She said she didn't know anything about it, and you kind of had to believe her. Even if it was bullshit. You couldn't prove it, and it would give her a little boost to the supposed moral high ground if you did. You smiled a plastic smile and grunted. She kept on talking about the dog and the fence and the walls ached for a fist. Instead, you pushed it into a little ball and squashed it down, smiling. You wondered if that was how people get cancer. Would that little ball turn into a tumor? Just keep nodding and smiling.
There was no way you could ever know. She denied it and, maybe in her mind, it had never happened. Shit, she was getting older. It could have been innocent. But her 'faculties' always seemed...inconsistent. They served her purposes. You can't call someone on faking dementia. She would know that of course.
There was a boy you knew growing up. He never smiled and rarely spoke. He sat beside himself at lunch. He was a tiny drop of sadness in an ocean of fad-clothes and posturing. When he killed himself, everyone acted surprised. It was a misdirect. It was self-protection. It was when you realized the world was an ocean of lies supporting ships that sail aimlessly, pretending on a destination, sinkable.