I stared at her in disbelief.
“Afraid of what?”
“That people would blame me for the other woman’s death. I had gone back inside for her, but I was the one who survived.”
“You were trying to rescue her.”
“I knew that logically, but I didn’t feel innocent. I thought everyone would ask why she died and I lived.”
Her fingers moved to the scars on her neck.
“I was burned. I couldn’t sleep. I had panic attacks. I hated seeing myself in the mirror.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“I thought Ruth would be frightened of me.”
“She was a baby.”
“I was frightened of myself.”
I shook my head.
The explanation might have described why she had hidden for a week or even a month.
It did not explain eight years.
“So you simply decided not to return?”
“I saw you with Ruth once.”
My anger paused.
“What?”
“Several months after the fire. You were outside a grocery store. Ruth was sitting in the shopping cart eating crackers.”
Joan gave a broken little smile.
“You were trying to wipe crumbs from her face with your sleeve because you couldn’t find a napkin. She laughed at you, and then you started laughing too.”
I remembered that day.
I had been exhausted. Ruth had been teething. I had barely slept for three nights.
“You looked tired,” Joan continued, “but Ruth looked safe.”
“And that was enough for you?”
“I told myself she was better with you.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You told yourself a story that made abandoning us sound like a sacrifice.”
Joan flinched.
“You didn’t spare Ruth pain,” I continued. “You handed the pain to me and walked away.”
Tears slid down her face.
“I’m sorry.”
“Do you know how many nights I spoke to your photograph?”
She stared at me.
“When Ruth had a fever and nothing brought it down, I asked your picture what I should do. When she woke crying for you, I blamed you for leaving her. Then I hated myself for being angry at someone I believed was dead.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“You owe me years of that word, Joan. Don’t use it all in one afternoon.”
She nodded and wiped her face.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she looked toward the shoreline, where Ruth stood beside Andy.
“Can I see her?”
“No.”
The answer left my mouth immediately.
Joan’s face collapsed.
“Not like this,” I added. “Not because she noticed your leg under a changing-room wall. Not because you finally became tired of hiding.”
“I don’t want to take her away from you.”
“You couldn’t.”
I straightened my shoulders.
“I am her legal guardian. I am the person her teachers call. I know the name of her doctor, her favorite bedtime story, and which side of the bed she sleeps on when she is scared.”
Joan lowered her eyes.
“You don’t get to walk back into her life and shake everything she trusts.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“I don’t want to take her,” she repeated. “I only want to stop being a ghost.”
For the first time since I had seen her, Joan sounded completely honest.
I looked toward Ruth.
She stood stiffly beside Andy, watching us.
Andy raised one hand slightly, silently asking whether I was all right.
I wasn’t.
But I was still standing.
And Ruth needed me to remain standing.
“You will give me your real phone number,” I told Joan. “Tomorrow, you will meet me somewhere quiet. You will not contact Ruth or approach her until I decide how this should be handled.”
Joan nodded quickly.
“All right.”
“If you disappear again, I will not chase you.”
Her eyes met mine.
“I will explain you to Ruth exactly as you are.”
Joan swallowed.
“I won’t run again.”
I took her phone, called my own number, and saved the contact.
I did not label it “Sister.”
I simply typed one word.
Joan.
