He pushed the book aside and looked more closely at the markings on the table.
He’d seen them somewhere before.
He ran his finger over the circular carving, rough and uneven. Inside, what looked like a rudimentary tree, less a picture and more a gesture. What would pass for the idea of a tree.
He’d seen this before.
Her forearm. The sleeve she pushed up to dip her hand in the sink. The tattoo there.
It’s a college thing, she’d said. All the sisters got them. They’re ugly, sure, but sisterhood over aesthetics, you know?
“I can’t believe you figured it out.” Marta’s voice was behind him. He spun around, pressing the book to his chest.
Marta. Only now seemingly seven feet tall. A tower of a woman. A tree.
“The sisters said you’d never be smart enough to put all the pieces together. But here we are. I’m impressed. It’s too bad you now have to die for it.”