Chapter Twenty-Five Jenn #2
Whatever reason she did what she did, she’s gone now, and by rights, I should at least try and afford her the same grace I would a stranger in the same situation.
The rage leaves me, and I drop back down onto the couch, both deflated and defeated, though I’m not sure why the latter.
“She knew, then, about my sister? When it happened, I mean?”
Stef shrugs and sits again too. “I don’t know, mama. I’m sure she did, but I don’t know when or how. It was everywhere at the time, so, yeah, I’d guess she found out not too long afterward.”
And still she didn’t come back. But then, why would she? And what would I have done if she had? I don’t know the answer to that—because I never knew her.
Everything I’ve ever been told about this woman came from my grandparents, who never spoke a word against their child, always framing her absence through the lens of her illness.
As a psychiatrist, I understand that addiction is a disease, not a choice.
But that knowledge doesn’t blunt the sting.
Knowing why someone leaves doesn’t make it hurt any less when they do.
And then there are those few gauzy images—snapshots so faint they might just as easily be artifacts of my imagination as real memories.
Maybe that’s part of why I’ve never wanted children of my own: growing up in the crater someone leaves behind is enough to make you swear you’ll never risk creating one.
This news changes nothing.
My mother was a ghost to me long before her death.
The phone barely rings once before he picks up.
“Are you mad at me?” Gabe asks by way of greeting.
I sigh and drape an arm over my eyes, blocking out the lamp’s glow from across the room. I’m too wiped to get up and turn it off.
“No. But you could’ve given me a heads-up about what I was walking into.”
“Stef only called me this afternoon.”
“Plenty of time for you to let me know my mother’s dead—her ashes desecrating the sanctity of my grandparents’ grave.”
“Jenn . . .”
“No, seriously, Gabe. In what world is that okay?”
“Is what okay? The part where I didn’t tell you? The part where Stef did? Or the part where your family honored your grandparents’ wishes?”
“All of it,” I mutter. “None of it. I just—I feel like I got ambushed tonight.”
He pauses, long enough that I can almost hear him choosing his words. Then, softly:
“Wanna know what I think?”
“Not really.”
He goes on anyway.
“I think you walked right back into the haunted house that used to be your life—only you didn’t expect there to still be ghosts living in it.
But they’re there, Jenn. Right where you left them.
And you know better than anyone they’re not going anywhere.
The only thing you get to choose is whether you keep running from them . . .”
A breath.
“. . . or you finally turn around and face them.”
For a moment, I don’t say anything. I just lie there, staring at the ceiling through my forearm, my chest heavy with the kind of exhaustion that goes way beyond physical.
He’s right, of course. This is exactly why he didn’t want me to come down here—too many ghosts, too many memories waiting in the dark.
“Get some sleep,” he says finally, his voice softening. “You can fight the ghosts in the morning.”
I nod, though he can’t see me.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Good night.”
When I end the call, the lamp is still burning across the room.
I’m still too tired to turn it off.
Sleep takes me fast and hard. Too deep. Too dark.
I drift downward into the undertow I’ve been fighting for a decade, letting it pull me back to that time. To that day when the sun is a white coin burning overhead.
The air smells like funnel cake and suntan lotion.
Jess is beside me, bouncing on her heels, ponytail swinging. “One more ride!” she begs. “The new one—Freefall Fury!”
“No way.”
“Oh, c’mon! Don’t be such a chicken. I dare you.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. But we’re getting funnel cake after.”
The line snakes forward, inch by inch, metal railings scorching our palms. The heat makes everything shimmer. When it’s finally our turn, we’re strapped into the circular gondola—fifteen seats all around the tower, bright-red harnesses clicking into place.
I nudge her with my elbow and hold out my palm.
“Hey, I lost my hair tie. Let me have one of yours.”
She rolls her eyes even as she pulls the pink elastic band from the bottom of one of her braids.
“What is it with you? I swear, it’s like you can’t hang on to one of these for a single day!”
Before I can comment, the ground falls away beneath us, and we’re silent—mesmerized as the world becomes smaller, quieter.
The air thins, the city shrinking to a map.
“You okay?” Jess calls over the sound of the wind.
“Yeah,” I lie.
We’re suspended now, four hundred feet in the air, the ocean glinting in the distance, and for a heartbeat, it’s beautiful.
Then—clank.
A metallic groan, deep and wrong.
Someone screams.
“Jess?”
The seats jerk. My stomach flips. To my right, the harnesses rattle; to my left, Jess’s seat tilts at a horrifying angle. A jagged crack snakes between us, splitting the platform.
She’s still smiling at first—confused, disbelieving.
Then she realizes.
“Jenn—”
I grab her hand, both hands, our fingers interlocked, sweaty and shaking. The metal screams again, louder this time, and I feel her slipping.
“Hold on!” I shout. “Hold on, Jess!”
Her mouth forms my name. Then she’s gone.
The seats crash back into alignment, the brakes slam, the world lurches, but she isn’t there anymore. The harness digs into my shoulders, and my hand burns. I realize I’m still holding the pink elastic—twisted around my wrist so tight, it’s drawn blood.
Below, I hear sirens. I see flashes of color, people running.
And somewhere in the noise, I swear I can still hear her scream.
I jerk awake, gasping. The light is still on, the air conditioner steady and indifferent. My heart hammers so hard I can feel it in my throat.
The clock on the nightstand reads 3:47 a.m.
I close my eyes, press the heels of my palms to them.
For a second, I think about calling Gabe. Just hearing his voice would help, the steady calm of it, the grounding. But I know what would happen. He’d want me to come home—or worse, he’d get on a plane himself.
So I stay quiet.
I lie there in the dark, counting my breaths until they even out again.
When I finally reach for my water glass, I catch sight of the thin elastic around my wrist.
Still there.
Always there.