More than anything, I want to put on a positive face for Birdie. I want to tell her my parents aren’t going to treat her like a walking ghost of our sister, but it might be a lie. If they would abandon her when she needed them most, they’re not strong or smart enough to see Birdie is her very own unique person and treat her that way. My sister deserves better and I don’t know how to give it to her. I don’t know how to do anything when it hurts to function.
Pull it together. I set down the letter and stand, wincing as blood rushes to my feet. Hours. I must have been staring into nothing for hours. “How about some of those bowls for dinner? What do you call them?”
“Poke bowls. And you hated them last time.”
I have no memory of how they tasted or how long ago we ate them. “They were fine.”
“Jason.”
“I’ll make the call if you want to test your blood sugar.”
“Jason.”
Her serious tone alerts me that I need to focus. I don’t want to. I just want to make it through the next hour, guilty as it makes me for being less than Birdie needs. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she drones, mimicking me. “I’ve been letting you mope because I could tell nothing I said was going to penetrate your big head. But I, uh…” Her eyes flick to the letter resting on the table, complete with Army insignia at the top. “I’m starting to get worried, okay? If you leave without settling this thing with Naomi, you won’t think clearly over there. And I really need you to be thinking clearly so you don’t end up dead. Okay?”
I’m still trying to recover from hearing Naomi’s name out loud. It has been weeks of hearing it on a loop in my head, but having the vowels and consonants linger in the air has taken a blowtorch to my house of cards. “It’s settled. It couldn’t be more settled.”
“Said the dying man.”
I brace myself on the counter. “Birdie, please.”
“Naomi’s parents were going to disinherit her if she didn’t come home. And like, kick her out of the family, which if you ask me, would be a blessing.” She takes a breath and whistles it out. “I hate betraying a confidence.”
The kitchen crumples like tin foil around me. “What?”
Birdie shrugs. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”
“The hell it doesn’t,” I shout. “Why wouldn’t it matter?”
“Because you’re leaving. And her life is elsewhere.”
“Yeah, but…” Fuck, my heart is going to beat out of my chest. That last day with her is replaying itself in a totally different light now. “Why wouldn’t she tell me?”
“Oh my God, Jason. I just got home from school.” She opens the fridge and ducks inside, coming back with a Diet Coke. “I get quizzed enough there.”
“For the love of God, Birdie.”
She points the can at me. “I’m only going to tell you the rest if you fucking do something about Naomi.” The cracks begin to show in her casual act. “You love her.”
“Yes.” I swallow a lump of pain. “She doesn’t love me back.”
“Oh, come on.” She stands up pin straight and pats her hair, speaking with Naomi’s southern drawl. “Please don’t tell Jason. He’s so capable and strong and heroic…I don’t want him to remember me as a poor little rich girl still dependent on her parents.”
My skin is flayed from my body with every single word. “Is that what she said?”
“Yeah, more or less.”
I pace the kitchen, my hands fisting at my sides ready to strike out. Needing to. Christ, I would like to drive to Charleston and wrap my hands around her father’s neck. “How could she believe that bullshit? Before her…I thought I was trapped here. I was trapping myself, though. There’s more here than anywhere. Without the fighting. There’s you, Birdie. There’s what we can be. What I can be. Does she think I would have figured any of this out without her?”
“Dunno.”
“And Naomi. What she did at the pageant—what she did for us—aside…Jesus, she breathes life into everything she touches. This home. The apartment. Me, you, herself. She’s not the same woman who showed up here. And she changed herself. She did that. Never could have done it unless there was already so much damn strength inside of her. It was always there. How could she compare herself to anyone and find herself lacking? It’s…” I drop back against the counter, rocking my suddenly throbbing head in my hands. “She asked me. She asked if I thought she could have made it without my help.”
Birdie is silent for a heavy moment. “What did you say?”
“The wrong thing.”
“Okay.” I look up to find Birdie looking concerned for the first time, and an anchor drops into my stomach. “Don’t tell me what it was. You don’t want a black eye when you go to Charleston to fight for her.” Go to Charleston to fight for her. Is that even a possibility? The dusting of hope brings my surroundings into laser-sharp focus, makes my mouth go dry. While imagining Naomi opening the front door to a giant, Southern estate to greet me, I’ve failed to notice Birdie sitting down at the kitchen table and pecking away on her laptop. She pauses in the act of turning the device around to show me what’s on the screen. “And Jason? I hate to tell you this, but I mean it when I say you’ll have to fight.”