don't even understand the voice recognition software."
Lena grabbed the keyboard back. "I'll figure it out."
"No, you won't," Nan countered. "This is my house, too."
Lena put her hands on her hips, walking toward the center of the room. She spotted a stack of papers beside an old Braille typewriter. Lena picked them up, turning to Nan. "What's this?"
Nan ran over, grabbing the papers. "It's her diary."
"Can you read it?"
"It's her personal diary," Nan repeated, aghast. "These are her private thoughts."
Lena chewed her bottom lip, trying for a softer tactic. That she had never liked Nan Thomas was not exactly a secret in this house. "You can read Braille, right?"
"Some."
"You need to tell me what this says, Nan. Somebody killed her." Lena tapped the pages. "Maybe she was being followed. Maybe she was scared of something and didn't want to tell us."
Nan turned away, her head tilted down toward the pages. She ran her fingers along the top line of dots, but Lena could tell she wasn't reading it. For some reason, Lena got the impression she was touching the pages because Sibyl had, as if she could absorb some sense of Sibyl rather than just words.
Nan said, "She always went to the diner on Mondays. It was her time out to do something on her own."
"I know."
"We were supposed to make burritos tonight." Nan stacked the papers against the desk. "Do what you need to do," she said. "I'll be in the living room."
Lena waited for her to leave, then continued the task at hand. Nan was right about the computer. Lena did not know how to use the software, and Sibyl had only used it for school. Sibyl dictated into the computer what she needed, and her teaching assistant made sure copies were made.
The second bedroom was slightly larger than the first. Lena stood in the doorway, taking in the neatly made bed. A stuffed Pooh bear was tucked between the pillows. Pooh was old, balding in places. Sibyl had rarely been without him throughout her childhood, and throwing him away had seemed like heresy. Lena leaned against the door, getting a mental flash of Sibyl as a child, standing with the Pooh bear. Lena closed her eyes, letting the memory overwhelm her. There wasn't much Lena wanted to remember about her childhood, but a particular day stuck out. A few months after the accident that had blinded Sibyl, they were in the backyard, Lena pushing her sister on the swing. Sibyl held Pooh tight to her chest, her head thrown back as she felt the breeze, a huge smile on her face as she relished this simple pleasure. There was such a trust there, Sibyl getting on the swing, trusting Lena not to push her too hard or too high. Lena had felt a responsibility. Her chest swelled from it, and she kept pushing Sibyl until her arms had ached.
Lena rubbed her eyes, shutting the bedroom door. She went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. Other than Sibyls usual vitamins and herbs, the cabinet was empty. Lena opened the closet, rummaging past the toilet paper and tampons, hair gel and hand towels. What she was looking for, Lena did not know. Sibyl didn't hide things. She would be the last person to be able to find them if she did.
"Sibby," Lena breathed, turning back to the mirror on the medicine cabinet. Seeing Sibyl, not herself. Lena spoke to her reflection, whispering, "Tell me something. Please."
She closed her eyes, trying to navigate the space as Sibyl would. The room was small, and Lena could touch both walls with her hands as she stood in the center. She opened her eyes with a weary sigh. There was nothing there.
Back in the living room, Nan Thomas sat on the couch. She held Sibyl's diary in her lap, not looking up when Lena came in. "I read the last few days' worth of stuff," she said, her tone flat. "Nothing out of place. She was worried about a kid at school who was flunking."
"A guy?"
Nan shook her head. "Female. A freshman."
Lena leaned her hand against the wall. "Did you have any workmen in or out in the last
Lena grabbed the keyboard back. "I'll figure it out."
"No, you won't," Nan countered. "This is my house, too."
Lena put her hands on her hips, walking toward the center of the room. She spotted a stack of papers beside an old Braille typewriter. Lena picked them up, turning to Nan. "What's this?"
Nan ran over, grabbing the papers. "It's her diary."
"Can you read it?"
"It's her personal diary," Nan repeated, aghast. "These are her private thoughts."
Lena chewed her bottom lip, trying for a softer tactic. That she had never liked Nan Thomas was not exactly a secret in this house. "You can read Braille, right?"
"Some."
"You need to tell me what this says, Nan. Somebody killed her." Lena tapped the pages. "Maybe she was being followed. Maybe she was scared of something and didn't want to tell us."
Nan turned away, her head tilted down toward the pages. She ran her fingers along the top line of dots, but Lena could tell she wasn't reading it. For some reason, Lena got the impression she was touching the pages because Sibyl had, as if she could absorb some sense of Sibyl rather than just words.
Nan said, "She always went to the diner on Mondays. It was her time out to do something on her own."
"I know."
"We were supposed to make burritos tonight." Nan stacked the papers against the desk. "Do what you need to do," she said. "I'll be in the living room."
Lena waited for her to leave, then continued the task at hand. Nan was right about the computer. Lena did not know how to use the software, and Sibyl had only used it for school. Sibyl dictated into the computer what she needed, and her teaching assistant made sure copies were made.
The second bedroom was slightly larger than the first. Lena stood in the doorway, taking in the neatly made bed. A stuffed Pooh bear was tucked between the pillows. Pooh was old, balding in places. Sibyl had rarely been without him throughout her childhood, and throwing him away had seemed like heresy. Lena leaned against the door, getting a mental flash of Sibyl as a child, standing with the Pooh bear. Lena closed her eyes, letting the memory overwhelm her. There wasn't much Lena wanted to remember about her childhood, but a particular day stuck out. A few months after the accident that had blinded Sibyl, they were in the backyard, Lena pushing her sister on the swing. Sibyl held Pooh tight to her chest, her head thrown back as she felt the breeze, a huge smile on her face as she relished this simple pleasure. There was such a trust there, Sibyl getting on the swing, trusting Lena not to push her too hard or too high. Lena had felt a responsibility. Her chest swelled from it, and she kept pushing Sibyl until her arms had ached.
Lena rubbed her eyes, shutting the bedroom door. She went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. Other than Sibyls usual vitamins and herbs, the cabinet was empty. Lena opened the closet, rummaging past the toilet paper and tampons, hair gel and hand towels. What she was looking for, Lena did not know. Sibyl didn't hide things. She would be the last person to be able to find them if she did.
"Sibby," Lena breathed, turning back to the mirror on the medicine cabinet. Seeing Sibyl, not herself. Lena spoke to her reflection, whispering, "Tell me something. Please."
She closed her eyes, trying to navigate the space as Sibyl would. The room was small, and Lena could touch both walls with her hands as she stood in the center. She opened her eyes with a weary sigh. There was nothing there.
Back in the living room, Nan Thomas sat on the couch. She held Sibyl's diary in her lap, not looking up when Lena came in. "I read the last few days' worth of stuff," she said, her tone flat. "Nothing out of place. She was worried about a kid at school who was flunking."
"A guy?"
Nan shook her head. "Female. A freshman."
Lena leaned her hand against the wall. "Did you have any workmen in or out in the last
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