6 - Pages of Sin

tell her.”
    Whoa. I was not expecting that. I glanced at Mom, who looked equally surprised.
    “But . . . how . . . but . . .” Elaine sputtered as she stared back and forth between Byron and her sister. “How did she have time to write your books when she was writing my books!”
    Okay, not expecting that, either.
    Blindsided, Marjorie’s mouth gaped open. “ Your books? Why would she bother writing your books? You write kids’ books! My God, you write about llamas!”
    “And your point is?”
    “My point is, why didn’t you just write them yourself? It’s not like there’s any challenge to writing a stupid llama story.”
    “How dare you!”
    “You’re kidding, right?” Marjorie whipped around and glanced at each of us as though she expected to find some common sentiment there. Then she glared back at Elaine. “Why would you bother Wanda with something so trivial when she could have been spending more time on my work?”
    “I beg your pardon?” Outraged, Elaine slapped her hands onto her hips as her chin jutted pugnaciously. “My Lucy the Lonely Llama was short-listed for the Caldecott Medal. I happen to explore the dark corners of the human condition, you moron. My prose is richly layered, often punchy and bordering on magnificent. Damn it, read my reviews once in a while!”
    Marjorie leaned closer until they were nose to nose. “Why would I waste my time? You write books for six-year-olds !”
    “I write books for people with passion, regardless of their age.” Elaine took a deep breath, then sneered at her sister. “You should talk about wasting Wanda’s time. Don’t pretend you’ve ever written anything more significant than a few travel articles.”
    Marjorie gasped. “I have a Pulitzer Prize!”
    “Well, whoop-dee-fricking-doo. You sure as hell didn’t earn it. Wanda did!”
    “You’re wrong! I gave her all my notes, everything she needed to put those books together. They were my words. Wanda did nothing more than a highly paid typist would do.”
    “Now, hold on there,” Byron said, stepping into the middle. “Don’t act as if Wanda only typed for you two. She had a lyrical quality of her own that neither of you could ever match. That’s why you both begged her to write your books for you.”
    Elaine wasn’t mollified. Shaking her finger at her sister, she said, “You used her and abused her. I’m no longer surprised that she took her own life, knowing she had to deal constantly with your overblown ego.”
    “That was a low blow, Elaine,” Mom warned, acting as referee. She should have been wearing a whistle.
    Marjorie snorted. “You’re the one who abused her. If I’d been forced to write another book about a freaking llama, I’d probably have ended it all, too.”
    Mom made a tsk ing sound. “Marjorie, that’s not a charitable thing to say.”
    Marjorie huffed, then whirled around and paced halfway across the room and back. “I can’t help it. She makes me so mad sometimes.”
    “Sisters can do that,” I said with a sympathetic nod. Anyone with a sister could relate.
    “Come on now, girls, stop fighting,” Byron said as he struggled to wrap his arms around both women, finally forcing them to face each other. “You’re both way off base. Wanda loved you two more than anything else in the world. She wouldn’t want you fighting with each other because of her. The only reason she committed suicide was because she was dying anyway.”
    Silence fell on the room like a heavy cloak. I looked over at Mom, whose forehead was furrowed in distress. After a long pause, she touched Byron’s arm and said, “Was that true? Was Wanda ill?”
    Byron gazed at Mom and his eyes grew misty. He only seemed to realize in that moment that he’d divulged a major revelation. “Yes. I’m sorry, but she was dying. Ovarian cancer.”
    Hearing those universally hated words, I squeezed my eyes shut. It wasn’t fair, damn it.
    “I’m so sorry,” Mom whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. Dad laid his hand on Byron’s shoulder in sympathy. Robson placed both of his hands on Byron’s back as if to prop him up.
    Byron tried to smile but it was a wobbly attempt. “She was determined to keep her sense of humor through it all. She said she didn’t want me to see her skin turn gray as she shriveled up to nothing, so she took things into her own hands. She looked so beautiful in the garden after Marjorie called me. It was her favorite place.”
    “She was dying?” Marjorie