Mom’s eyes were still roving over the key. She sat down and pressed her hand against the base of her throat. “The car?” She looked at Sophie. “You’re giving her your car?”
Sophie nodded gleefully. “She’s gonna need one anyway, right? Getting to and from Pittsburgh, driving God knows where else.” She grabbed my shoulders with both hands and squeezed. “You gotta hit the open road, girl. Spread your wings. Take a road trip now and again.”
Mom’s face had paled considerably. “I just…” She glanced over at Dad for help. “It’s just…such a…”
“Big responsibility?” Sophie finished.
Mom nodded, and fiddled with the cord on her hearing aid. I knew responsibility was not her main concern at all. Mom’s main concern was my safety, which no car—however well built—would be able to live up to. Every morning, she watched from the front window as I got into the back of Zoe’s rusty Ford Taurus, waiting until I fastened my seat belt. Once, I had forgotten, and she dashed outside, arms waving, shouting, until Zoe slowed again. I was mortified.
Sophie shrugged. “I got it covered,” she said. “I just paid this puppy off in April. Julia won’t have to worry about car payments at all. Just insurance.”
Mom looked over at Sophie. “It’s a wonderful gift, Sophie. You’re very generous, honey.” She glanced down at the large serving dish. “We really should eat before everything gets cold.”
Sophie grinned. “Hold on, Mom. There’s one more thing.”
“Oh?” Mom’s voice was faint. “What’s that?”
Sophie nodded at me. “Open the pink envelope, Jules.”
I looked inside it again, shaking another, much smaller key out of the side corner.
“What’s that?” Mom asked, making her way around the table with the bowl of linguine.
“It’s a key to my place,” Sophie answered. “I want you to take a trip this summer, Julia. To Vermont. Come visit me for a few days. I’ll show you around Poultney. It’ll be great.”
Dad set his water glass down. “That sounds terrific, Sophie. We’ve never been to Vermont and I’m sure…”
“Just Julia.” Sophie did not take her eyes off me. “You guys can come another time.”
Mom exchanged a quick look with Dad. “Well, I don’t know about that,” Dad said. His voice was much too loud, as if he was trying to regain control of the situation. “Julia’s never driven such a long distance before. It’s not an easy drive. And she’d have to do it alone.”
“This is Julia’s gift,” Sophie said. She had started eating, shoving enormous forkfuls of the long, oily pasta into her mouth. “It should be her decision.”
I held Sophie’s gaze as long as possible before dropping it again.
Sophie put her fork down and swallowed. “You don’t want to go, do you?”
I shrugged helplessly, fingering a lone piece of linguine that had drooped over one side of my plate. Mom and Dad’s eyes were burning a hole on one side of my cheek; Sophie’s eyes on the other. “Of course I do. I mean…”
“Then why do you look as if I’ve just asked you to donate an organ?” Sophie asked.
“She’s not…,” Dad started.
“Can you let her answer a question for herself?” Sophie turned on him, eyes flashing. “Just once?”
“Sophie.” Mom wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Let’s go for a walk around the block. Cool down a little.”
“I don’t need to cool down,” Sophie retorted. “And I don’t need to go for a walk. What I need…” She paused, turning back to look at me. “What I need is for Julia to answer me. Herself.”
“I’ll come,” I said, flicking my eyes at her quickly, wanting to get this over with. “Okay? I will. Sometime.”
Sophie inhaled deeply and then took another sip of water. The heavy clink of silver against Mom’s good china echoed throughout the room. Dad chewed violently, the sides of his jaw flexing in and out, while Mom ate in small rabbit bites. I speared a wilted piece of lettuce and snuck a look at Sophie, who was busy twirling another forkful of pasta. “I hate you,” I thought to myself. “You ruin everything.”
Suddenly Sophie set her fork down on the side of her plate. “You know what? This is going to be my last visit to Silver Springs.”
“Sophie.” Dad’s voice had assumed the exhausted-impatient tone reserved strictly for her. “Please. Don’t start.”
Sophie held up her hands, palms out, as if surrendering. “I am not starting anything. On the contrary, Dad, I guess I’m ending something.”
“What?” Dad’s lips had begun to twitch. “What are you ending?”
“This.” Sophie encompassed the table, the living room, the entire house with a swoop of her wide-open arms. “All of this. It’s a lie. And you know it’s a lie. Until you tell her the truth about what really happened in Milford all those years ago…”
Three hours. It had only taken her three hours to bring up Milford. If there was one thing I could say about my big sister, it was this: she did not disappoint. Not when it came to Milford.