While I was working on being invisible, Cass was slowly coming back to us. She hadn't called on Christmas Eve, which had made my mother teary the entire time we opened gifts and had our annual pancake breakfast with Boo and Stewart the next morning. Cass did send a card, with a picture of her and Adam inside. They were standing in front of their own tree, a small scrubby pine with a few lights, one of those homemade paper chains, and a tinfoil angel on top. He had his arm around her and they were both smiling; Cass looked as happy as I'd ever seen her. My mother put the picture in a frame, immediately, and parked it on the coffee table, displacing a series of glass teddy bears and a small basket of potpourri. “I'm trying to understand what she meant about keeping her life her own, about boundaries,” I heard her say to Boo Christmas day as they cleaned up the kitchen. My father was parked in his chair, watching a game, with Stewart dozing on the couch, one hand on his stomach.

“But this is Christmas, for goodness sake.”

“She's coming around,” Boo said reassuringly. “She seems to think that we controlled her somehow, that we were too involved in her life.” I could hear my mother washing dishes, the water splashing. “And now, I guess, we're not. Or something.” And she sighed, again, that low, sad Cass-​sigh I'd heard daily since the summer. Cass's gifts sat under the tree until we dismantled it. My mother, always fair, had even bought onesmall, but still therefor Adam. Then they were moved to the hall closet, still in their brightly colored paper and ribbons, and stacked behind the vacuum cleaner. When she had finally called, about a week into the New Year, I was lying in my bed, sleeping after another late night, as well as a fresh wrist-​wrenching bruise, courtesy of Rogerson. I knew it was Cass just by the way my mother's voice jumped from its normal, polite hello to a gasp of excitement I could hear clearly through my door and down the hallway. “Happy New Year to you, too!” she cried out, and I could hear her moving around, looking for my father so she could get him on the extension. This was harder for him. He'd get on the line and listen, talking to Cass only when prompted, and then in short, formal sentences, his voice low, as if she was someone he knew only formally. “How are you, honey? How was your Christmas?” I could hear her going through the kitchen to my father's study, her heels clacking across the floor. I rolled over and closed my eyes. “Oh, yes, we had a wonderful time. You missed the blueberry pancakes. But you were on our minds. It just wasn't the same without you.” A pause, and then she whispered, “Jack, it's Cassandra. Pick up that extension.” My mother made affirmative noises as Cass described her Christmas, and then I heard my father say, “Hello, Cassandra.”

“Oh, it's so wonderful you called!” my mother chirped, her voice so full and happy. I pulled my pillow over my head trying to block out the sound. “How's the weather up there?” my father asked, and it was quiet as Cass responded. “Well, that's New York in January for you.”

“It's been lovely here,” my mother added. “What? Oh, she's fine, so busy. Her cheerleading is just going wonderfully, and she's so caught up with school and this new boyfriend of hers, Rogerson, she's busy every night. She's just wonderful.” I reached up and examined my wrist, feeling the tenderness right by my watchband. Wonderful, I thought. .“I'm sure she'd want to talk to you,” my mother went on, and I could hear her starting down the hallway toward my room, the cordless in her hand. “I think she's still sleeping, but I can” I pulled the pillow tighter, letting my body fall slack just as she opened the door a crack, peeking in. “Caitlin?” she whispered. “Honey?” I stayed perfectly still, concentrating on breathing evenly: in, out. In, out. “Oh, my,” my mother said softly, “she's still asleep. She'll be so sorry she missed you.” I waited until I heard the soft click of the door shutting again before I opened my eyes. Her voice faded as she walked back to the kitchen, still cooing as she took in Cass's every word. The truth was, I didn't want to talk to Cass. So far everyone who had noticed something was different in me had been distracted enough by their own problemsRina with Jeff, my mother with Cass, even Corinna with Dave and her workthat they accepted my easy explanations about falling or clumsiness and didn't look too closely. The only one who acted as if she might have sensed something was Boo, but she'd never try to pry it out of me. It wasn't her style. So it was easy, in photography class or over dinner, to ignore her thoughtful glances, to sidestep her questions with the standard dinner table answers: Fine. Busy. Nothing special. I'm just tired. But my sister was different. We were too alike, and I was scared that she'd be able to tell something was wrong with one word, one sentence, instantly guessing everything. And I couldn't be found out, not by Cass. She was the strong one, the smart one. She would never have let this happen to her.

I reached under my mattress and pulled out my dream journal, flipping through a few full pages to find the first blank spot. And as my mother laughed and trilled from the kitchen, soaking up every bit of Cass she could, I talked to my sister the only way I had left. Jan 7 Dear Cass, Remember when we were kids and Mom always made us come up with one resolution for New Year's we had to keep, no matter what? Like flossing your teeth every day, or not fighting so much, or reading one book every month. It seemed like anything was possible when you had a clean slate to start with.

Well, it's New Year's now but I don't feel that way anymore. I wonder if you do either. Something's happening to me. It's like I'm shrinking smaller and smaller and I can't stop it. There's just so much wrong that I can't imagine the shame in admitting even the tiniest part of it. When you left it was like there was this huge gap to fill, but instead of spreading wide enough to do it I just fell right in, and I'm still falling.