“What makes you think you broke your dad’s heart?” she asked, switching gears.
“I was a brat. I whined. I made demands,” I said, trying to make her understand my poisonous behavior.
“Kassandra, you’re a teenager. If teenagers were perfect, what would parents complain to their friends about?”
“The accident was my fault,” I finally said, tired of keeping it bottled up inside me.
“Honey, why do you say that?”
“He shouldn’t have even been in the parent drop-off that day. I was mad that he wouldn’t buy me a cute convertible like Lacey’s, and I had been complaining about it for weeks. I tried to convince him I needed a new car and that the Explorer was running like crap, but it really wasn’t. My dad finally caved and dropped it off at the dealership the night before, so it could be checked over. I lied and he died.”
“Kassandra, it’s not your fault that your dad chose to have your vehicle looked over.”
“I was still complaining about it the next day. The whole drive to the school I gave him a hard time. I questioned his love for me,” I said, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I stayed in the car after we got here that morning, still complaining. The driver behind us got pissed that we were holding up the line, but I didn’t care,” I whispered. “I didn’t care until I heard that same driver ran my father and little sister off the road, and then I cared, but it was too late. My caring at that point didn’t change anything. Don’t you see? All of this is my fault! My poison contaminates those around me.”
“Kassandra, you didn’t force Rick Johnson to drink the liquor that made him intoxicated just like you didn’t make him get behind the wheel. What happened to your father was a tragedy brought on by the actions of one man, not the actions of a teenage girl who has been way too hard on herself. You’re not the poison, honey. The man who did this is. It’s time to forgive yourself. If your father was half the man you claim he was, then he was wise enough to know that you loved him.”
“You don’t think I’m a terrible person?” I whispered, not quite daring to believe.
“No, honey, I don’t think you’re a terrible person. Now, what’s this about Maddon Johnson?”
“He and I have been kind of seeing each other, and my mom found out,” I said.
“And she was mad?” she asked.
“At first she was just upset, but when I told her I think I loved him, she went a little crazy. She had this whole folder on him that the prosecutor rounded up to use against him. There was a drug charge and some violence issue. I assumed Maddon had lied to me, so I cut him off without asking him,” I said miserably, remembering the hurt on Maddon’s face.
“I see,” she said, sitting back in the chair. “I take it he wasn’t happy about your assumptions.”
“No, he was crushed,” I said as new tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. “Turns out the drug charge was bogus, and the violence charge stemmed from one of the things I love the most about him.”
“Why do you think you allowed doubts to creep in?”
“Because I thought falling for a guy after only a week was farfetched. That I had misinterpreted my feelings for him.”
“And how do you feel now?”
“I couldn’t care less that it was only a week. Love is love, and I know that’s what I feel for him, even if it’s too late.”
“Do you think it’s too late?” she pried.
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
“Kassandra, if your dad was standing here right now, what would you say to him?”
“I would tell him I was sorry and I love him,” I said without hesitation.
“Well, there you go. Maddon is alive and accessible.”
Her words struck a chord in me. She was right. I could fix this situation.
“Thanks, Mrs. Leighton,” I said, jumping to my feet.
“You’re welcome, my dear. I’ll see you Wednesday.”
“Ugh, really? I thought after the breakthrough we had, we’d be done.”
“I believe the phrase, ‘you wish,’ is appropriate here,” she said, shooting me a big grin.