Page 18 of Borrowed
Feet thundered.
I pulled the blanket up over Mila’s chest.
“She was just loud,” I whispered.“But Mila likes cats.”
Toby watched me from the corner, head bowed in a pose reminding me of pride.
“And we liked her ‘cat,’ didn’t we, sister?”he said.
I giggled.
* * *
They tookme to the room with the bright lights.
I didn’t like it.The air was thick like honey, and it stuck in my throat.But Toby was there, in the corner, waiting for me to figure it out.His fingers twitched like he wanted to play with my hair.But I wouldn’t let him.I needed to listen.
They were going to ask questions.
I always got the questions wrong.
The woman sat across from me.She had red lipstick on…so much, it looked like blood and danger.She kept folding her hands and staring at me.I stared back, but I didn’t know what she wanted.She was dressed like one of those other women who used to come by the house, the ones with the hard shoes who didn’t smile much.
“You know why you’re here, don’t you, Tabitha?”
I didn’t.But I nodded anyway.It made things easier when I did that.
“She died,” I said.It wasn’t a lie.“She just…stopped.”
The woman glanced at the man beside her.His hair was too neat.Too perfect, like he’d spent too long making sure it didn’t fall.I wondered if he ever touched it at night, wondering if it would fall out.
“You were with Mila before that happened, right?”she said, her voice low, careful.
“Yeah.She told me she likes cats.”
Toby stood behind me, his fingers dancing across my shoulders.I could feel his breath on my skin.His voice was soft, slipping between the spaces in my mind like melted butter.
“Tell them she wanted something from you, Zusje.Tell them, she begged.Tell them it was her fault.Tell them she’s yours.”
I nodded, feeling the weight of his words.“Mila liked cats and candy.She snored really loud.”
“Candy?Did you give her anything, Tabitha?”the man said.
His pen was tapping against the paper.
Pop, pop, pop.
It made me hungry.
“He won’t write what you say, Sister.He sees the world with black pens,” Toby warned.
“No,” I said quickly.“I didn’t.But the crying boy did.Mila and the crying boy like candy.”
I didn’t want to remember Mila.I didn’t want to remember the pillow and her scream.It was too loud.“I don’t want to remember the pillow.”
“The pillow, Tabitha?”
I swallowed hard.The room spun a little.“She was loud.”
