Page 77 of The Last to Let Go
“I’m not trying to off myself, or something—not with three stupid pills.” I laugh, but he doesn’t. “Relax. I have a headache, that’s all.”
“Well, you’re not in school half the time anymore. You look like you haven’t slept in a year, you’re currently sitting on the dirty-ass floor popping pills in your mouth, and you’re askingmefor help studying. There are so many things wrong with this picture.”
“It’s aspirin. And I’m kneeling, not sitting,” I tell him as I pull myself up to my feet.
He stands as well and examines me for a moment, narrowing his eyes.
“Think of it as us studying together, not you helping me. Does that make it easier?”
“It makes it less weird,” he counters as we begin to walk down the hall toward chem.
“Weird because of Dani?”
“No, weird because you’re acting weird right now,” he says matter-of-factly as we enter the classroom. Our teacher is already talking, even though the bell rings directly after we walk through the door.
“So, do you want to or not?” I whisper as we take our seats, not sure if he realizes he still hasn’t given me an answer.
“Oh. Yeah,” he finally says. “I mean, of course I will. This weekend good?”
I nod, and mouth the words, “Thank you.”
BLAME
DR. GREENBERG TAKES INa deep breath through his nose. “Last time we were talking about your mother.” He reaches for the notebook sitting on the table next to him and flips a page. “You were telling me about how your father would beat her. Talk to her like she was stupid. Take her money. Take her shoes so she couldn’t leave—”
I have to stop him there. “I never said ‘beat.’ And I didn’tseethat shoe thing,” I correct. “I told you that was something mygrandmothersaid in court.”
He moves his glasses up to the top of his head and looks at me. “Okay. Well, but what’s the difference?”
“Nothing. I’m just saying that’s not what I said. It sounds worse when you say it like that.”
“Worse than what?”
I shrug. “Worse than it was, I guess.”
“Well...,” he starts, then stops, then starts again. “Okay, but it really was pretty bad, wasn’t it? I mean, your motherisin prison and your fatherisdead.”
“When you say it likethat, yes.” I can feel myself losing my patience.
“Well, how would you say it?”
I study him closely. “I would say it was an accident.”
“You don’t know that, though, do you? Isn’t that what you said caused all the tension between you and your sister? You wanted to know, and she couldn’t tell you.”
I cross my arms over my stomach. I don’t know how we got into all of this again. I only came here to see if he could write me doctor’s notes. I swear, the last time I was here, I must’ve been delirious from that lingering fever. Otherwise, why would I have told him so much?
“?‘He blamed her for everything,’?” he reads from the page. “That’s what you said. And then I asked if you blame her.” He looks up at me. “You never answered.”
I blame her. And him. I blame them—their weakness, together. I blame the sun and the moon. I blame the year, the season, the month. I blame the hour of the day.
“I blame her...,” I begin, not knowing what I’m about to say, “for not being here now.”
It’s so silent I can hear Dr. Greenberg breathing. I can hear my pulse pounding in my ears. I can hear Ingrid’s voice carry through the thin walls.
“Maybe I thought that if we could all agree that it wasn’t her fault, then I wouldn’t have to blame her?” I say it like a question.
“There’s no right answer, Brooke.” But before I can respond, he continues, asking, “What about Callie and Aaron? Do you blame them for not being here now?”
