Phoebe stood.
“I will write my statement.”
Tanya nodded.
“So will I.”
I could not forgive them yet.
But I could accept the truth.
“That is where we begin,” I said. “Write everything tonight.”
The next morning, Madeline’s card remained on the porch railing.
I picked it up.
Then I called.
“Hello?” she answered.
“It’s Olivia.”
There was a pause.
“You do not owe me an apology.”
“I sent you away as though you had done something cruel.”
“I should not have read the letter.”
“You stopped.”
“Yes.”
“You returned it.”
“I thought you might want it.”
“I needed it.”
My voice broke.
“More than I knew.”
Madeline remained silent.
“Is the invitation still open?”
“For tea?”
“For whatever comes after.”
She exhaled.
“Yes.”
Penelope opened the door when I arrived.
She was tall, with dark curls pinned loosely behind her ears.
Madeline stood several feet behind her.
Teresa’s gown hung inside a clear garment bag.
“Olivia,” Madeline said, “this is my daughter, Penelope.”
Penelope smiled carefully.
“I’m glad you came.”
“I nearly called last night,” Madeline said. “But I didn’t know what right I had.”
“You had no way of knowing what you had found.”
I looked toward the gown.
“I know the truth now.”
Madeline waited.
“Teresa escaped the car.”
Her eyes widened.
“She went back to rescue her friend.”
Tears filled Madeline’s eyes.
“Then she wasn’t helpless.”
“No.”
The word entered me differently this time.
