Page 71 of The Last to Let Go
I press the one button. Then I press the receiver to my ear even closer. Don’t want to miss a word. The automated voice says, “Thank. You.” There’s a click on the line.
Then, “Hello, hello? Brooke, are you there?”
I feel tears stinging my eyes.I miss you. I love you. I need you. I hate you. I’m sorry.I keep opening my mouth to speak, but it’s like a hand is reaching up the back of my throat, strangling the words out of me.
“I don’t have long,” she says, and pauses, the line crackling. “Say something. Please. I miss you.” And then I hear it: She’s crying. She sniffles loudly and coughs like she’s trying to catch her breath. “Brooke,” she whispers. “I love you.”
I slam the receiver down. Hard. But then I pick it back up immediately and bring it to my ear. “Mom?”
But it’s just the moaning, empty dial tone.
My voice echoes back at me, spiraling through the kitchen. I hang up again, softly this time. I run my fingers over the gentle crater in the wall next to the phone—the spot where Dad’s fist once landed. I sink down the wall onto the linoleum floor. I think about the way Dad’s hand looked the day he died, his body sprawled out only a few feet from where I’m now sitting.
The phone rings again. I look up at it, but it’s too late. I can’t reach it. Aaron was right. There’s no saving this. It’s too late for us. The phone rings and rings and rings. Ten times, twenty times, a thousand times. I cover my ears. I close my eyes. I can’t feel my insides. I’m cold now. Frozen solid.
GLASS SHATTERS
“WHERE’S YOUR BROTHER?”Jackie asks as I arrive at their house for Callie’s thirteenth birthday party. “How did you get here—I thought you said Carmen was going to drive you.”
I forgot about that lie.
“Plans changed. Aaron had to work,” I lie again. “I took a cab.”
“He had to work on your sister’s birthday?” she asks in disbelief.
Callie walks up and, miraculously, covers for me. “Yeah, he called this morning to say happy birthday—he told me he was sorry he was going to have to work tonight.”
I don’t know why she did that, but I’m thankful. I give her a small smile and she nods. Maybe Aaron’s talking to her. Maybe she’s the one keeping him in the loop.
Being here is like walking directly into a tornado, twisting me back in time. I keep pulling my birthday sweater around me, tighter and tighter, trying to shield myself against the tornado’s pull. I want to ask Callie why she lied for me. But I can’t get a second alone with her.
After cake and presents Jackie corners me in the kitchen. “You know, I have had the damnedest time getting ahold of Aaron these last few weeks. Will you tell him he needs to stop by and see me?”
“Why?” I ask.
She widens her eyes and looks around, like the answer should be obvious. “We need to talk about Callie.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, playing dumb, as if nothing’s wrong at all—a technique I’ve learned to master over the years from watching Mom do it.
“What do you mean, what doImean?” she says, her voice sharp, yet still trying to be quiet so Callie doesn’t hear us. “I mean... what’s going on over there that Callie doesn’t want to live there anymore?”
“We’re okay,” I lie. “I think Callie got mad at us over the whole New Year’s Eve thing.”
“Are you sure?” she asks. “It seems like more than that.”
“I’m sure,” I lie.
“If it’s not working out, that’s okay, but then we need to make proper arrangements for everyone.”
“Everything’s working out, Jackie.”
“Okay, but let your brother know I need to speak to him.” She pauses, looking at me like the liar I am, but thankfully, she drops it. “You know, they moved your mother. I talked to her on the phone today. She said it’s actually better there than in the jail. She has more privileges, a little more freedom now.”
“I don’t really care,” I try to tell her as gently as possible.
“Well, she’s asking for you, and we’re planning on heading up there next weekend. So let me know if—”
“I don’t want to see her.”
