Chapter 3 - THE MEMORY THAT WASN’T MINE
I remembered almost everything about that night.
The thunderstorm.
The power flickering twice.
Our father yelling from downstairs that everyone needed to stay away from the old fuse box.
My mother searching for flashlights.
Then smoke.
Emily screaming.
I remembered running outside.
I remembered realizing she was missing.
I remembered going back.
What I did not remember was being upstairs before the fire.
“I wasn’t upstairs.”
Emily laughed once.
It was brittle.
“Of course you say that.”
“Because it’s true.”
My father spoke sharply.
“This conversation is over.”
Daniel ignored him.
“What is Emily accusing Claire of?”
Nobody answered.
Then Emily did.
“She started it.”
The words moved through the church like electricity.
I felt my hands go numb.
“What?”
“The fire.”
Emily’s voice cracked.
“You started the fire.”
My mother covered her mouth.
Daniel stared at Emily.
Margaret became perfectly still.
I looked at my sister.
“You think I started the fire?”
“I know you did.”
“How?”
“Dad told me.”
Every head turned toward Mark.
His jaw tightened.
“That is not what I said.”
Emily looked confused.
“Yes, it is.”
“I said investigators believed the fire began near the upstairs hall.”
“You told me Claire was there.”
Mark glanced around the church.
“This is exactly why private family matters should remain private.”
I suddenly remembered being nineteen.
Sitting in a rehabilitation room while my father signed papers beside me.
I had asked about the fire report.
He told me investigators could never determine the cause.
Had that been another lie?
Margaret looked toward Daniel.
“Take Emily somewhere private.”
Emily resisted immediately.
“No.”
Daniel’s voice was quiet.
“Emily.”
“This is my wedding.”
“Not right now.”
She stared at him.
Then her eyes moved toward the guests.
Phones were already appearing.
People were whispering.
Her perfect image was collapsing in real time.
For perhaps the first time all day, I almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
Daniel led Emily toward a side room.
Margaret walked toward me.
“We should get you out of here.”
My father stepped forward.
“Claire is coming with us.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
He blinked.
For years, one word from him had been enough to send me backward into silence.
Not today.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
His voice dropped.
“Don’t make a mistake because you’re upset.”
I looked at Margaret.
“Can I see those records?”
“Yes.”
My father’s face hardened.
“Claire.”
I ignored him.
“And I want the original fire report.”
Margaret nodded.
“I can help you obtain it.”
Behind us, my mother began crying.
I turned toward her.
She whispered,
“Please don’t do this.”
That sentence hurt more than Emily’s insult.
Because she wasn’t asking me not to hurt myself.
She was asking me not to expose them.
I wheeled toward the church doors.
Margaret walked beside me.
Before we reached the entrance, a voice called from behind.
“Claire.”
It was Daniel.
I turned.
He held Emily’s phone in his hand.
His face had gone pale.
May you like
“I think you need to see what your sister has been telling people about you.”
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