Page 85 of The Lies I Told
“Over the holidays I was sick. My stomach always got worse at the holidays. If Clare had been off, it would have been easy for me to miss.”
“Was she dating anyone?” I asked.
“Kurt. They’d been together about six months. And you know they were sexually active.”
“Anyone else?”
She shook her head. “Everyone assumed I’d be the one to get pregnant, but I didn’t sleep around. The idea of physical contact was always unsettling to me. But Clare craved it. She needed to hear she was loved. And as you and I both know, young males will trade sweet words for sex. I could tell when she’d been with a guy, but I never asked with who.”
Finding love in dangerous places. “I can’t believe you didn’t know something, Marisa. You were twins, you shared a room.”
“There was nothing. She was her regular self. But clearly she kept more secrets than I realized.” She traced the rim of her cup. “She used to carry that stupid point-and-shoot camera with her. After she died, I looked everywhere for it but could never find it.”
“Other people mentioned the camera.”
“You said everyone lies. I guess that included Clare, too.” A slight tremor rumbled in her tone. “Clare called me that last night about ten.”
“I remember the call from your phone records.”
“She said she had something to tell me. I lost count of the nights I replayed those words in my head. I’m not even sure if those worn words are even accurate or a blend of truth, time, and that pill I’d taken. Jack was sitting in front of me when she called, so I didn’t say much. I thought I’d see Clare in less than an hour.”
“You said you weren’t feeling well at Christmas.”
“Yes. Stomach pains came on suddenly. ‘My tummy hurts’ was a constant complaint. I had a battery of tests, but none of the doctors could figure it out.”
“And Clare?”
“She never got as sick as I did.”
“Were there times when it cleared up?” I asked.
“It was really bad after Mom died, and it came on and off until Brit left for college. It vanished that fall.”
“But came back at Christmas.”
“Yes.” She frowned. “When I moved out of the house for boarding school, all my symptoms went away.”
“When’s the last time you got sick like that?”
“Beyond a common cold or a raging hangover? Not at all. What’re you getting at?”
“You’ve said yourself you’ve always been a handful. Clare was the quiet one.”
Absently, she tapped a ringed finger against the mug. “What’re you getting at?”
I sighed, pissed that I’d not pressed this theory harder seventeen years ago. “I can’t prove anything, Marisa. I’ve seen similar cases, but they’re always hard to prove.”
“What cases?”
“A caregiver makes his or her charge sick. Usually it’s a mother-and-child scenario. Baby gets sick, Mom gets attention for herself while caring for the child. Child improves, attention goes away, and then the child gets sick again. It’s called Munchausen syndrome by proxy.”
She glared at me, clearly annoyed I’d brought up the idea. “Mom made me sick on purpose? Why?”
“You were likely easier to handle if you were sick and in bed. And I remember your parents had marriage problems. When one of the kids became ill, your father came home.”
She shook her head. “But I kept getting sick after Mom died.”
“You said it yourself: Brit stepped into the mother’s role.”
