Page 20 of The Last to Let Go
I take the final steps into the kitchen, still bracing myself as I assess the scene, examining the walls and floors, the countertops and the sink—everything shiny, cleaner than ever before, better than new. Wiped clean like my sister’s memory.
“Do you believe her?” I finally dare myself to ask.
“Who?”
“Callie. Do you believe she really doesn’t remember what happened?”
He sighs and leans against the counter, bringing his hand to his mouth like he’s trying to prevent himself from answering. “God,” he murmurs, drawing the word out into a sigh, a groan. Then, meeting my eyes, he says, “I don’t know. I have no fucking idea what to believe anymore.” He cracks a laugh but stifles it immediately, shaking his head. “Do you?”
I shrug, because that’s the best, most honest response I can manage. Then I go stand next to him, and we both stare at the flour, sugar, coffee, and tea canisters that line the opposite counter, running from large to small, in perfect order, like the kids in the picture frame at Jackie’s house.
“She’s not getting any better. I can’t get through to her. I’m trying, I really am. But I can barely get her to look me in the eye, and if I do manage that by some miracle, I just end up blowing it anyway—say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing.”
He looks at me, at a total loss, not seeing that there’s something he could do to solve all our problems. “She’ll get there,” he says uncertainly.
I’ve been crafting a new plan for us over the past couple of weeks, and I tell myself now’s the time to deploy it. “She talks, just not to us.”
“She’s talked to me,” he admits. “A little, anyway.”
I take a breath, try to fortify myself. “I think we need to come home, Aaron.”
“But... how?”
“You. Don’t you see it? You’re nineteen, you’re an adult. You could technically be our guardian.”
He stares at me, squinting. “Brooke, I don’t think...” He pauses, and because I can’t handle hearing him finish that sentence, I keep talking, try my luck with the honesty card once more—time is running out, after all, the summer nearly over.
“Aaron, I don’t want to live at Jackie’s, okay? Maybe that’s selfish. But I don’t. Not for another day, not for however long this whole thing is going to take. She’s fine. Ray’s nice. The house is perfect, I should be grateful. I get that, all right? But when I’m with them, all I can think about is how we don’t fit in there, how we don’t belong, how we’re these giant charity cases.”
“You know that Jackie and Ray don’t feel that way—they love you guys.”
“We don’t know that,” I argue. “Jackie and I don’t even get along. Besides, that’s not the point. I’m sayingIfeel like shit around them. I know I should feel so safe and secure, but it’s the complete opposite. And I know Callie feels the same way,” I lie, remembering that convincing Aaron hinges on her welfare. “And I really think she’d be doing better if we werealltogether.”
He sighs loudly, shakes his head. “You honestly think it would be better for Callie to be here—after everything that’s happened?”
“I don’t know. It’s still our home, isn’t it? I’m just saying we have to try something. She’s not getting any better at Jackie’s. It seems like she’s only getting worse. She acts like she hates me.” I pause, afraid I might be losing him. “And what happens when Mom comes home? Are we just going to sit back and lose the apartment?”
“We don’t know when she’s coming home,” he says, looking at me like I’m stupid. “Ifshe’s even coming home.”
“She’s coming home, Aaron—of course she is.”
“There’s a real possibility that things won’t go the way we think they should.”
“Look, I called Mom’s lawyer, and he said that we could—well,youcould—apply for Dad’s social security benefits. That would help with expenses. And you have your jobs. And I’m working now too. And he said that the temporary-guardianship thing can be changed so that you’re our legal guardian.”
“Jesus, Brooke—what are you doing calling Mom’s lawyer about this stuff?”
“I’m trying to figure out a way to keep us together. Because I’m telling you, it’s not working—none of it is working. Not at all.”
He’s nodding, though he’s stopped looking at me and now has his eyes fixed on the floor.
“Please think about it before you say no,” I plead. “You know, I never thought I’d say this, but I want to behere—in my own room, with my own things, in my own home. It’s like too much is changing, I—I can’t even keep up.” I have to stop because I can feel the tears starting to simmer behind my eyes, obstructing my throat, making it harder for the words to find their way out of my mouth. “It wouldn’t have to be like you’rereallytaking care of us. I mean, we’d be doing it together—you and me.” My voice catches, in spite of my best efforts to hold it together. “Remember, you and me? Remember when there was a time we used to get along, when you still liked me? It wasn’t that long ago.”
“Hey,” he finally says, snapping out of his trance. “Look, I know we haven’t been tight in a while,” he says, pulling me into an awkward hug. “It didn’t have anything to do with you. I wanted to get out of here, that’s all. I wanted to get away fromhim. Never you.” I can’t help but wonder if he’s talking about moving out or if he’s talking about that day on the roof. “I’m sorry,” he adds as we pull apart. “Maybe I never actually told you that, but I didn’t think I had to.”
I’m relieved to hear him say it finally—to acknowledge the fact of it, that all of that really happened, that he really did turn away from me and it wasn’t my imagination. “No, you forgot to tell me that part!” I say, uncertain if I’m angry or sad, or both. Then an old reflex takes hold. My arm extends involuntarily and I punch him in the shoulder too hard, catching him off guard and sending him reeling backward.
He winces and yelps, “Owwshit!” catching the handle of the refrigerator door, which swings open fast, making him stumble like he’s on roller skates, falling down directly on his butt.
