Sybil at Sixteen by Susan Beth Pfeffer

wanted to tell Claire the truth, tell Claire that the tip to the FBI had originated with her, that Sam’s family was collapsing because of her, but the words never came out. Maybe it was because Thea was there, and Sybil, who knew Claire would forgive her anything, couldn’t be quite so sure about Thea. Maybe it was because, even if Claire did know and forgive, she wouldn’t be there to protect Sybil. Maybe it was because Sybil suspected that while Claire would forgive her, she would no longer like Sybil or respect her, and Sybil couldn’t bear the thought of conditional love from Claire. Maybe the moment was just never right. Whatever the reasons, Claire and Thea left without knowing of Sybil’s involvement, and Sybil was relieved. So was Nick, she was sure.
    They sat in the living room together, Nick reading a magazine, Sybil making some feeble attempt to concentrate on her chemistry textbook, both of them enjoying the silence. At one point Nick said, “We should take a walk,” but Sybil merely shook her head, and Nick didn’t press it as he ordinarily would have. So much of Sybil ached just then it seemed unfair to single out her legs for therapy.
    Sybil waited for Nick to say something to justify what they’d done, or at least to acknowledge it. Conspirators were supposed to talk about their crimes, she assumed. But Nick said nothing. Sybil glanced at the VCR, which Clark had left. She wondered if it was meant to be a gift, or whether he’d come back one day and take it. It didn’t matter. The only tape they had was the one of the home movies, and Nick had put a stop to watching that. Not that any of them had been in the mood after finding out about Linda Steinmetz on the news.
    â€œEvvie should call us,” Sybil said. “She must have heard something by now.”
    â€œWhen she’s ready,” Nick replied. “She has a lot to deal with just now.”
    Sybil remembered as a little girl going to visit Aunt Grace in the house they now lived in. None of them had had much to say, not even Meg, and there had been long awkward silences when all Sybil could hear was the ticking of a grandfather clock. She remembered walking over to the clock and staring at it. She’d never seen a clock tick before. Finally Aunt Grace had had one of the servants drag Sybil away, for fear she’d leave fingerprints on the clock, or break it somehow. It must have been a very old clock, Sybil realized now, and Aunt Grace was probably right to protect it. She’d left the clock, along with everything else she owned, to a nephew of hers, a cousin of Meg’s who was secure in his wealth, and unlikely to sell an antique clock for a little quick cash. Aunt Grace had been right once again. Nick would sell anything if he needed the money badly enough.
    The doorbell rang, and Sybil got up with a start. She automatically thought it would be the FBI, but she wasn’t sure whether they’d come to arrest her or give her a check. She smiled at her confusion, then opened the door.
    Evvie was standing there. “You forget your key?” Sybil asked. It was all she could think of to say.
    Evvie ignored her and walked into the living room. “We’re going to talk,” she said to Nick.
    Nick put down his magazine. “I’m listening,” he said, and Sybil realized he was, he was offering Evvie the full focus of his attention. Sybil sat down, but Evvie continued to stand in front of her father.
    â€œI’m returning the key to this house,” Evvie said. “I’ll have no further use for it.” She took the key out of her pocketbook and threw it onto the floor.
    Sybil got up, retrieved the key, and put it in the pocket of her jeans. She knew if she hadn’t, she would stare at the key, willing it to move. It was easier to do the moving for it.
    â€œA fine dramatic gesture,” Nick said. “It’s a shame Claire isn’t here. She