Chapter 21

Eventually, after I had refused for the third time to tell Sarah where her jewelry box was, and she had called me an asshole, among other things, she flounced out of the house, slamming the door so hard it almost broke the little window at the top of it. I sat down on whatever was behind me by then—the couch, I think—and tried to remember how to breathe. And suddenly, Tristan was there, crying with me, and holding out the whiskey bottle for me to take a slug. “I hate her!” he shouted. “I fucking hate her so much!” And right then, so did I. I calmed down very quickly, but Tristan cried for a long time.

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