"Hannah?”

“I’m not ready.”

“This morning Dad and I had a… disagreement. It was about you. He told me secrets were put in place to protect me. He wouldn’t tell me what he meant.” Cameryn hesitated. Although she wasn’t as good at reading people as Lyric, she sensed she was on sensitive ground. “Dad said that you’ve changed the rules, and that if you don’t come clean, the deal is off.” She waited a beat. “What is he talking about? What deal?”

The paintbrush stopped an inch from the canvas as Hannah held her arm unmoving, like a maestro waiting to begin. Then… nothing. Not a movement, not a sound. Cameryn’s heart beat so loud she could hear it pulse in her ears, could feel her carotid artery flutter in her neck. Outside, someone laughed. She focused on that sound until it died away. “I didn’t know I even had a sister until you sent me that painting and the letter. Dad and Mammaw lied to me.”

“I never deceived you.”

“But you’re keeping secrets and that’s the same. Father John says you can tell a lie without saying a word.”

Her mother’s hand hovered in the air as if it were a masthead pointing the way to another land. Why wouldn’t Hannah speak again? Behind her, through the window, the mountain filled the frame all the way into the sky. Pure white snow had hidden everything, leaving the mountain featureless. It seemed as though, in the same way, her mother had been somehow erased. She’d gone away somewhere deep inside.

“Hannah?”

Her mother did not respond. In one last, desperate effort, Cameryn murmured, “I remember this dream I had, when I was little. It was about another girl. We were sitting in the gutter and I had a pretty pony named Cotton Candy and hers was blue and-somebody must have been hosing their driveway because there was a lot of water. And we were laughing, except then her pony floated away. Then the girl tried to take Cotton Candy, but I wouldn’t let her.”

The arm holding the brush drifted down into Hannah’s lap, leaving a paint stain on the leg of her jeans. It spread like a bruise.

“Was that Jayne? Did that really happen?” Cameryn asked. And then, when her mother refused to answer, she demanded, “Say something! ”

“I killed your sister.”

The words hung in the air. Killed. Your sister. Cameryn couldn’t take it in. “I’m sorry-what did you say?”

“I killed Jayne. I’m sure Patrick will be happy you know the truth at last.”

Cameryn registered her mother’s answer, but the wheels of her mind seized up.

“What… happened?” she finally whispered.

Her mother turned, her hair wrapped around her neck like a scarf. Everything was dead except the eyes. She fixed them on Cameryn, her expression embalmed. In a flat, emotionless voice she said, “I backed out of the driveway. You two were always playing in the gutter, but that day I didn’t see her. I felt the bump. I didn’t stop. The tire left a tread mark on her dress-the yellow one with daisies. When I got out of the car, I saw her head in the water. Your father called me a murderer.”

Cameryn didn’t want to hear any more. Shutting her eyes, she commanded her mother to stop, screaming the word inside where Hannah couldn’t hear.

“I’ve looked for girls ever since, trying to connect so I could remember. I’d see your faces everywhere-any girl with long hair, anyone who looked like they might need a mother. But even with all those strangers it was never the same. They can never be Jayne.”

Cameryn had thought she’d prepared herself for every possibility-but not this. Never this.

Slowly, Hannah stood, peeling off the smock, releasing it to the floor in a crumpled heap. She went to the bed. Squatting, she searched under it for a pair of cowboy boots, which she tugged on over bare feet.

“What are you doing?” Cameryn asked, rising from the chair.

“I need to go out for a while.”

“You’re not a murderer, Hannah. I don’t understand why my dad said those things. It was an accident!”

“You want the truth? All of it?”

Cameryn nodded, even though she wasn’t sure she did.

Hannah stood. “After the funeral, Patrick said I was an unfit mother. I killed your sister, so maybe I was. But I couldn’t take it. So I tried to hurt myself. They…” She paused for only a beat. “I was put away. For a long time.”

“Put away?”

“In a mental institution. I was there until they gave me some pills, and then I got better. Tegretol, which has been my savior. I’m all healed now. You probably don’t believe it, but it’s true.”

Shocked, Cameryn said, “He-Dad never said a word.” “Not telling you was the only grace Patrick has ever given me. Well,” she said, “now you know. You’re free to hate me just the way Patrick wants you to.” Wiping her hands on her jeans, Hannah walked to her dresser and picked up a set of keys. She plucked her jacket from a hook on the wall and shrugged it on. “I feel like I’m straining inside my own skin. Do you know what that’s like? Just let me be for a while.” Then, lifting her purse from a corner, she slung it over her shoulder and headed out the door.

Cameryn watched, frozen, unsure of her next move. Finally she stuttered out a protest, but Hannah was gone. Running, tripping, she made her way to the top of the stairs. “Wait! I understand! We need to talk about this. Mom! Please!”

But her mother didn’t answer. Instead, the door to the Wingate slammed shut, rattling the stained glass in reply.

IT WAS ONLY two o’clock in the afternoon, and dusk had already begun to descend on Silverton. Low-hanging clouds hovered at the bottom of the mountains and rolled into the streets, turning the air opaque. Cameryn could feel it, the clouds expectant, wishing they could burst open with snow.

Not wanting to return home, she’d parked her car in the back lot of the Grand Hotel. She needed to walk, to get her mind in order by moving her body. Her cowboy boots scuffed the shoveled wooden walkway as she made her way along Greene Street, weaving through the crowd of people who had come for Silverton’s annual Christmas festival. Bright-eyed and red-cheeked from the cold, the milling crowd seemed happy, full up with Christmas spirit. Bowing her head so low the collar of her parka cupped her cheeks, she pressed on, trying not to envy their easy joy.

Suddenly a siren went off beside her, a single loud blast. Whirling around, she saw a police car. A window glided down and she looked inside to see Justin’s smiling face. “Hey, Cammie, need a ride?”

“You about blasted out my eardrums,” she said. She felt her face flush, as she realized the crowd’s attention was now riveted on her. It was as if the entire street had stopped to stare, frowning at her with suspicion. “Everyone’s looking at me,” she hissed. “They think I’m under arrest or something.”

“Hop inside and I’ll read you your rights.”

“You are so not funny.”

“You want me to give this siren another blast?”

“All right, all right,” she conceded, “just for a minute.” She was only feigning reluctance. She’d missed him. Caught in the vortex of her new life, she hadn’t connected with Justin in weeks, but in that there’d been a loss. It would be good to spend time with him again.

Cameryn opened the door and slid inside the Durango ’s gray interior. The air smelled like chicken noodles, which she realized came from the empty Cup-a-Soup he’d left on the passenger-side floor. “Sorry about that,” he said, reaching down, and when he did so his hand brushed against her leg. He pulled it away quickly, apologetically, crumpling the cup before tossing it into the backseat.

“I’m on a budget, so this is my fine dining. I’ve got another cup if you’d like one. Did you eat lunch?”

“No,” she answered, genuinely surprised to realize she hadn’t. “I went to Hannah’s right after the accident scene and then I decided to walk.” Her hand went up, anticipating his next question. “And before you start asking, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s been a hard day and I’m… processing.”