Part 2 of 3

I sat beneath the deepest shade of the covered patio.

I was wearing the matching swimsuit.

Over it, I had tied a thick white robe tightly around myself.

My parents knew what I planned to do.

Neither of them agreed with it.

The night before, Mom had sat beside me on my bed and held my hand.

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation.”

“I know.”

“And you certainly don’t owe a crowd your privacy.”

I had rested my head against her shoulder.

“This isn’t for the crowd.”

She knew what I meant.

Now, through the kitchen windows, I could see her watching me.

Dad stood beside her with his arms folded, his jaw tight.

At three in the afternoon, the music suddenly stopped.

A burst of microphone feedback made everyone turn.

Madison was standing beside the DJ table.

“Okay, everybody!” she called brightly. “Before we keep going, I need help with something.”

My stomach tightened.

Her eyes found me.

“My twin has been hiding under that robe all day.”

Laughter moved through the crowd.

Not cruel laughter, at first. Most people thought this was a harmless joke between sisters.

Madison smiled.

“Leah, we made a deal.”

I did not move.

“Come on. We’re eighteen once. Take off the robe and get in the pool.”

Several people began clapping.

One of Madison’s friends shouted, “Come on, Leah!”

More voices joined.

Soon a chant rolled across the patio.

“Take it off! Take it off!”

I looked toward the house.

My father had already placed one hand on the sliding door.

I shook my head once.

Please.

Let me finish.

I stood.

The chanting grew louder.

As I stepped out from beneath the patio roof, the afternoon sun fell across my face. Every instinct I had developed over twelve years told me to turn back.

Instead, I walked toward my sister.

Madison was smiling.

For one last moment, she believed she had won.

What My Sister Could Not Remember

I stopped a few feet from her.

The chanting continued.

My hands found the belt of the robe.

I untied it.

Then I let the robe slide from my shoulders.

The sound around the pool disappeared.

I stood in the coral swimsuit, my skin uncovered in front of nearly everyone from our graduating class.

Across my back, shoulders, side, and upper legs were broad areas of old scarring, some smooth and pale, others raised and uneven from years of treatment and grafting. My left shoulder carried the clearest evidence of what had happened, and one side of my torso still moved differently when I took a deep breath.

I had spent most of my childhood believing those marks made me less beautiful.

That afternoon, I simply stood still.

No covering.

No apology.

Madison’s smile vanished.

Her eyes moved slowly across my body.

“Leah…”

I stepped forward and gently took the microphone from her hand.

For several seconds, I could hear only the soft movement of pool water behind us.

Then I spoke.

“You’ve asked for years why Mom and Dad treat me differently.”

Madison stared at me.

“You said I made up reasons to hide. You said there was nothing wrong with me.”

Her face had gone pale.

“I didn’t know.”

“No. You didn’t.”

My voice trembled, but I continued.

“When we were six, we lived in a farmhouse outside Fredericksburg. There was a fire late one night.”

Madison immediately shook her head.

“No.”

A murmur moved through the crowd.

I kept my eyes on hers.

“You don’t remember most of it. That’s why nobody told you the whole story.”

She took one step back.

“Leah, stop.”

My mother had begun to cry quietly near the kitchen door.

“You were trapped in our bedroom,” I said. “Part of the doorway had fallen in, and you were hiding in the closet because you were scared.”

Madison pressed a hand against her mouth.

“I found you.”

Her eyes widened.

“No.”

“I found you, Maddie.”

My throat tightened.

I had carried the memory for so long that speaking it aloud felt almost unreal.

“I couldn’t get us both out. So when part of the ceiling came down, I covered you.”

The microphone felt heavy in my hand.

“Most of these scars came from that night.”

Madison stared at me as though the world had shifted beneath her feet.

I swallowed.

“You kept asking why Mom and Dad worry about me. This is why.”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“And you kept asking why I hide.”

I looked around at the classmates who had been chanting seconds earlier.

Then back at my sister.

“Because I was six years old, and after I came home from months of treatment, people stared. Children asked questions. Adults looked away too quickly. So I learned to cover everything.”

Madison’s shoulders began to shake.

I lowered my voice.

“But there’s something else you need to know.”

She could barely speak.

“What?”

“I never blamed you.”

Her face folded.

“Not once.”

The microphone slipped from my hand and landed softly on the grass beside the pool.