“Your sister knew perfectly well what happened,” Mother said.
I looked at Bea.
“When?”
She didn't answer.
Mother gave a small shrug. “When I helped her with that flat. It was all the same argument.”
“Bea.”
My sister looked up. Her face had gone white around her mouth.
“Did you know then?”
“Yes.”
I held the edge of the counter. I hadn't decided to. My hand was just there, gripping it.
“You knew Mum sent that message?”
“Yes.”
“Not three weeks ago.”
She shook her head.
“That week,” she said. “The week he left.”
For a moment I couldn't hear anything except the hum of the fridge. The flowers stood in their jars behind my hand. One pale rose rested against the glass, waiting to be moved into a better position.
“You told me you didn't know.”
“I lied.”
Mother moved the notebook away from the edge of the table.
“There is no need to make it sound worse than it was.”
“What was it?” I asked Bea.
She looked at Mother, then back at me.
“She told me she'd sent it. I said she had to tell you. We argued.”
“And?”
“I'd wanted to move out. I couldn't afford to get started.”
I waited. I didn't help her get the words out.
“Mum said she'd pay the deposit and six months of rent if I stopped fighting her about it. If I didn't tell you.”
I took my hand off the counter.
“And you said yes.”
Bea nodded.
“Say it.”
“I said yes.”
Mother looked toward the garden. Nate hadn't moved from beside the table. I could see him, but I couldn't make myself look at him properly yet.
“You got the flat,” I said.
“Yes.”
“And I got to think he didn't want me.”
Bea pressed her hands against her thighs.
“I thought you'd get over him. I told myself it would have ended anyway when he left.”
“Did you believe that?”
Her eyes filled. “I wanted to.”
I looked at Mother. “You paid her to keep quiet.”
“I helped my daughter move out,” she said. “She was twenty. She wanted her own place.”
“If she didn't tell me.”
Mother's jaw tightened. “I didn't want the same argument going on for months.”
“You didn't want me to know.”
“I've explained myself.”
I turned back to Bea.
“You were with me. In your room. You knew how much it hurt.”
She wiped her cheek with the heel of her hand.
“I didn't know the first night. Later that week, I did. I knew when you kept crying. I knew when you asked me whether you'd imagined it all.”
Something went loose inside me. I sat down because my legs wouldn't hold me still.
Bea reached toward me. I moved my chair back.
“Don't.”
Her hand fell.
I could remember so many small things. Bea bringing me a drink. Bea telling me I would feel better. Me helping carry boxes up her stairs because she'd finally got to leave. I had been pleased for her. I had put my hurt aside and been pleased.
“I built your table,” I said.
Her mouth trembled. “I know.”
“I thought Mum was finally letting you have something.”
“I know.”
I shook my head.
Bea looked at the floor. “I wanted my own chance.”
The answer was small and clear. I couldn't turn it into something better for her.
“Then when you met Nate again,” I said, “you knew exactly why we ended.”
“Yes.”
“And you told him I was over it.”
She nodded.
“You could have told me. Before either of you fell in love.”
“I should have.”
“Before you got engaged.”
“Yes.”
“Before I came through that door.”
“Yes.”
I stopped. There were too many chances. Listing them wouldn't make her take one.
Mother rose from the table. “This is exactly what I wanted to avoid.”
Bea turned to her. “Don't.”
“I won't stand here while she makes you feel—”
“I did it,” Bea said. “I took the money. You didn't make my mouth say yes.”
Mother stared at her. Bea looked back at me, crying openly now.
“I'm sorry.”
I put my hand in my pocket. The spare key was there. I'd taken it out of my bag that morning because I liked knowing I had it. That I could go up the stairs to her flat and open the door.
I closed my fingers around it.
Yesterday she had shown me the clear bed and the blanket. She had said Mother didn't decide who came there. I had believed I'd been given a place beside her that nobody could cross out.
Now I couldn't stop seeing myself on her old bed, waiting for the pain to pass while she waited to move.
“The room,” I said.
“You can still have it.”
“Stop.”
She drew back as if I had raised my voice. I hadn't. I barely had one.
“I did want you there,” she said. “I wasn't pretending last night.”
That was worse in a way I didn't know how to explain. I had loved last night. The noodles, the old blanket, her arm around me. I didn't want to lose it. I couldn't find anywhere to put it now.
I brought the key out and laid it on my closed palm. Bea looked at it.
“Lu—”
“Don't call me that right now.”
She nodded, wiping at her face again.
Nate shifted beside the table. I looked at him for the first time since Bea said yes.
On Tuesday, he'd looked straight at me and said she hadn't known. I'd asked whether he was sure. He'd said yes.
I closed my hand around the key again.
“Did you know about the money before I got here?” I asked him.