of my life — and what else has this whole strange summer been about, if not that? — then I cannot let myself add one more drop to my family's unfathomable well of silence.
I know Maeve will never allow me all that, so I shrug and say instead, "There is no score."
She blinks even harder at this. I see her trying to calm herself, trying to find tactful, persuasive words to convince me. Just at that moment, you ripple inside me, then settle, like you are snuggling down.
I put my hand to where I feel you. Maeve notes the
