The Cartel's Next Lie

Letter #9

Delia—

You sat across from me at dinner like we were enemies with table manners.

I kept looking at your hands. Your mouth. The way you held your glass. Stupid things. Sister things. Proof things.

You knew where to put the knife, though.

Every word. Every look at Deacon. Every little silence you and everyone else kept passing around like a serving dish.

I wanted to crawl across the table and shake you.

I wanted to ask if you still hate peas, but I don’t guess I needed to because you were eating them.

I wanted to ask if you remember stealing marshmallows from my cereal.

I asked about the marks instead.

You didn’t answer.