Page 55 of Every Sweet Thing Is Bitter

If Josiah overheard our exchange, he doesn’t let on. He stands behind his cluttered desk with his arms clasped behind his head. He is without his signature cowboy hat. “Just one question for you. Do you know where your sister’s car is?”

“I assumed she would have driven it here.”

“No. It’s not at her apartment either.”

“I have no idea where the car is.” It sounds like a lie even though it isn’t. More than anything, I wish I had Sara at my side to keep me from putting my foot in my mouth and inadvertently confessing to a crime before the conversation ends.

“It seems like she doesn’t either,” he says, “which, quite frankly, we’re not willing to believe. Riddle me this. You confess to a murder, say you ran the woman over with your car, but you won’t tell the police where the car is.”

“Sorry, what am I riddling?”

“Does that make sense to you?”

“No. No, it doesn’t. But if she isn’t taking her medication, she—”

He interrupts me. “If Harmony tells us where the car is, between that and the confession, she could cop a decent plea deal. I’m buddies with the DA. I’d pull some strings.”

“Is she not telling you or is she saying she doesn’t remember?”

“Doesn’t remember. The Indians have been looking all over the reservation. Hell, I’ve got sheriffs two counties away looking for the car.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I talked to her fiancéand Grace, and …” The nuances of mental health are not going to work on Josiah, a man from a generation that still sees mental illness as a sign of weakness. I need to sell it. “… without her meds, she was absolutely insane. She wouldn’t have been in her right mind. She hasn’t been taking them regularly, Josiah.”

“We need to know where the car is. Bottom line.”

Swing and a miss. “She never said anything about it to me.”

“Then I need you to see what Harmony will tell you. She won’t say anything to us, but she might to you.”

“I think you’re misremembering how close she and I are,” I say.

“Then bring in Grace. Bring in your father. Bring in the fiancé. Hell, bring in twelve drummers drumming and eleven pipers piping for all I care. There’s someone out there who can make her talk—and if she won’t talk, I might have reason to believe she’s lying. Maybe trying to take the heat off someone else.”

“Why is this up to me?”

Josiah slides a plug of tobacco behind his lip. “It’s not, but if someone can talk some sense into Harmony and spare her life in prison, I think it’s a no-brainer. I’d bring Grace down here if I were you.”

“I am not dragging Grace into this.”

He furrows his brows, trying to make sense of my resistance. “It might just save Harmony’s neck.”

“She can decide for herself if she wants to be involved. She has a choice.”

“Is this your way of trying to protect her?”

“You are the last person in the world who gets to give me advice on how to protect my sisters.”

“I always tried to—”

Now it’s my turn to cut him off. “To do right by me and my sisters? You’ll have to forgive me if I find that hard to believe.”

“Providence—”

But I’m already gone. I flip the bird at the frizzy-haired woman on my way out, bloody knuckles bared to the ceiling.

The conversation hangs over our heads like the guillotine’s blade as we eat pumpkin ice cream. Grace and I exhaust mundane conversations to stay our execution—things like Bucket the cat, which of my tattoos are yard tattoos, whether Grace should try out for the cheerleading squad. She fills every pause. She knows something terrible is coming, and the moment she allows more than a beat of silence to elapse, her world will be rocked once again. I see the desperate plea each time our eyes meet.If you love me, please don’t do this. Please don’t say anything.

“Do you want a cigarette, Grace?”

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