I placed my hand near his and he looked up, meeting my eyes for one moment with a look of stern encouragement, then turned back to his scribbles.

Yeah, right, buddy. If you ain’t talking, then don’t expect me to.

“As I have already mentioned,” Cuthbert said with a sigh, “we have nothing against the idea of women organizing a secret society of their own.”

“But that won’t work,” Odile said. “Part of the Digger draw is that it’s centuries old. It’s impossible for a women’s society to compete with that, since women were only admitted to Eli in 1971. Rose & Grave has its enormous network of cronies, its property, its multimillion-dollar endowment. Even if the first women at Eli had started a society, they’d only now, thirty-odd years later, have achieved the type of position in society that would be of benefit to the new taps. There’s no tomb, no island.”

“No atomic grandfather clocks,” I mumbled. The patriarch beside me gave me a curious, sidelong glance.

“Even Rose & Grave had to start somewhere.”

“Yes,” Clarissa scoffed. “With 19th century railroad barons and plantation kings. Russell Tobias and his cronies poured millions into the endeavor in the first decade, because they had the money to burn and a place in society already secured.”

“Then, perhaps, my dear,” Mr. Cuthbert said, “you should consider that route for you and your friends. That way, at least, I could be sure that my money was being well spent.”

Clarissa clapped her mouth shut.

“No, of course you wouldn’t want to go that route,” he said, his tone oozing sarcasm. “Because it would put a severe dent in your high-heel budget and your sunglass collection.”

Odile cut in again. “As I was saying, the society structure is something that takes years to develop. Eli opened its doors to women three decades ago. Even in the general population, it took a generation, but now we are considered to be equal to men.”

“Oh, honey,” Demetria muttered. “We need to talk.”

Odile ignored her. “Rose & Grave needs to catch up or fall into obscurity. You are shutting yourself off from a large market-growth potential. The people you wish to disenfranchise will be valuable members to this society.”

“The seniors made sure of that,” Josh said, clearly glad to be getting back on track. “They tapped a class that would appeal to you.” He pointed at Demetria. “Leaders.” At Jenny. “Captains of industry.” At Odile. “The rich and famous.” At Clarissa. “And legacies.”

Skipped right over me, I see. Poli-freakin’-ticians!

He looked at Mr. Cuthbert. “You’re fighting against your own daughter, sir.”

“With good reason, son.” He pointed at Clarissa. “You want to know my problem with women? This is it. She’s sitting right here. I know those boys didn’t make good choices, because look who they picked!”

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. In fact, I’d wager a good percentage of our hearts stopped beating. Clarissa stared at his finger, her wide blue eyes unblinking.

“My daughter,” the man spat, growing a bit red in the face, “is a waste of a good credit line. If you only knew what I’ve done for her. If you only knew what I’ve gone through on her account…” He shook his head. “But of course you don’t. You wouldn’t even have gotten that in your files. We hid it so well. So goddamned well.”

Was he talking about how she’d gotten in off the wait list? Clarissa didn’t seem to think that was much of a secret. She didn’t have the least bit of embarrassment about it. However, she wouldn’t have been the first Digger to share a secret with me, understanding that I would never tell.

Though, to think of it, Lydia had been in the room, too.

“Daddy…” Clarissa whispered.

“What, Clary? You really think you’re capable of the kind of responsibility it means to be a Digger? You really think you have the strength, the mental fortitude?”

“Daddy, please! That was a long time ago!”

“Not long enough. Not nearly long enough.” He whirled on Malcolm. “You want to know what you thought was good enough for the Diggers, Mr. Cabot? Let me tell you about my daughter. Let me tell you all about her.” He leveled his gaze on Clarissa, who might have been made of marble. “She got into ‘trouble’ on us when she was fourteen. Fourteen, can you imagine that?”

I considered everything I’d thought of Clarissa Cuthbert since freshman year. Yeah, I could imagine that. And the truth was, a month ago, I’d probably have relished this little tidbit of info. But not now. Not now that I understood that her brusqueness was not snobbery, her style was not elitism, and her supposedly nasty remarks were just misdirected efforts at advice. I don’t know how it happened, but somehow my hatred had morphed into toleration, and thence into grudging respect. And now I realized something more: Clarissa was my sister.

“And that was just the start. Clearly not satisfied with whoring around, her next little trick was to develop a so-called eating disorder to get our attention. She’d binge on junk food then take laxatives. That was a fun six months of my life. Got so bad we had to send her away for a little while. Nice little place in the country that beat it right out of her, didn’t it, darling?”

Tears the size of vodka shots were now rolling down Clarissa’s cheeks. Demetria’s mouth was open. Jennifer was holding her cross so tightly, I expected that any moment she’d be afflicted with stigmata of the palm. Odile looked—bored. The rest were transfixed by Mr. Cuthbert’s outburst, with the exception of Poe, who just stared at his hands.

I could only picture what life must have been like for a teenaged Clarissa. Scared, clearly confused, obviously looking for attention. I wondered what it had taken to “beat” Clarissa’s brush with bulimia out of her. Judging from the look of malicious glee on Mr. Cuthbert’s face, it hadn’t been pretty. No one would envy her wealth if they saw the price she’d paid for it.

“And then, of course, the cover-up. We couldn’t let the universities know why our precious little girl had missed half a semester of eleventh grade, now, could we? Had to hide it. Had to lie. Had to fake all kinds of documents to make sure her record was spotless. Good thing I was a Digger, or we wouldn’t have had the connections we needed to handle it. And even that wasn’t enough. The little tramp needed our help again to get into Eli. And you think she’s good enough to be a Digger. And she can waltz in here like she has the right to. This organization is better than that. It’s better than the likes of her.”

Clarissa’s head drooped in defeat, and something inside of me snapped.

“Shut up!” I stood up so quickly that the cheap wooden chair went flying. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Maybe it was my oath, or maybe it was just my humanity, but I wasn’t listening to a second more of it. “What kind of father are you? What kind of person are you? You can be disappointed in your daughter, you can be angry with her, but to say such terrible things about your own flesh and blood to a roomful of people? You disgust me, Mr. Cuthbert.”

And now everyone was staring at me. Amy Haskel, who didn’t have any excuse at all to be in Rose & Grave, except that I had a mouth that wouldn’t stay closed if my life depended on it. The man at my side was giving me a look that said, Finally.

“She’s your daughter. You’re supposed to love her. You’re supposed to support her. You don’t think she deserves to be in your precious little secret society, but the way you just acted proves to me that you have grossly misunderstood what it means to be in Rose & Grave.” I took a deep breath. “Because since the second I was tapped, Clarissa has treated me like a sister.” I thought it had been elitism, but I’d been wrong. In Clarissa’s eyes, we’d just finally had something in common, a wedge to use to get our friendship on a roll. “We may have had our differences in the past, and I’m sure as hell not about to admit I agree with half of what she says, but she’s been loyal, and kind, and considerate of me since the second we showed up in the same tomb. That’s your daughter, Mr. Cuthbert. That’s the young woman you raised.”