I’m finally going to the tropics, Em.
That was when I knew what she’d known all along. Dad wasn’t coming home, Mama probably wouldn’t be all right, and she wasn’t going to make it through the night.
I wonder if Lo is finally able to enjoy the sun without it hurting her.
“Emery…”
Maybe for the first time since arriving, I see how much Dad’s truly aged. His eyes are wrinkled at the corners and his forehead is creased with lines I don’t remember from before. He’s not even fifty yet, but he looks older.
I push up from the chair. “When Logan got sick, she was so strong. She’s always going to be the strongest person I know. Unlike you, who’s a coward. We had to pretend you
were coming back to make sense of what you and Mama couldn’t just explain to us. And what makes it worse is that you couldn’t just own up to your own mistakes long enough to say a final goodbye to your dead daughter.”
“Emery—”
I walk away from the table. “Did you enjoy it, Dad?”
A pause. “Enjoy what?”
“The trip.”
Nothing.
My teeth grind. “I bet Lo is loving hers.”
I pass Kaiden in the hall who’s still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, which means he probably just got in. He stares at me with arched brows and I wonder how much he heard.
We don’t say a word to each other as I pass him, but my shoulder smacks into his without any pain radiating from the petty contact. I’m angry at a lot of things—Logan leaving me, Mama checking out, Dad’s idiocy. Kaiden sees me but doesn’t see me. At least that’s what he pretends.
When I wake up the next morning, there’s a torn piece of notebook paper on my door with Dad’s messy handwriting on it.
Sorry, Emery.
I don’t want Dad’s apology.
I don’t know what I want from him.
Chapter Nine
I’ve only cried once since my diagnosis. It wasn’t when the doctor told me my immune system was compromised or when I saw Mama break down. It wasn’t when I decided to leave and had Grandma try convincing me to stay, or even when I called Dad and asked to move in with him.
It was when I couldn’t wrap my fingers around the doorknob to leave for school. My arms ached, my legs ached, my heart ached, and my swollen fingers wouldn’t straighten as I backed away from the door in defeat. I remember staring at the white wood until it blurred in front of me, then dropped onto the couch and realized I couldn’t even open a door by myself.
My body failed me in such a mundane way, I knew everything was about to change.
Grandma came into the room and saw my tear-stricken eyes, and when she asked if I was okay, I broke. I soaked the knit pillow she made until she pulled me in her arms so I could soak her shirt instead. I cried and she held me and told me it was okay, then she called the school and said I wouldn’t be in.
That was the start of the end.
The swelling in my fingers shifted upward to my arms, and I was bedridden for three days with Mama or Grandma bringing food to me or helping me in and out of the bathroom. I felt like nothing—incompetent and useless.
I cried a lot during that period, wondering if Lo ever felt so helpless. She never cried. Mama would dote on her the best she could, but Logan hated it. She would tell Mama she was fine, and we always believed her.
Because she could still climb trees.
Because she could run around the yard.
Because she could open doors.