Page 4 of Swerve
The girl’s eyes widen. I’ve surprised her. “I’m sorry.”
“It sucks. I’ve had to live with words I can’t undo. For a while, I didn’t want to live with it.”
“Yeah.” She’s quiet for a bit, glancing off to stare at the corner of the room, as if she’s reliving something. Several minutes pass before she finally speaks. “My dad. He was a policeman. A really good one. One night, he was sitting outside this coffee shop, finishing the paperwork for the end of his shift. And these two guys . . . they just walked up to the window of his car and shot him. For no reason. They just . . . killed him.”
Shock skips through me. Words rise to my lips, but every one seems completely incapable of expressing anything remotely worthy of her pain. “Oh, Katie. I am so very sorry.”
She shrugs.
“Your mom—”
“Will be fine,” she bites out.
“Why do you think so?” I ask softly.
“Because she’s moved on. Turns out she didn’t really need either one of us.”
I hear the edge of anger in her voice and realize this isn’t a conclusion I’m likely to alter at this point. “So you think it would be easier for her if you weren’t here either?”
Katie shrugs, her expression stormy. “Then she could just get on with her new life.”
I give her conclusion some consideration. And then, “Have you ever wondered if she might be trying to be strong for you?”
She swings me a glance, immediately dismissing the possibility. “She’s strong for herself.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“She didn’t have to. I can see.”
“Tell me what you see.”
“She wants to go places. Do things. Be with other people.”
“Katie. People have different ways of coping. When it comes to grief though, none of us has any choice but to swim through it. There’s no going around it. You can put it off, but the only way to come out on the other end is to swim through the middle. If I had to guess, I would bet your mom doesn’t want to add to your grief by letting you see hers. That’s what I did for my sister.”
She studies me intently now, looking for evidence that I’m telling her the truth.
“I didn’t let her see me cry,” I say. “I saved that for nighttime after she was in bed. I wonder now if that was the right thing.”
“You were trying to protect her,” Katie says and then realizes what she’s said.
“Yeah,” I agree. “But maybe she needed to know I was sad just like she was.”
“You think I’m being selfish?” Katie asks quietly.
“I don’t think that. I’m sure your mom doesn’t either.”
“She’s angry at me.”
“If I had to guess, I’d say she’s probably terrified for you.”
“She’d be better off without me,” Katie says, turning her face to the wall.
I reach out and take her left hand between mine. I wait until she looks at me before I say, “Do you really believe that?”
Tears well in her eyes. She bites her lower lip, shakes her head.
“I suspect you need each other as much as my sister and I needed each other. And still do, in fact.”
