Page 88 of The Only One Left

What they’re saying’s not true, Kit-Kat

I crumple the paper into a ball, take it to the bed, and drop it into Lenora’s open right hand. My hope is her reflexes take over when it hits her palm, the same way we catch something without thinking about it. It just happens. At some point, instinct takes over.

Not in this case. The balled-up paper bounces off Lenora’s palm and onto the floor.

I pick it up and try again.

Then again.

Then I throw it across the room, where it ricochets off the window before rolling into a corner.

I need something heavier. Something Lenora will really feel when it lands in her hand.

I eye the open door between our rooms and the paperbacks that once propped it open but were pushed out of the way when someone (Virginia? Lenora?) pulled it shut. I grab one—Ordinary Peopleby Judith Guest—and hold it spine down a few inches from Lenora’s hand.

I let it drop.

The book stands upright a second before flipping onto its side over Lenora’s thumb and forefinger.

Still nothing.

Because, I realize, it doesn’t matter if she catches it. The book, like the ball of paper, is expendable. Both mean nothing to her. If Lenora’s faking all of this, she’s not going to reveal it without a good reason. To get her to move her right hand—if shecanmove it—I need to provide a bigger incentive than a wad of paper and a dog-eared book.

I scan the room, considering and dismissing its contents. A hairbrush? Too worthless. A handheld mirror? Too unwieldy. The Walkman? A strong candidate. But it, too, could be replaced.

My gaze lands on the Eiffel Tower snow globe on the sideboard. Stereotypical Paris under glass.

Now we’re talking.

A gift to Lenora from her long-dead parents, it has sentimental value. It’s likely also worth a lot of money. It’s an antique, for one thing, and I doubt people like Winston and Evangeline Hope went for a cheap snow globe when choosing one for their daughter.

I pick it up, convinced Lenora would never, ever, not in a million years let it fall from her grip. The journey from the sideboard to the bed kicks up some of the gold flakes resting at the bottom of the waterless globe. They sparkle and swirl as I hold it upside down over Lenora’s hand.

Flat on her back, Lenora strains to see what I’m doing. When she spots the gold flakes inside the snow globe, she takes on a panicked look. Her eyes burn bright, and a grunt rises from the back of her throat.

I ignore it, holding the snow globe steady, waiting for the right moment to drop it. I tell myself I’m doing nothing wrong. That Lenora can catch it if she really wants to. That the reason she’s so stressed is because she knows I’m on to her.

Both of us stare at the snow globe, watching the gold flakes settle into the curve of the overturned dome. When the last one falls, I let go.

The snow globe smacks against Lenora’s palm.

I hold my breath, watching and waiting.

For her fingers to curl around it.

For her to prove that she can use her right hand.

For the moment when at least one of my suspicions is confirmed.

Instead, the snow globe topples from her hand and rolls across the mattress.

Then it hits the floor and shatters.

The sound coming from behind the closed door of my mother’s room was unmistakable.

Breaking glass.

Upon hearing it, my sister gasped. I merely flinched, as if whatever my mother had just thrown across the room was flying directly at me and not at my father.

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