Page 106 of When Wildflowers Bloom

I can’t think of a single thing to say to help him understand. Anything I tell him is moot.

“Bo, we were going to tell you today. She told me we could,” I say, doing my damnedest to stay upright and not just lie down in the middle of the driveway like I want to.

“Birdie, let me make one thing perfectly clear—as you seem to have missed it in all of your research and color-coded lists. When you love someone, you don’t lie to them. You tell them everything, then deal with the fallout.Together.”

It is a well-delivered blow that socks me right in the gut.

The sky, as if it’s a mood ring decoding my crippled heart, opens up and starts to rain. Rain that cuts like winter soaks through my clothes, freezing my bones.

Water drips down Bo’s face; he doesn’t bother trying to wipe it as he stares at me. His outrage palpable.

“Did you know she was going to do this?”

My stomach drops. “Are you kidding me? No, B—”

“I’m not an idiot, Birdie, this wasn’t an accident. You had an abortion—this isn’t that much different.”

A sharp knife in my weakest point.

“It’s like you want to be alone!” he shouts, twisting the knife, blade destroying me deeper.

“You have no idea how to let anyone in and be part of your life.”

Another twist.

“You think because your mom died of cancer you know what’s best for everyone else.”

He scoffs, glaring at me both with the heat of his rage and something colder than the rain.

Twist.

He opens the door to his Jeep, rain dripping down his face. “You did this, Birdie.”No.He can’t mean that. “She would be alive right now if you would have told me.”

“She was my friend, Bo. I—”

“Your friend?” His laugh is full of disdain, cutting me off before raising his voice. “She was paying you, Birdie; she wasn’t your goddamn friend.”

I know he’s angry, I know he doesn’t mean it, but still—it’s another slow, cruel twist of the blade that’s already buried deep in my chest.

As he slams the door of the Jeep, I drop to my knees, gravel of the driveway digging into my jeans. The start of the engine and crunch of his tires over the gravel become blurred red blobs of his taillights disappearing.

I sit, cold and wet, and fall apart with cries and screams that are drowned by the falling rain.

He doesn’t mean it; he can’t.

But then I remember, Bo never says things that he doesn’t mean.

Bo is gone.

Because Veda had cancer, killed herself before it could, and he blames me.

And a very real part of me thinks he’s right.

Forty-four

“I didn’t know whereelse to go.”

It’s all I can say when Libby opens her front door and finds me standing there, drenched and broken, before pulling me into a tight hug.

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