Page 113 of If We Say Goodbye

Caleb takes my hand,pulling me away from the house. “Maybe we should come back later.”

I shake my head and hurry up the steps, my heart pounding like a drum. Everything around me slows down as I swing the door open.

“Get out!” Mom yells into Dad’s face. Her makeup is smeared and faded from crying for who knows how long. She shoves a suitcase toward him.

Dad’s back is arched, and his eyes are bloodshot. He holds a half empty beer bottle in one hand and something else in his other hand. I can’t make out what it is.

“What’s going on?” I say with the door wide open, giving Caleb and Jordy front row seats to my family drama.

Mom looks over at me as if she’s just now realizing I’m here. She covers her face, shaking her head. “We’ll talk about it later,” she says.

I can’t take my eyes off the suitcase. “No. We have to talk about it now. Are you kicking Dad out?”

“It’s not that simple,” she says.

Dad brings the bottle to his lips.

Mom’s lip curls, and she rips the bottle out of his hand. “You’ve had enough! Get outside and wait for your brother to pick you up.”

Dad reaches for the bottle, but mom chucks it across the hallway before he has a chance to touch it. It shatters on the ground, beer spewing everywhere.

“Hey!” Dad yells.

Mom shoves the handle of the suitcase into him and, with a quivering lip, she says, “I’m done.”

“You don’t mean that!” I yell, rushing to take the suitcase away from Dad.

Dad’s eyes are glassed over, but when he looks at me, they clear up into unmistakable rage. It makes me feel dirty, like I’m nothing more than a piece of trash lying on the side of the road. He’s never looked at me like that before, and it makes me shiver. Still, I refuse to accept that the Dad I once knew is gone.

“Please,” I beg, taking hold of Mom’s arm. “Don’t make him go.”

“I want to.”

My head whips around to Dad. No matter how clear his words were, I don’t hear them.

He grips the handle and pulls the suitcase behind him as he staggers away.

“No!” I scream, trying to follow him. Mom wraps her arms around me, stopping me from moving. I double forward, reaching for him. “Dad!”

He passes Caleb, who doesn’t seem to know whether to let him go or stop him.

“Becca,” Mom says, trying to soothe me with her forced calm voice. “He needs help.”

Tears burn my eyes, and the room is spinning—making it hard to breathe. Every breath feels like a knife in my lungs. “No. We need to help him!”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried?” she yells, releasing me.

I stumble out of her grip. Heat races to my head, and I spin to face her, nails digging into my hands. “You’ve done nothing but pretend like everything is okay. Your son died, and every day you go around acting like nothing happened!”

Her jaw clenches down, and she gulps as her back becomes rigid.

“You’re always shopping and cleaning and spending time with your friends!” My hand flies wildly into the air. “Why are you okay? Why aren’t you falling apart like the rest of us?”

“He was my baby!” she screams. Her hand flies to her mouth as she catches her breath. Then, as if I pushed over the first domino, she breaks down. Her face shatters into a thousand pieces, and her facade melts away. She blinks away tears and looks off to the side, hugging herself. “He was my baby,” she whispers.

It isn’t enough. I get in her face. “Then why do you act like nothing’s happened? If you loved him, you should be upset. You shouldn’t be packing up his room like he didn’t matter!”

“You don’t think I miss him? It takes every ounce of energy I have left to get out of bed in the morning knowing Ethan won’t be standing in the kitchen. Do you know how hard it is to deal with a child who doesn’t acknowledge anything you do? I am so exhausted trying to pretend like I’m okay, but I have to!”

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