Page 112 of Broken

This is hard for him. I take a chance and reach out, putting my hand on his forearm. Garretts’s skin is warm from the sun. When he doesn’t shove me away, I keep my hand there and use my thumb to stroke back and forth.

I’m not sure if this is bringing any comfort, maybe to soften the blow of speaking aloud what I suspect he hasn’t done in years.

“An intruder broke into the house. Mom was out at work. I was… with friends. I’d had a fight with mom about some shit that doesn’t even matter anymore and didn’t go home. If I had…” he trails off.

My hand tightens around his arm. Garrett is carrying a lot of guilt about this.

“Mom found her when she got back from her late shift.” He clears his throat.

“You don’t need to tell me the detail,” I shuffle closer.

“It’s okay. I don’t talk about her a lot. Mom’s therapist said talking about her is important.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Garrett.”

“You’ve no idea how many times I’ve heard that. She shouldn’t have been home alone. I wouldn’t answer mom’s calls because I was still mad at her.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He sniffs and shifts slightly. I go to pull my hand away, but he rests his over it. Not firmly, just stopping me from moving way. He doesn’t look at me, instead staring at the Observatory.

“He strangled her. Left her on the kitchen floor. The police never found him.”

Oh God, that is so much worse. All these years with no closure, no peace. It’s no wonder Garrett is the way he is. My eyes lower to my lap. I’ve never been good with comforting people, especially grieving ones. All I can hope is being here, listening, is helping.

“Mom never got over it. She had a mental breakdown.”

“It must have been hard for her.”

“It was fucking hard for me.”

I flinch back a little, his hand grips mine.

“Sorry,” his expression is pained when he looks at me. “This is why I try not to think about it. It stirs shit up I don’t enjoy having to deal with.”

“I get that,” I say. “It’s different for me, but talking about it is hard.”

Oh God, did I really compare losing my livelihood to him losing his sister? My cheeks burn.

“Not many people have been in a situation like this,” he shrugs. “It is hard to compare. You don’t need to feel bad.”

“It’s really nowhere near the same.”

“We all have pain, Calli. Your life changed. Mine too. The circumstances don’t matter when it comes to how it affects you.”

His reassurance does little to stop me feeling stupid for comparing our issues. Garrett plays with my fingertips absently. To stop from saying something else dumb, I sit in silence beside him.

“I haven’t seen my mom for eight years. She went to a facility about three years after it happened. I visited for a while, but she didn’t want me there. Guess I reminded her too much of Gwen.”

“She left you alone to deal with it.” It’s not a question. My heart breaks for that teenage boy, who felt immense guilt at not being there for his sister. Then to be abandoned by his mom too.

“Yeah well, it’s what she needed to do, I guess. I joined the army, made a lot of bad choices, and did some things I’m not proud of.”

“You were a kid, and you’d been left alone.”

He makes a noise that sounds like something sarcastic Garrett would do.

“Thank you for telling me. Those drawings make a lot more sense now. And I’m so sorry for looking at something so private. It is a painful memory I had no right walking all over.”

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