they make up those stories about you two?" "Why? Because they're dirty, mean, selfish.
They couldn't understand why Laura and I were so
close, why we did so much together and for each
other. They were jealous so they made up stories.
They're as responsible for her death as Robert was,"
he concluded.
"I'm sorry, Cary." I touched his shoulder. He nodded. "Don't bother reading any more of
those phony letters. They're full of lies. He wrote and
said whatever he thought would get him what he
wanted," Cary assured me.
"Why doesn't your mother throw them out,
then?"
"She wouldn't touch anything in that room. For
a long time afterward, she refused to believe Laura
wasn't coming back. They've never found her body, so
she refused to accept her death. And then, my father
had the gravestone put in and forced her to go there
with him. Finally, she accepted that much, but she still
clings to the room, to her things, her clothes. I was
surprised she wanted to take you in and let you stay in
Laura's room, but it's almost as if she thinks . . ." "What?"
"Laura's come back through you. That's another
reason why my father hasn't been the most hospitable
person. It's not that he dislikes you for any reason." "There's a reason," I said prophetically.
"Something happened that has made him so bitter
about my mother, and I want to know what it was. Do
you know anything else?" I asked.
"No," he said quickly. Too quickly, I thought.
"Then, I'll just have to ask our grandparents to tell me
everything."