Prologue
Ayla
“You have that same disappointed look Mom always had.”
“I do not,” I argue, looking away from my sister because I know exactly what look she’s referencing.
“You’re annoyed with something, and your face says it all.”
Alani stares at the side of my head until I face her. I don’t respond immediately because I know if I share what’s annoying me, she’s going to remind me that she’s an adult, and I can’t coddle her for the rest of her life.
“It’s nothing,” I assure her with a quick smile rather than telling her that I know she left out the fact that she’s in a coed dorm rather than one with all women.
She narrows her eyes at me, the same blue as mine, sparkling with the almost too-bright overhead lights.
I want to growl in irritation when some bro-dude yells about partying twenty-four seven in the hallway.
“I know how important this is for both of us,” Alani says, the direction she’s taking shocking me.
She clasps my hand in hers, and the kind gesture makes my eyes burn.
“It’s college. I have to be here. I promise I won’t get into trouble or skip classes. I know there aren’t extra reserves in the bank to cover me if I fail.” Her voice begins to clog with her own unshed tears. “I won’t let you, or them, down. I promise.”
Them. Our parents. The sting of their deaths is still raw even three years later.
I have a million things I’d like to say.
I can count at least a hundred mistakes I’ve made over the last couple of years as her guardian.
A hundred things my parents would’ve handled differently had they not died in a car accident when I was twenty.
But in a way, I was still a kid then too, thrust into adulthood and asked to raise a fifteen-year-old girl because letting her go anywhere else was out of the question. I don’t regret it.
Do I wish my parents were alive every single day? Of course I do. We both deserved more time with them.
“You have a long drive ahead of you,” Alani reminds me.
“Trying to get rid of me already?” I give her a smile, but I can’t handle much more than a twitch of my lips.
“If you cry, then I’m going to cry,” she warns.
I blow out a harsh breath, trying to get better control of myself.
I know I can keep calm in front of her. It’s something I’ve mastered in the last couple of years.
She didn’t need to see me cry when life got to be too much.
It wasn’t her fault that the stress of making sure she was taken care of and nursing school was almost too much to handle.
We got through it then, and we can get through it now.
Her leaving for college was supposed to make things easier, but I’m certain her being four hours from our home in Plano will only increase my anxiety level.
“I’m going to need more lemur stuff,” she says, changing the subject, something she has always been good at when the topic of conversation got too serious. “Did you see that girl in the hallway? Everything she brought with her was white, black, and purple.”
“I’ll keep it in mind for Christmas.”
Just the thought of having to wait until the holidays to see her again makes my skin crawl and my throat threaten to close.
I know she chose Lindell University because she needed a break.
I know there were times I was more than a little smothering, but it comes with the job of being her sister and her parent.
There were rules after my parents’ deaths that didn’t exactly match her age and activity level.
She wasn’t allowed to drive after dark. If she needed to be somewhere, I would take her because she definitely couldn’t ride with anyone else.
It really put a damper on her social life because there were days I had class or study sessions before I graduated that prevented her from being very spontaneous.
“Stop,” she says, as she swipes at a few tears that have wandered down my cheeks. “I’m going to be fine.”
“Don’t get—”
“Don’t get in the car with anyone,” she interrupts. “I know. Everything in town is within walking distance to campus, remember? We looked at the map together.”
The small town of Lindell is just right off campus.
It’s kitschy and cute. Very quiet and safe.
At least that’s what the brochure that came with Alani’s “Welcome to Lindell” packet said.
It’s close enough to Austin, about an hour west of the state capitol, to keep from feeling like the town is out of touch with the world, but just far enough away to maintain its individuality.
“I’ll be fine,” she says when all I can manage is trying to blink away my tears. “Now, I’m not rushing you off, but I need to organize my half of the room before my roommate gets here tomorrow. I don’t think she’ll be very impressed with the way I have all my stuff scattered on her side.”
I give her a quick nod, wrapping my arms around her.
I don’t hesitate to bury my face in her hair, wondering how Mom and Dad would’ve handled today.
I know it would look different from lingering way past my welcome.
I should’ve left not long after arriving, let Alani settle into her new independence, but I just couldn’t stomach the thought of dropping her off and heading back home so quickly.
“Trying to get rid of me already?” I tease, as I pull back from the hug.
“Yes,” she says without hesitation, a smile drawing up her cheeks.
I can tell she’s teasing, but it still hits me harshly.
“You call me if you need anything. I know you’re going to be tempted to get a job, but remember, we talked about just using the first semester to settle in and get the hang of everything.
I’ve had the trust set up, so you have more spending money your freshman year.
You don’t have to worry about work until this summer. ”
“I know,” she says, but I also know Alani.
If she thinks she’s more of a burden or if there’s a way to help any, she’ll take it. She’d never tell me, but I don’t doubt she’ll be walking the streets of Lindell looking for “help wanted” signs in the windows no later than tomorrow afternoon.
She gives me one more quick hug before walking toward the door.
“I’ll see you at Thanksgiving.”
I nod, squeezing her hand as I walk past her.
“Call me if you need anything.”
“I will. I promise.”
There’s something final and a little unnerving about how quickly she closes her dorm room door at my back, but I know exactly what she’s feeling.
I felt the same way when my parents dropped me off on my first day of college.
Alani wants the freedom that comes with no longer living at home.
She’ll go through all the stages I went through, which means I also know to expect a call within the week, with her complaining about how homesick she is.
I dart out of the way seconds before colliding with a girl carrying a box she can’t see over.
She mutters an apology when she walks past, and I refuse to wonder about her story, and why she doesn’t have someone here to help her.
Alani and I aren’t the only ones who have arrived today without the help of a mom or dad.
We aren’t the only ones to have suffered tragedy.
It’s something I have to remind myself of often.
Especially when I start feeling sorry for the two of us, when I start getting angry about the things we’ve clearly missed out on.
The lump that has been threatening to form all day finally lodges in my throat as I leave the dorm building and make my way to the parking lot.
I press my hands to the top of my car, knowing how dangerous it would be to drive home, as I sob.
Internally, I chastise myself. I should have a better grip on things than I do right now.
She’ll be fine. What are the chances that tragedy will strike the same family twice?
I couldn’t tell you because the internet didn’t exactly give me much when I searched that very question.
It also didn’t ease my mind, since it populated too many stories to count about families getting struck twice by tragedy.
I take a final deep breath, turning my head up to the dark sky, before opening my car door.
Feet shuffle behind me, and I turn a little to see whoever may be struggling to get a box from their car, but warmth hits my back. Although I know deep inside it isn’t Alani, my head also doesn’t go to a dark, ominous place, even as an arm wraps around me.
It’s a prank. Some college kids dared to scare me as a frat initiation or something.
But instead of chuckles and an apology for being a jerk, I feel a pinch in the side of my neck.
It doesn’t occur to me to scream for help until after my lips refuse to move.
My body grows heavy, my limbs hanging at my sides, even when I tell them to kick and scratch, to fight whatever this is happening to me.
I try to blink away the heaviness in my eyes, but my vision dulls, the lights of the parking lot shimmering after each blink, until my eyelids are just too heavy to keep open.
The last thing I think about before my death is how grateful I am that I’ve set up Alani’s trust to ensure her school is paid for.
Hopefully, she won’t grieve me so long that she runs out of money before graduation.