Page 52 of The Seekers of Deer Creek

“You’d like to believe that, wouldn’t you? It’s easier to obsess over me than to look at yourself in the mirror.”

“I’m not the one who hides every time there’s a problem.”

“Aren’t you? Tell me: did you ever actually say no to Samuel’s offer tomove in? Or did you just do something to make it impossible for him to love you?”

Vivi began walking away.

“Did you ever answer Dad’s calls after you left for college?” Calla continued. “Or did you wallow in your pen of anger, because it was easier than listening to what he had to say?”

Vivi went into her room.

“Did you ever ask why I paintedClio? Or why Wayland needed to destroy it?”

Vivi shut the door. “Go away, Calla.”

On the other side, Calla continued yelling at her. “You’re an addict too, VivianNguy?n. Dad and me, we might battle our need for alcohol and pills. But you’re addicted to avoidance. Snorting self-delusion. Anything you can do to forget that you are just as fucked up as the rest of us.”

“I’m not.” Vivi said it softly, as if to herself. Her self-concept was wavering. She could feel the shift and wanted, like a child, to hold her hands against her ears. Her sister’s words were causing her physical pain, a jarring of her organs. “I’m not like you.”

Calla thumped her fist on the door. It was asinine, this shouting match from separate rooms. But maybe it was the only way they could talk about any of it.

“At least I’m honest about who I am. You’re terrified that if you’re forced to sit with your boring, unoriginal thoughts, then you might discover that maybe you’re not as healed as you think you are. You’re not as innocent orgoodas you want the world to believe.”

“What do you know about goodness?”

But even as she said it, Vivi knew it wasn’t right. Calla, who cried buckets over squirrels squashed in the road, who punched a kid that’d snapped Vivi’s bra, who could pinpoint the most vulnerable guest at a party and draw them out with the generosity of a person who well understood the hurt of isolation. Calla had always been good. That’s what Vivi was afraid of, that Calla, for all her many foibles, would turn out to be the better andmore lovable sister. And Vivi, who behaved just as she was told to, might be the one hiding a seam of darkness that no one could ever accept.

Calla’s voice caught with a sudden earnestness. “I love you, I fucking love you, but you are broken, like me. Just like Dad and Mom. No amount of faking or forgetting will change what we went through. And you know what? I wouldn’t want to forget. I respect myself too much to lie. Can you say the same?”

Vivi felt as if she were being pulled under, her protective garments washed away like pigments shaken from a brush. “Go to bed. We can call your doctor in the morning.”

“I’ll give you his number myself. He prescribed the pills, you monumental idiot.”

“I don’t believe you.” Vivi’s hands were on the wood. She could hear Calla’s heavy breathing on the other side.

“They’re antipsychotics. I’ve been taking them for months. And going to therapy and doing everything I can not to fall apart again. Why, you might ask?” Vivi could almost taste the biting acidity in Calla’s words. “Because of you. Because of what you and Wayland did. Vivi, I knowwhat happened afterEnmeshment. And I’ll never forgive you for not being the one to tell me.”

Vivi slumped to the floor, her head falling between her knees. Her mind was a whirlpool, all the thoughts spinning into the murk of her subconscious. There was a sudden silence outside her room, as if Calla had simply vanished.

Then, after a handful of beats, Calla’s voice came, brittle as a cold snap, “I’m going home. Don’t you dare follow me.”

There was a slam of the door, the clatter of suitcase wheels through the hallway. Calla was leaving. This time, Vivi didn’t feel the impulse to run after her. She didn’t want her here. Not when the memory was so imminent; the fangs of it pressed against her neck, drawing the blood that, once released, flowed too quickly and too easily.

Chapter 15

One Year Before

A Saturday in late September. The art glitterati appeared at the entrance of the Arlington Arts Collective in Bucktown, wearing their coats for the first time in the season, reaching for Sancerres over Pinot Grigios. They were newly returned from holidays abroad, awaiting their next acquisition with bated breath. Promise hanging like garlands in the air.

Fueled by industry curiosity and Dominic Arlington’s hefty connections,Enmeshmenthad been well positioned for success. Initially, it did not disappoint. In one review of the opening, Vivi read about how guests wandered past Calla’s mixed-media paintings in collective awe. They were titillated into reaching for their pocketbooks, until one by one, discreet red stickers appeared beneath each piece.

Everyone agreed: Calla’s work straddled a fine line between horror and beauty, presenting an unforgettable indictment of modern womanhood. If things had been different,Enmeshmentmight have cemented Calla’s place in the halls of young artists to watch.

But, seemingly on the turn of a dime, Calla’s opening had devolved from one of dazzling promise into one of chaos and regret. That was the moment when Vivi entered the gallery.

She’d been running late, scouring the proposal she was submitting for a conservators’ conference in London. If she were selected, it would be herfirst international conference and her first time abroad. And perhaps such an opportunity might blossom into others. More travel, more art, more freedom. She frequently lost hours to the proposal. Samuel proofread so many drafts that he could cite each argument by memory.

As she sent the proposal off with a swoop of triumph, she glanced at the clock. Cursing, she threw on her coat and raced northwest in a cab. There was an accident by the river that slowed her down, so by the time she finally arrived at the gallery, the opening was well under way. Vivi could only hope that there was enough of a crowd that Calla wouldn’t miss her.