Page 2 of The Edge of Summer
I keep those questions to myself. The last thing I want is for him to see me as overbearing.
The relationship I had with Parker was always an easy one. I was ten when he was born and I loved every minute of having a baby brother. When I got to high school, things changed, but I always made time for him. Our parents’ deaths have tested that relationship, bending it so far that I’m terrified one of these days it will break.
In a split second, I went from being his older sister tobeing his guardian. Things that I never had to think about before now occupy all my waking thoughts, bleeding into my dreams. If you can even call them dreams.
“I’m not going back there,” he replies.
I thought two weeks was too soon to head back to school. To start a new year, no less. But he was insistent, and I didn’t want to disrupt his routine any more than it already had been. So he went. I dropped him off this morning, an encouraging and utterly hollow smile on my face.
I nod, tossing the tie onto his bed. “We can wait, Parker. There’s no rush. Your teachers will understand.”
“No.” His voice cracks with emotion. “I’mnevergoing back.”
“What happened?”
That question feels woefully inadequate. So much has happened, and any number of things could be causing his turmoil.
Frustrated tears gather in his eyes. “Do you know what everyone is saying?”
Dread weighs me down, like cinder blocks tied to my ankles. I fear that his response will be the same reason I haven’t been on social media or answered any of my friends’ texts.
“They’re talking about—” He shakes his head. “They’re saying he did it on purpose, Delilah. Because of you.”
I was expecting it, but the words land like a blow to the face anyway. When your father is the leader of an entire province, your life is open to a whole host of scrutiny. That only multiplies when word gets out that he was involved in a car accident. I made the mistake of checking my Instagramnotifications a few nights after the news broke, and I really wish that I hadn’t. I promptly switched my account to private and deleted all my previous posts. I didn’t even bother looking at my messages.
The truth is, no one will ever really know what happened that day. According to the emergency crews, it was a simple accident. Though there’s nothing simple about death. All I know is that my parents are gone and I have to figure out how to be okay with that. Scratch that—I don’t think I’ll ever be okay. But for Parker and Sophia, I’m going to have to pretend.
I pull my brother into my arms. His recent growth spurt has left him taller than me, so his chin rests on top of my head. I’m not sure who this hug benefits more—me or him.
“Why is this happening to us?” Parker whispers.
Why?I have been asking myself that question about a hundred times a day for weeks. I haven’t yet managed to find the answer.
“I don’t know.” I swallow the emotion welling in my chest, begging to be let free. “But we’re gonna get through it.”
We have to. I refuse to let my siblings drown under this weight. I’ll carry it all if I have to.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, pulling away. “I could use some food.”
A lie. My appetite these days is abysmal, but when you have a picky four-year-old on your hands that likes to skip out on vegetables, you have to set a good example. Even if that means forcing food down your throat when everything tastes like cardboard.
Parker sniffs, wiping roughly at a tear that managed to escape. “Not if you’re planning to make it.”
“Hey!” A small smile, almost genuine, blooms on my lips. “That’s rude.”
His answering grin is teasing. The edges are a little rough, tinged in emotion, but the fact that he’s smiling at all is a win in my book. “You’re the worst cook in this family and you know it.”
Family. However imperfect, that’s what the five of us were. And now there are only three.
I clear my throat. “There are enough casseroles in the fridge to last us through the apocalypse. I’m sure one of them will live up to your standards.”
We descend the stairs and I collect Sophia from the living room. In the kitchen, I go through the motions of doling out portions of casserole and heating them in the microwave. The thought of using the oven is daunting—I’m way too tired. Tired in the way that sleep can’t fix.
In the distance, thunder claps, and I jump. It carries on like an avenging angel, setting the earth to rights. But my world has already been tilted off its axis, and it will never be the same again.
CHAPTER
ONE
