Read The Truth Commission for Free Online Page A

lie coming out clear and steady.
    â€œShe has to start talking. If we don’t know what happened, we can’t help her.”
    My mother, her face even more drawn, said, “We
have
tried to talk to her, but she said she’s not ready. We’ve asked if she’d like a counselor, but she said no. She just wants to be left alone while she finishes the new book. She’s under a lot of pressure.”
    Despite what my sister’s graphic novels may have insinuated, my parents are good people and hard workers. My mom, as I noted earlier, works for the Postal Service. In addition to carrying letters and packages, she carries all the weight and worries of the world. Okay, so in that regard the comics are true. She gives the impression that if one more letter-sized envelope is added to her sack, she’ll fall right over and die.
    When my aunt called to tell us my grandmother had been diagnosed with terminal cancer, my mom got up and went to bed. She didn’t get up again for a week. My grandmother was sick for four months before she died, and I bet my mom spent half that time in bed. If she doesn’t collapse at bad news, she goes lightly hysterical.
Then
she collapses. (Other than that, she’s tops in a crisis.)
    My dad works veg at Premium Foods. Again, that part of the Diana Chronicles is true. But he’s
nothing
like the dad in Vermeer. Yes, a few years ago he did have a short-lived affair with a checkout girl. He and my mom nearly split up over it. But that was a long time ago and they worked things out, even though it resulted in his ouster from the Diorama Club. He would
never
get it on with his first cousins, and we have no household staff for him to molest. He’s cheerful and wears an apron beautifully. He can help you pick the perfect pomegranate or pineapple, and his carrot arrangements are magazine quality.
    Unfortunately, he’s not so skilled in the areas of common sense or practicality. That’s not me being critical. That’s experience talking. We are the proud owners of four vacuums, thanks to the charms of hyper-persuasive salespeople. We also have every cutting device known to humanity. In fact, our combined vacuum and knife holdings are worth serious money. I don’t even want to think what would happen to my dad if he had enough money to invest in a pyramid scheme.
    One of my favorite writers is Flannery O’Connor—the way she turns the gimlet eye on various kinds of human frailty and stupidity and writes about scammers and serial killers and people with heads like cabbages. Flannery O’C didn’t shy away from even the sharpest truths. She would have had a field day with my parents. That said, she probably would have been kinder about them than my sister is in the Diana Chronicles.
    If anyone really pressed my mother and father to do some full-contact parenting of my sister, they’d get completely overwhelmed and probably just buy another vacuum. I think Sylvia knew that, because she looked to me for answers.
    â€œI know Keira’s working,” I said. “She’s in the closet practically every day.” I didn’t add that she also spent entire days MIA.
    Sylvia’s face brightened. “That’s great news.” She handed me her card, just like she did every time she visited. 39 “Where there’s work, there’s hope.”
    I wasn’t so sure, but I smiled reassuringly anyway. It was the least I could do.

 

    Bedtime Stories
    That night, hours after Sylvia left and I’d gone to bed, Keira woke me up again.
    â€œNorm,” whispered Keira. “Are you awake? You want to talk?”
    She didn’t wait for me to answer. She slipped out of the closet and into my room, a mummy-shaped lump moving on whispering nylon feet.
    â€œCome in,” I whispered, although she was already on my bed. My sister is very small.
    â€œWhat did Sylvia say?” she asked.
    I rolled onto my back and