Chapter 29
EMMA
The first day home is strange. My dad doesn’t want to leave me alone, but he doesn’t know what to say to me. Instead, we awkwardly sit on the couch with the TV on as background noise, but I don’t think either of us is paying attention.
We’re both numb. I’m afraid to say anything that’ll send me back to the hospital, and I can tell he’s afraid to say something that’ll make me “run away” again.
I should let us have this false peace, but I can’t handle all of the questions in my head.
I keep thinking about how badly Mallory needed me and how I didn’t see it.
Then I shift to the fact that my dad knew about the cheating and didn’t tell me.
How could he keep something that important to himself?
“Why didn’t you tell me that Mallory was cheating in school?” I ask.
Dad glances over at me, eyebrows lifted. “How do you know about that?”
“I just do.”
He leans forward with his face in his hands. “I didn’t want her to be remembered for that.”
“But she—”
“It’s not important now,” he says. He shifts his weight again. “Your sister was a good person.”
But it is important. She jumped off a bridge because of it. “Is that what you told her when you found out?”
He can’t look at me, and his eyes water.
“What did you tell her?”
He takes a deep breath. “I told her I was disappointed in her.”
I bite my lip because I’m tired of crying, but it doesn’t do much good. Would that day have changed if he’d said something different? Would she be sitting between us?
Anger bubbles in my chest because for the first time since I lost Mallory, I’m upset with someone other than myself and Myles. He could’ve changed the outcome. I know I shouldn’t be upset with him, but I can’t help it. “You know why she did it, right?”
A puzzled expression falls over his face and he shakes his head.
“She was your little genius.” I wipe my cheeks and stare directly at him. “So she had to be perfect.”
I don’t know what I’m trying to accomplish.
It’s not like this is going to change the past. It’s only hurting him more, but I’m in pain.
I feel physically sick from seeing my sister try to kill herself and not being able to talk to anyone about it.
It’s bottled inside of me like pent-up steam and I don’t know how much longer I can hold it in.
I wish I didn’t know the truth.
It would be easier.
Dad doesn’t say anything after that. After a few minutes he stands up, walks to his room, and closes the door. I just broke him, and I can’t help but wonder if he’ll come back out of that room or if he’ll leave me alone for months again.
I hug my knees as the guilt for hurting him immediately hits me in the chest. The room is big and lonely, making me feel like a speck of dirt.
Maybe pushing people away is all I’m good at.
I drag myself off the couch and up the stairs, stalling by Mallory’s door. I push it open and it’s the same as when I left it a year ago. Her backpack is still leaning against the bed and I can still picture the note, a crisply folded paper in the center of the comforter.
I wander closer to her bed and lie down, taking one of her pillows that somehow still smells like her and crying into it until I fall asleep.
“Emma?” It’s Mrs. Meyers.
I pry my eyes open.
She’s sitting on the bed next to me, patting my back. “Hello, dear.”
I prop myself up on my elbow, blinking until the room comes into focus. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Your dad went to work and asked me to stay with you today.”
That means I didn’t totally break him last night. He’s still functioning.
She stands up and pulls the curtain open to let more light in. It fills the room, but the light is cool, making the room feel gray.
“I made you some breakfast. Why don’t you change and come down?” she says.
I want to bury myself back into the sheets, but it feels wrong being in Mallory’s room and ruining her bed.
After Mrs. Meyers leaves the room, I get up and straighten the comforter, trying to get rid of every single wrinkle as if Mallory is going to come in and scold me for touching her things.
Part of me wants to leave it unruly to spite her into returning, but I know it won’t work.
It’ll just make me feel worse, so I reposition the pillow the way it was the night before and tug on the comforter until it’s even all the way around the bed.
I change my clothes and brush my teeth as a sweet smell fills the house. When I wander down to the kitchen table, Mrs. Meyers has it set for me. One plate on the large table and I want to cry all over again.
“I made cinnamon rolls,” she says with a smile. She comes closer, wrapping her arm around mine, and leads me to the table. “There you go.”
When I don’t reach for anything, she serves me. She takes the biggest roll out of the pan and sets it on my plate. “I remembered how much you liked these the last time I made them, so I figured it would be the perfect breakfast.”
I stare at it and my lip wobbles. Mallory loved them too. I can picture how big her smile was when she took her first bite. I shouldn’t be allowed to have something so special without her.
But I have to eat it because of the way Mrs. Meyers is looking at me. Her eyes are big and hopeful like this cinnamon roll will fix everything wrong in my life.
I take a bite. The sweet butter melts on my tongue, but it isn’t the same. I can’t enjoy it, and a tear falls from my eye.
“Oh, honey,” Mrs. Meyers says, tucking me into a hug. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I just miss Mallory so much,” I cry.
She pats my back. “Anniversaries are always the hardest.”
She doesn’t get it. I’m not upset because it’s been a year since I lost her.
I'm upset because it’s only been a few days.
It’s fresh. My wound has been ripped open.
I didn’t lose Mallory once like everyone else.
I lost her twice. While everyone has had a year to process her loss, I’m starting over, and this time is worse because I know the truth.
Mrs. Meyers takes my hand and squeezes it, but it only makes me cry harder. It’s an ugly cry. The type where my nose starts running and I can’t keep quiet. My shoulders shake as the pressure of it all crushes me, cracking every bone in my body.
This isn’t fair.
How could the universe be this cruel? I want to shout take me! Just give her back.
Eventually, the tears slow, but I can’t eat anymore. I have no appetite. All I want to do is close my eyes and forget where I am. To let my mind go blank. I’d rather be full of nothing than live in this pain.
I go up to my room, lie down on my messy bedspread, and rest my head on my pillow. I close my eyes, hoping sleep will save me.
The doorbell rings, but I don’t move. We don’t have people in our lives who stop by. It’s not like we have any family close and Dad is shy. I can’t remember the last time he had someone over.
A minute later there are footsteps on the stairs. “Emma,” Mrs. Meyers says, peeking into my room. “You have a friend downstairs.”
I don’t have friends.
I sit up with frazzled hair and eyebrows knitted together. “Are you sure?”
“Well, I doubt he’s here to visit me.”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know. A boy about your age.”
I slide off the bed and follow her down the stairs. She leads me into the living room to where a boy stands with his back turned to us as he examines one of the pictures on the wall.
It’s Sam.
He’s wearing a dark leather jacket with his hands in his pockets. When he turns, his lips curl into a grimace. “You look awful.”
I stare at him with what I can only imagine is a pitiful attempt at a glare. “Thanks.”
“I’ll leave you two to talk.” Mrs. Myers touches my arm. “I’ll be in the kitchen doing the dishes if you need me.”
She leaves Sam and me standing in front of each other. I rub my forearm as I stare at the difference between him and the version of him I saw days ago. His black hair is short and his jaw is sharper.
He walks around the living room toward a collage of Mallory’s and my school pictures through the years that hang on the wall.
“Wow,” he says. “So you’ve always looked like this.”
I march up to the photo to examine it. There’s nothing wrong with it. I look normal for the most part, with a few silly smiles and my hair a little wild in more than one of the pictures, but I think I look cute.
I cross my arms. “Why are you here?”
He’s pacing again, not wanting to look directly at me for very long. “Myles wants to see you.”
All my air leaves my lungs and my heart stills. “What?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t get it, and I told him you wouldn’t want to see him—”
“I want to.” The words leave my mouth so fast I don’t have time to think. Myles is the only person who’ll understand what I’m going through.
A flicker of surprise flashes on Sam’s face, and he stares at me differently, like he’s trying to understand me but can’t. “But you hate him.”
My stomach turns in on itself all over again because it couldn’t be further from the truth, and I’m embarrassed I ever hated Myles. I regret every nasty word. Every time I hit him. Every terrible thought I conjured in my head. I regret all of it.
“I need to see him,” I say.
Sam sucks in a breath and runs his hand through his hair. “Well, this definitely didn’t go the way I thought it would. I figured you’d run me out of the house for even suggesting it. Maybe beat me up again. You’re really strong. You know that, right?”
“Sorry.”
He nods even though I don’t think he really accepts my apology. Then he shifts his weight. “So should we go then?”
“Right now?” My heart races and my eyes dart over to the kitchen door.
“Yeah. I’d kind of like to get it over with.”
“How charming,” I say.
He shrugs. “Can you blame me? It’s not like we have the best history.” He points to his arm. “You should’ve seen the bruise you gave me when you knocked me to the ground.”
He didn’t fall that hard. There’s no way he got a bruise from that. “You’re exaggerating.”
He shakes his head. “Nah. It was massive.”
I don’t believe him, but I do feel bad I hurt him when he didn't deserve it. I rub my arm as I say, “Well, I’m sorry.”
He sighs. “It’s fine. I dropped you on your head and you attacked me so I guess we’re even now.”
I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow. “You did what?”
“I thought you knew.”
“What are you talking about?”
He steps past me. “Let’s go find your babysitter.”
“Hey,” I say, following him. “She’s not my babysitter.”
He gives me a pitiful smile. “That’s exactly what she is.”
My mouth slams shut because even though I don’t want to admit it, he’s right and he knows it. There’s no point in arguing. “She’s not going to let me go.”
He gestures to himself and gives me a confident look. “Leave it to me.”
That’s the last thing I want to do. I don’t know him that well, but he’s Myles’s friend. Myles trusts him so I begrudgingly follow him into the kitchen.
Mrs. Meyers looks up from the dishes with a rag in her hand. “Is everything okay?”
“I was wondering if I could steal Emma away for a couple hours?”
Her smile falls, replaced with concern. She sets the rag down and turns to us.
This is a bad idea. There’s no way she’ll agree to this.
“Did you ask your dad?” she asks, looking at me.
I shake my head. “You know he’ll say no.”
Sam drapes his arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze as I tense up under his touch. “This girl needs to get some fresh air. Just look at her. She hasn’t seen the sun in days. Do you see how eerily pale she is?”
Thanks, Sam.
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Meyers says. “Jon is worried.”
Sam gives me another unwanted side hug. “I’ll keep an eye on her, and I swear I’ll have her back before you know it.”
“I really want to get out for a little bit,” I say, eyes watering again. “Please. Everything here reminds me of Mallory.”
I can see the wheels turning in her mind at the mention of my sister. Mrs. Meyers sighs. “Jon is going to kill me.”
“Is that a yes?” Sam asks.
“Only for a little bit,” she says, looking at the clock on the stove. “I want her home by two.”
I stand there in disbelief and wonder if bawling in front of her is part of the reason she changed her mind so quickly.
“Yeah, no problem,” Sam says. “I’ll have her back before then.”
She gives him a pointed look. “I don’t want to see a single scratch on her.” Then her gaze shifts to me. “I’m trusting you. Don’t do anything reckless. Your poor father has been through enough.”
I jump forward and wrap my arms around her. “Thank you.”
“Don’t make me regret this.”
If only she knew where we were headed.