“It’s not all Becky’s fault,” Mr. Mercer broke in, leaning forward. “She’s mentally ill, Laurel, and your mother and I didn’t really know how to handle that when she was growing up.”
Laurel turned her gaze to Emma again, her face more wounded than angry. “How long have you known all this?”
Emma took a deep breath. She picked up a tasseled pillow from the chair next to her and hugged it to her chest like a stuffed animal, thinking of what Sutton’s answer to this question would be. “I met her that night in Sabino Canyon. The night of Nisha’s tennis sleepover.”
Emma had done her best to piece together the night that I died, and bits of my memory had come back, too. I had seen Laurel that night, when I called her to pick up Thayer Vega, my secret boyfriend and Laurel’s longtime crush, and take him to the hospital after someone—probably my murderer—had tried to run him over with my car. I could see the memory register on Laurel’s face, too, her eyes widening as she made the connection.
“I’m sorry I kept it from you,” Emma said, flinching as she thought of all the other huge secrets she was hiding from the Mercers. “It was really intense, and I just wasn’t ready to talk about it yet.”
Laurel nodded slowly. She toyed with the charm on her bracelet, conflicting emotions flitting across her face. Emma knew how she felt—the discoveries she’d made about Becky and the Mercers were still fresh for her, too.
The room was so quiet they could hear the family’s Great Dane’s breath from where Drake snoozed in a gargantuan dog bed near the fireplace. Mr. Mercer stared out the window, where a pair of cactus wrens were busily building a nest in the desert willow beyond. After a long moment, Laurel laughed quietly.
“What?” Emma asked, cocking her head.
“I just realized,” Laurel said, a half-smile twisting her lips to the side, “this makes you my niece, doesn’t it?”
Emma laughed softly, too. “I guess so.”
“Technically, it does,” Mr. Mercer added. He unbuttoned and rebuttoned his suit coat, looking visibly relieved to hear them laugh. “But since we formally adopted Sutton, she’s also legally your sister.”
Laurel turned to face Emma again, and even though her smile looked a little strained, her eyes were warm. “This is all really crazy . . . but it’s kind of cool that we’re related. Biologically, I mean. You know you’ve always been my sister. But I’m glad we’re related by blood, too.”
Quick flashes of memory crowded my mind of us as little girls. Laurel was right. We had been sisters. We’d fought like sisters, but we’d also taken care of each other the way sisters were supposed to.
Mr. Mercer cleared his throat, running his hand over his jaw. “There’s one more thing,” he said. Emma’s eyes shot up at him. More? “Becky said some strange things to me before she left. It’s hard to know what to believe. Becky isn’t always . . . reliable. But for some reason my gut says she might be telling the truth this time. She says that she had another daughter. That Sutton had a twin.”
Emma’s heart wrenched to a halt in her chest. For one long moment her vision went blurry, the Mercers’ living room turning into a smeared Dali-like landscape around her. They still didn’t know the whole truth. When she’d looked at Becky’s files two weeks before, Emma discovered that Becky had yet another daughter, a twelve-year-old girl who Becky said lived with her father in California.
“A twin?” Laurel squeaked.
“I don’t know if it’s true.” Mr. Mercer looked down at Emma, his face unreadable. “Becky didn’t seem to know where your sister—your twin—was now, Sutton. But her name is Emma.”
“Emma?” Laurel turned an incredulous glance at Emma. “Isn’t that what you called yourself at breakfast the first day of school?”
Emma picked at a snag in Sutton’s dress, playing for time. She was spared answering when Mr. Mercer spoke again.
“Becky told you about her, didn’t she?” he asked softly. “That night at Sabino?”
Her mind churning, Emma managed to nod, grateful that Mr. Mercer had provided an explanation. It was most likely true. When Emma had spoken with Becky last week, Becky had talked about Emma like she’d already told Sutton about her once. Either way, Emma knew she had to be very careful here.
“All she told me was her name,” Emma said softly. “I should have told you. But I was so mad. I was trying to find out if you knew about her, too, see if you recognized the name. I thought maybe I could pick a fight and you’d have to tell me.”
Another tense silence opened in the room. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Drake look up from his bed and glance around, wagging his tail tentatively. The second hand on Mr. Mercer’s Cartier watch clicked audibly. It seemed ploddingly slow compared to Emma’s own racing heart.
Mrs. Mercer finally broke the silence. “I’m so sorry we lied to you, Sutton. To both of you. You both have every right to be angry. I hope someday you can understand, and maybe even forgive us.”
My own heart ached at the look on my mother’s face, full of anguish. Of course I forgave her, even though I could never tell her that. I only hoped she’d be able to forgive herself when the entire truth came out, when she realized how dearly all those secrets had cost our family. That someone had used them against us—against me—by forcing Emma to take my place after my death.
“So what now?” Laurel asked, her eyes on Emma. Her jaw was set determinedly. “We have to find this Emma girl, right? I mean, she’s our sister. Our niece. Our . . . uh, whatever.”