The Women in the Walls Read Online Free PDF

matter to discuss,” my father says, clearing his throat. My heart skips a beat—has he learned something about my aunt?
    â€œI need to know who ruined all of the photos in Penelope’s room.”
    My mouth slacks open in shock, but Margaret keeps her eyes on her plate.
    â€œWhat do you mean, ruined ?” I ask. “What happened in Penelope’s room?”
    â€œSomeone went into her desk and personal drawers and went wild with a permanent marker,” my father says. “Priceless items have been ruined with scribbles and curse words.”
    I swallow my half-chewed bite of roast. “What?”
    â€œI’m curious about something, Uncle Felix,” Margaret says calmly, tearing soft white tufts of bread away from the crust and rolling them into balls between her fingers. “Why were you in her room, looking through her drawers?”
    My stomach grows heavy with dread. If it really was Margaret who ruined Penelope’s photos, she is starting to go off the deep end for sure.
    My father’s cheeks flush red. “Was it you who ruined her things, then, Margaret? Scribbled her face out in every picture she owned?”
    Every picture she owned? I look at Margaret’s stoic face, bewildered. What was she thinking ?
    â€œYou didn’t answer my question,” she says, her voice steady. “So I don’t see why I should have to answer yours.”
    â€œDid you do that?” I ask, unable to hold it in any longer. In addition to the worry I’ve felt over how she’s been withdrawing and hanging out in the attic, now there’s anger, too. Penelope doesn’t belong just to Margaret. Those weren’t her pictures to ruin, no matter how she was feeling.
    â€œI never said I did it,” she says to me, popping a piece of the bread in her mouth. “But thanks for assuming.”
    â€œYour mother loved you.” My father stands from the table, apparently finished even though his dinner is only half-eaten. “I can’t believe you’d do something so cold out of pure resentment. What are you mad at her for? You act like she left us on purpose!”
    â€œYou don’t know the first thing about my mother,” Margaret replies, her voice flat. “Neither of you do, and that’s the problem.”
    â€œSo you did it for attention?” I ask. “You’re proving your point by ruining stuff that we can never get back?”
    â€œYou will not be allowed to act this way,” my father cuts in. He’s never had to take a parental tone with Margaret, and it shows in the clumsiness of how he talks. Despite his red face, he looks determined. “I would never dream of sending you to live elsewhere, but—”
    â€œOf course you wouldn’t,” Margaret interjects. “But you still had to bring it up, right, Uncle Felix? To keep me in my place?”
    Will every dinner be this way from now on? A sad little group of people at an enormous table who, it turns out, don’t really know each other at all? It’s not until now that I notice how heavily Penelope directed the tone during times like these. She was the one to calmly translate things between Margaret and my father, but I don’t know how to do that. I don’t even understand Margaret right now, let alone feel equipped enough to step into this.
    â€œYou will stay out of her room,” my father commands. “You will keep your hands off her things and you will respect me as your guardian.”
    â€œ Are you my guardian?” Margaret asks, her tone almost challenging. “I feel like that’s something that should have been worked out with the law by now. What did the police say, by the way? About my mother’s disappearance? I certainly haven’t talked to any officers, and you’d think that they’d want to question everyone to make sure nothing fishy was going on.”
    My father doesn’t reply. I have to admit