30. 30
30
Bo
I FaceTime Lyra as soon as I get back to my room.
Since Mom died, I’ve felt that I was moving in a fog, with little that broke through. Thoughts of Hettie made it worse, so I pushed everything aside and tried to get through one day at a time.
I fell into the lumberjack competitions; I didn’t really enjoy it, but I was good at it, and cutting through a two-foot log in record time did help with the anger.
I never realized just how angry I have been.
Angry. Invisible. Grieving—for Mom and Hettie both.
I might have a new appreciation for talking about feelings now.
Maybe. Just a little bit.
I sit back against my head board, iPad propped against my knees, and listen to the musical interlude of the call connecting to my sister. I think she’s in Chicago; I’m not really sure.
That’s bad.
I should have told her about Hettie and Tema when I told the others, but I’ve never felt as connected with Lyra. She’s my little sister and I love her, but there hasn’t been a lot of one-on-one time for us since Mom died .
Before that? Lyra used to follow me around, more than the others. She and Gunnar are the closest in age and shared friends and experiences, but it was me Lyra came to when she was upset. I’d take her into the forest and show her a squirrel’s nest or we would look for the snowy owl that lived there.
She held my hand when we played in the dark tunnels under the castle.
I may not understand her life or have much in common with her these days, but at one point in our lives, Lyra liked being with me.
I never realized how me being responsible for Mom’s accident, the accident Lyra was in, has pulled us apart.
Lyra’s face appears on the screen, her hair more red than blonde and pulled up onto the top of her head. “ What is going on?” she demands in lieu of a greeting.
“Hello, to you too.”
“You never FaceTime me,” she accuses. “You hardly even text. What happened?”
But she doesn’t seem upset. She almost seems… happy.
And Tema definitely takes after her aunt. It’s not just the smile, but the way her nose turns up at the end is the same. And the tilt of her chin. It’s the direct way she looks at me.
Lyra is an aunt. That’s going to blow her mind.
“Everything’s okay,” I assure her. “There’s a few things I needed to talk to you about.”
“Is Dad okay?” Ever since his attack of appendicitis in the summer, we’ve needed more frequent updates about him.
“He’s fine. He’s good. He’s—it’s about me,” I begin awkwardly. “Hettie’s back in town.”
I’ve done a lot of talking today, and for a moment, I wish I could save this for another day. Spread it out a bit.
But no. This needs to be sorted out now. Explained. I need to know things, but before that, Lyra deserves to know what’s going on.
“Hettie? As in Hettie Crow, former love of your life, who broke your heart when she skipped town?” Lyra’s eyes darken, and for a moment she looks scarily like Dad when he has to give someone bad news. “That Hettie? Can’t wait to catch up with her.”
“Don’t be like that.”
“Don’t be protective of my big brother? Jeez, I wonder who taught me to be like that?”
I laugh, suddenly remembering fourteen-year-old Lyra getting her heart broken by Michael Murphy and me pushing the poor kid up against the wall, Kalle right behind me.
He might have soiled his pants and definitely he never spoke to Lyra again.
She was very angry at us for that.
“Fair enough, but there’s more going on,” I relent.
“Please tell me you didn’t welcome her back with open arms? Bo, don’t be a doofus. She broke your heart right after Mom died. Who does that?”
“My wife?”
On screen, Lyra rears back. “Excuse me? What did you just say?”
“I married her—”
“No one tells me anything!” Lyra cries.
“No body knew,” I say quickly. “Except Spencer and Abigail Locke—”
“ Spencer knew?” Those eyes darken again. Lyra holds the screen far enough away so I can see her torso, and the way she fists her hand on her hip makes me think Spencer might be on the receiving end of her anger more than me.
I definitely need to warn him after this.
“Let me just say it, and then you can freak out,” I plead. “Please? This was years ago. I married Hettie two days before the accident.”
“The accident…”
“Mom dying. That one. We got married, Mom died, and Hettie left because I couldn’t deal. With any of it.”
“Okay…” She frowns. “That time is still a bit hazy for me, but she shouldn’t have left.”
“I think it’s my fault that Mom died.”
Lyra stares at me. And then she laughs.
“It’s not funny,” I protest.
“It’s kind of funny,” she retorts. “Everyone in this family thinks it was their fault that Mom died. Kalle thinks it was because he wouldn’t quit sports and settle down with a nice girl, and Gunnar was all mopey because he was off racing in Europe and wasn’t around, and even O thinks it had something to do with a conversation they had three weeks earlier. If anyone should feel guilty, it’s me. She came to pick me up because I was too selfish and didn’t want a castle car to come get me. The guilt is mine, Bo. Don’t try to take it from me.”
“It’s not your fault. None of us liked having the castle car pick us up. ”
Lyra lifts a shoulder. “You all have to give me this.”
“No, I don’t. I told Mom I married Hettie just before she left to pick you up. She was upset.”
“She wasn’t upset,” Lyra says.
“She… What?” And just like that, things shift. I’m glad I’m sitting down because it’s like the room rocks just like that one time an earthquake was felt in Laandia back when I was six. “No. She was mad because I told her I got married to Hettie.”
“ No , she wasn’t. She was in a great mood. We were singing, just before—ABBA, because we were going to see Mamma Mia in London. She was going to take me, so I downloaded the soundtrack for her, and she was playing it. We were singing.” Lyra’s expression softens and she stares at a point above her phone so, I know she’s remembering.
I hate that I made her remember.
“We were having fun,” she says softly. “She was never upset when she picked me up. And that day there was no mad, no being upset.”
“You said you don’t remember…”
“I remember enough.” Grief washes over her features and a tear rolls down her cheek. My heart clenches because Lyra isn’t one to cry.
None of us are.
“Don’t,” I urge.
“Don’t what? It’s gotten easier to talk about.” She takes a deep breath and all I can think about is how brave my little sister is. “We got to the bridge and it was snowing, kind of sleeting. It was hard to see but she was still singing. Then the lights of the other car were right there... She stopped singing and we—” She blows out a shaky inhale. “I don’t remember anything after that. I don’t want to remember anything else.”
I have to swallow a few times before I can say anything. “Lyra…”
“I do know that she was not upset about anything.” Lyra’s voice is husky but insistent. “She was happy . Happy to see me. She asked about what I’d done. She—I remember—she told me you were home, that we’d have a family dinner that night. She was happy , Bo. She wasn’t mad or upset or anything.”
The weight that had been pressing down on my shoulders like a pile of snow on the branches of a pine tree is suddenly gone. Lifted. Vanished.
Happy. She wasn’t upset.
She still could have been angry when she left the castle, but it was obvious she’d gotten over it by the time she got to Lyra. We could always tell when Mom was upset. There was never any hiding it. Dad could wear the mask, but it was always clear how our mother was feeling, even when she shouldn’t have been showing it.
She wasn’t angry with me. She wanted to see me.
I didn’t do it.
It wasn’t my fault.
It’s like the words are a billboard right in front of my face, and I’m reeling.
I don’t know how to deal with it.
“I have to go,” I mutter, finger stabbing the screen looking to disconnect the call. Lyra will never know what she just did for me, but there is no way I’m going to let her see me cry.
“Bo!” Her voice sharpens. “Do not hang up on me. It’s bad enough that you ran away to the other side of the country when I needed all my family together. You sit right there and tell me just what the hell is going on.”
I nod but can’t speak. I focus on taking deep breaths, pushing the sob of relief down deep. I take a minute, and then another. Lyra waits.
“Hettie left because I thought it was my fault,” I finally manage. “I pushed her away. She didn’t have a choice. I thought marrying her was a big mistake because Mom died after I told her about it.”
Lyra nods. “That’s a messed-up way of looking at it.”
“So is thinking it’s your fault because she picked you up. Mom told me once that she really liked giving us rides to practice or someone’s house because she could have us all to herself.”
She blinks frantically and I know she’s as close to tears as I am. “She said that?”
“It was a storm, Lyra. The bridge was slippery. If she was happy—it’s no one’s fault.”
“I keep trying to tell myself that,” she pleads. “Somedays it’s still so hard.”
“Keep trying, little sis. Because, trust me, when you realize that it wasn’t your fault?” I draw a shaky breath. “It feels pretty good.”
“You’ve been living with that for all these years.” Lyra’s voice is gentle. “Bo…”
“Yeah.”
Lyra takes a deep breath, and then another. “And this is why Hettie left?” I nod. “Why did she come back? Are you back together?”
“She wants a divorce.”
“You’re still married? It’s been years. ”
“For now. But there’s more—”
She snorts. “Of course there is.”
“Hettie has a kid.” The words tumble over each other to get out. “A little girl. My little girl.”
I’ve never seen my sister speechless, and it’s kind of funny. “She has a baby?”
“Tema is seven.”
I see her do the math. “And she’s yours?”
I give a shaky laugh. “She looks like you at that age.”
Lyra stares, open-mouthed. “This I have to see,” she finally manages. “I’ll catch the first flight back.”
And then she hangs up.