KALYN

I SIT DOWN next to the phone. It’s definitely too early.

I haven’t spoken to Dad for a month. At first I was overwhelmed, and then I was angry. For weeks, Dad refused to participate in a retrial. All this work from all these people, and Dad wasn’t cooperating.

I think Mom put him straight, there.

Now I’ve had time to think about what to say.

The phone rings at exactly 8:00 p.m. I hear good ole sentient Judy, the same robot she’s always been, and then Dad’s voice, soft and gravelly like I remember.

“. . . that you, Kalyn?”

“Hey, Dad. A lot’s been going on.”

“So I’ve heard, baby girl. Proud of you.”

“You too. General consensus is you aren’t a murderer.”

He clears his throat. “Well, the word is often wrong.”

“Dad, I know you aren’t a murderer. So can you grow up and stop being a liar, too? I’ve heard what happened. I know about Aunt Claire. You shoulda just let her go to jail. How could you forget her like that?”

For half a minute, I can only hear him breathing and the echoes of life beyond the phone line, other convicts making phone calls home. Bodies far away.

“I think of Claire every day. Part of me thinks she’s still alive out there.”

“She’s not, Dad.” I sigh.

“Kalyn,” he says, “at a certain point you live with something for so long it becomes your world. And then it’s what you know, and where you feel comfortable, and you can’t imagine trying to escape it. I can’t imagine trying to make it in the world. With you, your mom. I can’t imagine coming home to a place where Claire’s dead. I can’t imagine getting a job. I only ever worked at a gas station. I can’t imagine growing up. I’ve been in here since I was a kid, honey. It’s my only reality.”

It hurts to hear it, in the same way pulling a splinter hurts. You know it’ll be better once it’s out. I know we’ll be better once Dad’s out, or at least we can try to be.

“You know the best movies take place in different realities. Gattaca.”

“Dark City.” A dry chuckle. “But those are some pretty dark examples.”

“Mad Max.” I smirk. “Dad, I thought I was betraying you by pretending to be something other than me. These past few months, I wondered what you’d think of me. But it doesn’t matter, not so much.”

He just waits. That’s something I like about him, something I want to learn to do one day. You know, when I grow up.

“I was betraying me, and that’s worse. I’m going to work on it. And for the love of god, I want you to work on it, too, okay. I want you to work on it and learn to quit lying to yourself all the damn time, so that we can all stop lying to each other.”

“All right, Kalyn.”

“That’s not a good enough start,” I tell him, eyes burning. “Try again, dammit.”

“I didn’t kill him, sweetie,” he tells me, and it’s the first time the story we heard in that kitchen feels real to me. “I hated him and he hated me, but the minute someone else pushed me into the fire, James pulled me out again.” His voice cracks. “He pulled me out and called an ambulance and decked the guy in the face for good measure, and I couldn’t hate him after that. I could never, ever kill him. I loved him, honey.”

“Once more, with feeling.” I pass the phone to the boy who’s sitting beside me.

Gus lets go of my hand—not for forever—and takes the phone.

I can tell the very instant Dad repeats himself, because Gus pulls off his glasses to wipe his eyes. He looks nothing like his dad and everything like Gus, especially when he shares his crooked smile with me.

He’s Gus, and I’m Kalyn, and it’s enough for now and always.

And you know what? When Gus hangs up the phone, I’m going to tell him so.

I’m going to tell him something true.