“What, you don’t like it?”
She smiles. “No, I do. The left half of my face is kind of sluggish. Sorry.”
We all smile and nod. Inside, we‘re all a little shaken. It was supposed to be better by now. The doctors said it was just the medication. The bottom half of her face had been fine after the accident. From the nose up it had been completely broken, but her mouth and chin were fine. Now it’s like only the right half of her face can move at all. The bruises and bandages decorating her forehead and nose don’t help. Virginia, the prettiest and the vainest of my sisters, isn’t either of those things anymore.
But we all pretend not to notice. “I can hardly tell,” Josephine encourages her, squeezing her hand. “Open something else.”
“Alright.” She fumbles with the wrapping paper, pulling off the printed paper Santas and carefully prying open the box. “Aww! It’s so cute!”
“It’s a purse. To remind you that eventually you will be walking places where there will not be a phone automatically placed within one foot of you.”
She smiles, or tries to. “It’s perfect.”
“Well, you know. I’m amazing.”
Josephine elbows me. I shrug my left shoulder.
“I think there’s only one left,” my mother says, handing Virginia a bag with a laughing snowman on the front. “Go ahead, sweetie. Merry Christmas.”
Virginia shoots her a smile and sticks her hand into the bag. “Wait... Oh, is this it?”
My mother shrugs, raising her eyebrows.
Virginia pulls out a small box. A jewelry box. I shoot Josephine a look. She shrugs. I don’t think Mom has ever given jewelry at Christmas before. We’ve never really had the money. And we certainly don’t now, with hospital bills for three of us, college approaching for two... Even Virginia looks apprehensive. “What’s this?”
“Just open it, honey,” my mother tells her.
Virginia pries the box open. Her eyebrows shoot up. “Mom... Are... Is this real?”
Mom stares down at the ground and mumbles something.
“What?”
“Your father sent it.”
My eyes widen. Josephine elbows me, shooting me a frantic look. Did you just hear that? her eyes ask. My mouth hangs slightly open. This is insane.
“I don’t want it.” Virginia slams the box shut, her jaw set. “Send it back. I don’t want it.”
“Sweetie...”
Virginia holds out the box. “Give it back to him. I don’t want it. This is ridiculous. No. I don’t want it.”
“He wants you to have it,” my mother whispers.
“I don’t care what he wants. No. Give it back.”
“Virginia...”
Virginia throws the box to the ground. “Leave.”
“Sweetie...”
Josephine steps forward. “Look, I know you’re pissed off at him. We all are. But...”
“But what? I should take his gifts? Why doesn’t he just call like normal deadbeat fathers do when their children are hospitalized?” She shakes her head, her eyes flashing. “No. No. I won’t take it. And I can’t believe you! You’re ridiculous!” She glares at Josephine. “Where was he for you? This summer? No. This is... No.”
“Sweetie...”
“Leave her alone,” I say quietly.
My mother glances back at me. “What?”
“She doesn’t want it. Can you blame her? Leave it alone.”
Josephine runs her fingers through her hair. “Can we sell it?”
“We’re not going to sell it,” my mother says softly.
“Then we’re going to throw it away. We’re not keeping it.”
“Virginia...”
Helen sits in the corner, staring out the window. I walk over and join her, and even though it’s only a few steps away, it seems like a different world.
“Do they ever shut up?” she asks me, sounding disturbingly old.
“They’re just opinionated.”
She shoots me a sad smile. “Christmas was funner last year.”
I look down at her. Her face is creased with disappointment, her ponytail drooping. And I realize that our tragedies have been hers, too. The nightmares and the worrying. She’s had nowhere to regroup. No hospitals, no psych facilities, no grandmothers’ houses. And somehow, by being the only one never separated, she’s been the one who’s stood the most alone.
“I don’t think anyone’s having all that much fun.”
She grabs my cast gently and loops her arm through it, laying her head on my plaster arm. “Josephine said your friend died. At Nana’s.”
I stare out the window at the snow, falling down on the parking lot. “Yeah. Well. Can I tell you a secret?”
She nods earnestly against my arm. “Uh-huh.”
“I loved her. A lot.”
Helen pulls her head away and looks up at me, her eyes wide. “Was she your girlfriend?”
I bite my lip and laugh lightly. “I don’t know. A little bit. But she didn’t love me back. Except...”
Helen waits patiently for me to finish my sentence.
I swallow hard. “I don’t know. Before she died. She left me a message. And said that she did. And part of me kind of wants to believe it, but I don’t.”
Helen thinks for a minute, then shrugs and grabs my arm again, burrowing into my side and propping my cast up on her shoulders. “Well, I love you.”
And I don’t know why she does. I have failed her in a thousand different ways. I don’t love me all that much. I don’t understand what there is to me but a failure, a violent failure who reads too much into too little. Who wakes up in the morning and is already defeated. There’s nothing admirable here. No heroism, no glory. I’m not loyal, or smart, or caring. I’m not good with people. I’m a liar and a vandal and a jackass. At the end of the day, the only thing I like about myself are these people. The people in this room. The one who we buried up in Mason, in the family plot. Without them, I’m just another jerk who doesn’t deserve anything good. This isn’t who I wanted to grow up to be.
And I make up my mind. I’m going. I’m going to visit her. I need to talk to her. She is the only person who can make sense of me, even now. She’s the only person I’ve ever loved enough to let try.
Friday, November 28h, 8:23 PM
“Open up. Kennedy. Kennedy!”
I sighed. “Poppy, why are you here?”
I pulled open the door. She stood there, gasping for breath, her hands shoved in her pockets, her jacket zipped to under her chin. She grimaced.
“I’m sorry. I’m... I need you to do something for me.”
And all the fantasies in my head vanished. Of her grabbing me and kissing me, still fighting to breathe, her fingers tangled in my hair. Having run however many blocks in the cold and the darkness to get to me. Because she needed me. Loved me. Couldn’t bear to let me go another night without knowing.
I rolled my eyes and stepped aside, motioning her in. I slammed the door shut behind her. “What do you want?”
She dug in her pockets. “This,” she said, clasping something in her fist. I held out my hand. She dropped a diamond necklace into my palm, then reached back into her jacket. I stared at her. “And this.” She dropped a ring. “There’s more, wait...”
Piece by piece, she dropped jewelry into my hand. Fantastic jewelry. The kind you see on celebrities, in museums. Not the kind you randomly hand to people, on chilly November nights, with no explanation.
“What the hell is this, Poppy?”
She dropped a pair of earrings into my hand and crossed her arms, sighing. “This is my mother’s jewelry. Tobias is looking for it. You can’t let him have it. He won’t think of you. He’ll think I have it, which I’m supposed to, or that I gave it to Lia, or pawned it, or something. But you can’t give it to him. You can’t. It’s important.”
“Poppy...”
She shook her head. “Look, I know this is weird. And very suspect. And you probably feel like you’re trapped in a really bad Lifetime movie right now, and I’m going to turn up dead and then it’s going to be you and Meredith Baxter Birney is going to have to save the day but it won’t matter for us because we’ll already be dead. And I will be the first to tell you that this is a very real possibility.”
My eyes widened. She laughed. “I’m kidding. Look, just keep it. Please. If he finds it, he’ll sell it. It’s my mom’s. I took it after she died, when he was selling everything he could find of hers. I... I just need you to keep it safe. Until I know I can keep it again.”
I shook my head. “This is ridiculous. Seriously. Poppy, this is like, thousands of dollars worth of shit, I can’t...”
She pressed a finger to my lips. “Please.”
And so of course I agreed. Because she was Poppy, and I loved her. I loved her in a way that made me crazy. She was all that I could think about. And that it was hopeless, that it would never go anywhere, that it was the most unrequited of unrequited loves... That only made me love her more.
Friday, December 26th, 5:21 PM
“We really should’ve brought Helen with us.”
I glance over at her and shake my head. “No we shouldn’t have. Helen doesn’t need to get dragged through my dirty laundry.”
“And I do?”
I roll my eyes. “You can drive. I can’t. Besides, you were born six minutes before I was. Meaning you’re my big sister. Meaning you’re supposed to take care of me.”
She shakes her head, shooting me a half amused, half annoyed look. “You’re such an idiot, Pookie.”
“I know. But it’s endearing, you have to admit.”
She reaches over and turns up the heat, biting her lip. “You know I feel kind of responsible for all of this, right?”
I stare at her. “All of what?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know... This mess you got into up at Nana’s. You never would’ve gotten... I’m just... I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what? You didn’t do anything. You were pretty much the only person involved in this fiasco who didn’t do anything wrong.”
She raises her eyebrows. “I slit my wrists, Pookie. That doesn’t exactly qualify as award winning behavior.”
“You were... Look, don’t....” I trail off. It’s not the sort of sentence that’s easy to finish.
“I know,” she replies, shooting me a slight smile. “Look, I know you get a lot of flak for what you did. To Brennan. And I know we’ve kind of had this conversation before, but... I really do admire you. In a way. I think it was a stupid thing to do, but you... You were trying to protect me. To stick up for me. Or whatever. And I respect that, Pookie, even if I think you went about it in a really horrible way. I mean... He deserved what he got. You... You know what I’m saying.”
I nod. Even though I don’t, really. Because I did the right thing. I don’t care what anyone says. The only thing I regret is the effect it had on her.
None of us reacted very well. To the whole thing. The night it happened, Josephine came home crying. I had just gotten back from a date. I figured her boyfriend had broken up with her. Or done something equally horrible, like insulting her dress. Or saying that he didn’t like her choice of nail polish. Josephine was a girl. In the worst sense of the word. Well, no, because Virginia was a girl in the worst sense. Josephine’s type came in a close second. She was peppy. Always. Always organizing a bake sale or a dance. She used pens with feathers on the end, pencils scented like flowers. I kid you not. She dotted her ‘I’s with little circles. She talked on the phone while giving herself pedicures. It was slightly terrifying. And she was always crying about something, but only ever at home. At school, she was peppy. At home, she cried. She flew off the handle. She loved too hard and too fast, got her heart broken too damn easily. So that she came home crying wasn’t a big deal. It was kind of an eye rolling moment. An Oh my God, please don’t make me deal with this moment. But if I didn’t, no one else would. And so I went up to her room and knocked on her door.
She didn’t say anything when I knocked. And again. I opened it up and saw her sitting there. On her bed. Her dress hiked up around her waist, pajama pants on underneath. One knee pulled up to her chest. Staring. Her makeup running. The dress was red and shiny and ridiculous. Her PJs bore pictures of Santa and snowmen, even though it was the middle of July. She looked straight out of a horrible teen movie. But she was my sister. So I cared, even though I didn’t want to.
“What’s up?”
She glared at me. Shook her head. Then turned her attention back to the ceiling. Staring and crying and staring.
I left her alone. Even though I wasn’t sure I should. I still thought it was just some stupid breakup. Something inconsequential. Something she’d get over.
But she didn’t. She walked around the house like a ghost for a week. Pale and disoriented. Every time I walked past her room she was sitting there. Staring.
By the time she told me, I wasn’t surprised. I mean, I was, because I hadn’t known. But at the same time, I had. I had known all along.
We were driving. Except I was driving, instead of her, and neither of us was wearing a cast, much less two of them – though she might as well have been. She sat huddled in the corner of her seat, as far away from me as possible. We approached an intersection. Some idiot cut me off. I honked.
She chose that moment. The car horn blaring over her words. Like a censoring bleep on a television show. Blocking out the things you aren’t supposed to hear. “I was raped.”
I slammed on the brakes. The car behind me honked this time. I gave him the finger. Not thinking. Not feeling. “What?” Even though I didn’t need her to repeat it. Certainly didn’t want her to. Didn’t want to hear those words ever again.
“Last weekend. I...” And then she was crying. Sobbing. And there was nothing I could say. I knew that I could only make it worse.
I asked her who. She wouldn’t tell me. I asked her again. She spat out a name.
That was how I ended up on Brennan Power’s porch at ten thirty that night. His mother offered me something to drink. No, I was fine. His father asked how I’d been, if I was still with the Scouts. No, sir. Didn’t have the time, but flattered that he remembered me, sir. His mother asked if she should call him down. I said no. Said I remembered where his room was.
I walked in and he stared at me. Stood up. Held his hands up. I don’t remember what he said. I don’t remember what I said back. It was like one of those montages they play at the end of TV dramas, where the song covers up the voices, but you can see the anger. The fear. I shoved him down on the bed. Shoved my knee into his chest. He couldn’t breathe. I was glad. I screamed something at him. Didn’t care if his parents heard. Punched him in the face. His nose broke, then. It was the most satisfying thing I had ever done. I was screaming at him, still, but I don’t remember anything I said. Something about her. Because this was all about her. I wanted to obliterate him. Not just to kill him, but to erase him, somehow. I hit him. Over and over. Screaming. Crying, eventually, though that just pissed me off more. And I had never really hit anyone before. Stupid playground fights in elementary school. One halfhearted fistfight in the ninth grade. But never like this. Never like I meant it.
His parents were there. Then his little brother. Standing in the door. He couldn’t have been older than Helen. His mother was screaming at me. “Stop it!” Over and over and over. “Stop it!” His father just stood there helplessly. I hit him again. And again. And then his father grabbed me, pulled me off. I lunged for him again. He didn’t move. Well, that’s not true. His head moved. He groaned. Spat. His entire face was bloody. My knuckles were destroyed. His father pinned me against the wall, twisted my arm behind my back. He was an ex-cop. He knew how to handle people like me. Crazy people. The violent youth of America.
And that was how I got a police escort home. They tried to book me, but he wouldn’t let them. Refused. They took me in to the station, but if he wasn’t going to charge me, I was a waste of their time. And so I was escorted home with a stern warning. Anything else like this and I would not be so lucky. He swore it was just a fistfight that had gotten out of hand. That we were fighting over a girl. That I was a lot stronger than he had thought. But there wasn’t a scratch on me, while he was bleeding everywhere. His knuckles were clean. Mine were torn open. Not that it stopped me from punching a hole in the wall once the police were gone. Virginia stared at me. What did you do, Pookie? Oh my god, what did you do? Her face pale, her eyes wide. Afraid. I wouldn’t respond. She asked again. I was silent. She walked down the hall and woke up our mother.
Josephine came down the stairs and saw me. Saw my knuckles. The hole in the wall. Turned on her heel and went back to her room. Downstairs, my mother paced the floor. Shaking her head. I don’t know what to do with you. Virginia sat on the couch behind her, head cradled in her hands.
I mumbled something to my mother and ran upstairs to try to talk to Josephine. She stared at the ceiling. Ignored me. My mother called me back downstairs. I went. I listened as she lectured, as she bemoaned my behavior, my sudden transformation from model child into crazed psychopath. She said she didn’t understand me. But I wasn’t all that hard to understand.
She sent me to my room. Said she’d deal with me in the morning. Which wasn’t so much about me as it was about her. She was tired. She was always tired. And she hardly had enough time to sleep. She worked two jobs. She was exhausted. And she could never sleep. And now here I was, stirring up trouble. Making holes in her walls. My knuckles bleeding on her carpet. What was she going to do with me?
I went upstairs. Knocked on Josephine’s door, but she didn’t answer. I left it shut. Went to my room. Left the lights off. Sat on my bed in the dark. Stared at the ceiling, looking for answers. For confirmation that I had done the right thing. My knuckles stung. I heard something move. Heard someone breathing. I reached over. Turned on the light.
She was lying there in the corner. Barely breathing. Not moving. Surrounded by blood. I had never seen so much blood. I ran over to her. Turned her over. Screamed. I heard Virginia’s feet pounding up the stairs. You’re going to wake Mom up. Shut up! You’re going to wake Mom up! And then she opened the door. And she saw what I saw. And she screamed, too.
I collapsed back onto my bed. She ran over to Josephine. Turned back to look at me. She’s going to die. Oh my god. Call 911. I didn’t move. Call 911! she screamed. I reached in my pocket, pulled out my cell phone. Crying. Panted out something, some address, some description of the scene, but I didn’t know what to say. We’re in my bedroom. My sister’s dying. There’s blood everywhere. I think she killed herself. Virginia was in the corner, her full weight on Josephine’s outstretched forearms, her clothes soaked in blood, her hair falling over them both. God, Pookie, see if she’s breathing. But I was frozen. She called for me again. I didn’t move. And so she did it herself. She did it all herself. I sat back and watched. Sobbing. My knuckles throbbing. I didn’t know what to do.
Josie, baby, what did you do? Virginia asked her. But it wasn’t at all how she had asked me. She sounded sad, this time. Lonesome. Hopeful and hopeless all at once.
The paramedics came. Carted her away. Virginia woke my mother up again, soaked in blood. My mother screamed. I will never forget that sound.
I turn to Josephine now, sleeves pulled down securely over her scars, hands gripping the steering wheel. She shoots me a small smile. “Lot on your mind?”
“Yeah.” I nod, turning my head to stare out the window. “Yeah. I guess.”
Saturday, November 29th, 3:42 PM
“Poppy...”
She sniffled. “What? Leave me alone, Kennedy. I don’t want to talk to you.”
“I’m a jerk,” I admit, leaning against the door. “And you have every reason to hate me, probably some that I’m not even aware of. But letting me in would be a great first step to sainthood. And I know how you’ve always wanted to be a saint.”
She cleared her throat. “Yeah, well, I think I would look very good on a prayer card.”
“Can I come in, then?”
The door opened. She stood there, her jeans unbuttoned, with only a bra on top. I stared at her. “You didn’t have to get so dressed up.”
Her brow furrowed. “You suck, Kennedy. Don’t make me hate you right now. I need to like you. You have so far proved the only redeeming member of your... Penis having people thing.”
“Gender?”
She glared at me. “Don’t. You’re making fun of me. I’m drunk and unhappy and you’re making fun of me.”
I sighed. “Okay. What’s wrong? What did I do this time?”
She stared at me, her teary eyes wide with confusion. “When did I say that you did anything?”
“You were mad at me. Hence the talk about your saintliness in letting me in. Do you not pay attention to the text messages you send out? You know, the I hate you, leave me alone kind that send me running over here when I should be doing my history homework?”
She rolled her eyes, wiping them with the back of her hand. “I’m not mad at you. I didn’t even know that sent to you. What, you just automatically assumed it was about you?”
“It was sent to me!”
Poppy sighed, sliding down the door and falling to a heap at its bottom. “I quit life.”
“Can you just talk about what’s going on? Is this Tobias? Or something else?”
She sighed. “I slept with Max.”
“Again?” I tried my best to sound nonchalant, but it came out squeaky and pathetic. I didn’t want her to sleep with Max. I didn’t want her to sleep with anyone but me. And honestly, if I hadn’t been such a horrible person, I wouldn’t have wanted that, either.
“No!” She sighed, frustrated with my stupidity. “No, I slept with Max two years ago and I am still being punished.” She twisted her hair around her finger, shaking her head slowly. “He called me.”
“He called you?”
“He wants to get back together. No, seriously! He’s been avoiding me for ages because he has feelings for me. And I’m like, you didn’t have feelings when we did it the first time! But he says that doesn’t matter. He’s actually quite convinced that it doesn’t. Because he is Max. And he is illogical and insane. And he has feelings now. You know who doesn’t have feelings now? Me. I don’t even have feelings for you, Kennedy, and I’m sleeping with you. Hell, if I liked anyone, it would be you. With your rapidly diminishing abs and your... You know... Listening stuff.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve been watching too much Grey’s Anatomy. This is not a crisis. This is not deserving of a little speech. You’re supposed to eat Ben and Jerry’s and watch a chick flick and get through this. And call Lia. And not text message Max, or, even better, mistakenly text message me. Because my listening stuff really isn’t as up to par as you thought it was.”
“Kennedyyyyy,” she whined, grabbing my leg. “Sit down. Stay with me. I’m lonely.”
And she really had been drinking. She was glassy eyed and weepy, her words were a little bit slurred, her movements were exaggerated. Her father was bound to come home at any moment and renew the damage he had done to my face back when school started. Now was not a good time to sit down next to her and have her rest her head on my shoulder. Now was not a good time to put my arm around her waist and let her cry about nothing but really about everything she had never bothered to cry about. But I was crazy, and I was in love. It was hard to tell which had led to which. And so her drunkenness, the inappropriateness of the moment flew right over my head. Because she wanted me. And I was glad.
Friday, December 26th, 8:07 PM
“Well, hello! It’s so good to see you two!”
Josephine stoops down to hug her, squeezing her for a moment before letting her go. “It’s good to see you too, Nana. It’s been so long!”
“Hi, Nana.”
She eyes me warily, but offers me a hug. “Welcome back, Ulysses.” I accept her embrace awkwardly, my casts dangling at her sides.
She ushers us inside, pulling the door shut behind us. Josephine pulls off her coat and helps me with mine, and accepts the tea Nana thrusts into her frozen hands. I smile awkwardly and ask for a straw and a table. Nana obliges, and we all sit down and sip, avoiding the elephant in the room for as long as we can.
“So,” Josephine says finally, clearing her throat. “Did you have a good Christmas, Nana?”
My grandmother nods. “Oh, you know. It was quiet, but lovely. It would’ve been nicer if you all were here, of course. But obviously that wasn’t going to work.”
“Maybe next year,” Josephine replies, but she doesn’t mean it. She sips her tea and looks across the table at me. “So Virginia is doing well. She might get out of the hospital in a week or so, if all goes well. We’re keeping our fingers crossed.”
Nana smiles. “Good, good.” She stares at something over my head, obviously a world a way. None of us are here, really. Small talk has taken a definite backseat to the other things on our minds.
We sit in silence for entirely too long, the only sound the uncomfortable shifting of feet and the occasional swallow. “Tobias thinks I stole the jewelry,” I say finally, looking up at Nana.
She closes her eyes for a moment, her expression unreadable. “Does he now.”
“So does my mother.”
She sighs. “And what do you want me to do, Ulysses? What do you think there is for me to do?”
“I don’t know. I just...” There isn’t anything for her to do, really. Nothing that would make sense. Nothing that wouldn’t make everything that much worse. But still. “It seems unfair. That I’m the one who ends up the scapegoat for everything.”
“It’s not unfair. Most of it’s your fault.”
I blink at her. This is not the Nana I know so well and love so much. The kind woman who taught us all to bake, to grill, to drive. Who we called when we were young and upset. Who sent the best Christmas gifts. “No it’s not,” I reply, even though she’s right.
“Ulysses, you came out here for reasons that were entirely your own doing, whether you will admit that or not. You fell in love with the neighbor girl, even though she and everyone else warned you not to, most especially her father. You let yourself be taken in by her lies. She died, for whatever reason, and you alienated all those who would have helped you by insisting that you knew her and they did not. You vandalized a water tower for petty revenge. You left a horrible letter for her father, her grieving father, Ulysses. And don’t you think that I haven’t read it. Everyone has read it. You’re an angry young man who has lost all his sense. So don’t blame me or anyone else for this. Tobias Law has lost everything. And all you want to do is rip open his wounds. So of course he’s going to suspect you when things go awry. I know where that jewelry is and a part of me still thinks you were behind it.”
I stare at her. “I... They weren’t lies.”
“Excuse me”
“I wasn’t taken in by her lies. They weren’t lies.”
Nana sighs. She looks much older than she is, suddenly. Completely exhausted. “Leave it be, Ulysses.”
“But they weren’t! You know that better than anyone else! She was telling the truth!”
“Pookie,” Josephine says warningly, taking a long, slow sip of her tea.
“She told some of the truth, of course. But that clouded her judgment, Ulysses. She let the past define the present. She saw things that were never there.”
“He punched the shit out of me!” I shout, standing up. My chair clatters to the floor behind me. “What the hell do you think she was making up?”
“Leave it be,” she repeats.
I shake my head. I want to throw something. Hit something. Anything. Adrenaline courses through me. My legs twitch beneath me, wanting to run. I glance out the window. Stare for a moment at the snow falling white and relentless outside. And I can’t bear it anymore. To be stuck in here, in this house where everything is all about her. I kick the chair out of my way, sending it clattering into the desk by the door. I storm to the porch door, fumbling with the doorknob. Behind me, I hear Josephine’s chair scrape back. She grabs her coat as I finally pull the door open. I take off at a clumsy run. She chases after me.
By now, the snow is deep. Several inches, hard packed to the ground. Running is hardly an option. I trip through it, my arms helpless at my sides. My shoes can’t seem to get a solid grip. I move as quickly as I can, faltering repeatedly, almost falling twice. If I fall, it will be over. My arms won’t be there to catch me. She will have to help me up, to carry me back to Nana’s house. And that is the last place I want to be. So I stumble along, Josephine walking behind me at a safe distance, calling after me.
“Pookie, come on. It’s fine. It’s... Pookie.”
I ignore her. Plod along slowly, my jeans soaked through, shivering. I should have left my coat on when I came in. But there’s no way I’m turning around. I can get hypothermia and die. I don’t fucking care.
“Pookie...”
“Stop following me!” I call back, the wind drowning out my voice.
“I love you, you idiot! I’m always going to follow you!”
I turn around to face her. The snow has picked up even since we started walking, and it’s hard to make her out behind the blanket of white flecks. “I can’t stay here. I...”
“Just... Come on. Come with me back to the house and we’ll go for a drive or something. Or... I don’t know. But you can’t be out here. You... You’ve got to be freezing, I know I am, and all this wet isn’t good for your casts.”
“I’m fine. You can go home. I...”
“You’re not fine! You’re chasing some girl’s ghost in the middle of a snowstorm with two broken arms. You’re stupid and stubborn and you need a friend.”
I sigh. “Go home, Josephine.”
“I’m not going anywhere that won’t come with me.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t need you to protect me!”
“Yes you do.”
“What the hell are you running away from, Pookie?”
And I don’t know. I don’t know the answer to that question. I don’t know if there is one. The truth is, I don’t know where I’m headed. I’m just walking. I don’t know why, except that because I can’t stand to be back there right now. I’m looking for what I lost in this snow-covered town. I’m looking for answers. For the truth. And, as always, a part of me is looking for her. In my head, she is always at the end of my journeys. She is the only end that would make it all worthwhile.
Sunday, November 30th, 6:21 PM
“We should talk.”
She snuggled into my chest, sighing contentedly. “Mmm?”
“About us.”
She pulled away, rolling to her side of the bed. “What do you want now, Kennedy?”
“I want to know where this is going.”
“It’s not going anywhere. How many times do I have to tell you this?”
I sighed. “There’s no possibility? Nothing? We can’t possibly just be friends with benefits, Poppy. There’s... That’s ridiculous!”
“Of course we can be! It’s been working for months now, Kennedy!” She pulled on her shirt, then turned her head back to look at me, hazel eyes flashing, her hair a tangled mess.
“It hasn’t been working! Don’t even pretend like you think it has!”
She threw up her hands. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why can’t you just leave a good thing alone?”
“Because!”
“Way to make sense. Great reasoning. Great, just fucking --”
“Because I love you!”
Her hands fell to the bed beside her. She stood up. Staring. Like she couldn’t believe this was happening. Like it was the worst thing possible.
“I should go,” she said quietly, grabbing her jeans and pulling them up in one swift motion. “I should really... I should really go.”
“Poppy...”
“No. No. I... No, you... I need... I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
She left. I begged her not to. But she wouldn’t listen. And this time, when she pulled the door shut behind her, my heart didn’t swell. It broke. And every cliché was realized in that moment. I fell back onto my bed, exhausted.
Friday, December 26th, 9:00 PM
“It’s warm in here.”
I shake my head. “Shh.”
She follows me, our shoes squeaking on the wood floors. We don’t speak. The saints stare down at us with glassy eyes, watching us walk slowly down the aisle. Judging us.
I duck into a pew. Josephine stands awkwardly for a moment, then walks a few rows up and sits down across the aisle. Her hair is dripping with melting snow.
This is where we had Poppy’s funeral. Not that I’m included in that ‘we’, not really. Her father organized it, with Nana’s help. Lia got everyone at school to bring flowers. The altar was a mess of color. The girls all sat in the front pews and cried. Max and Josh and Todd were pallbearers, along with Clay, my replacement. I was surprised I was even allowed in the church. I stood in the back, motionless, half-hidden by one of the pillars. As they processed out, Max shot me a quick smile, but everyone else avoided my eyes. Except Tobias, of course. He glared at me with a special sort of hatred. As if this were my fault, somehow.
Our father had always been big on Church. Every Sunday at eight o’clock we were there, in the third pew back, second row from the right. Josephine and I poked each other and whispered back and forth while Virginia drew on the prayer cards. Mom stared straight ahead, obviously not paying attention. But my father was absorbed. Afterward, we were expected to Talk About It. It was a ritual deserving of the capitalization. “What did you think of the scripture?” my father would ask. And we would be expected to respond. We never had a good enough answer. He always went to bed angry on Sundays. But Monday morning, we were back to pretending that it had never happened.
I feel out of place here. In this pew, in this church, surrounded by the disappointed saints. But it’s warm and I’m tired and I have nowhere else to go.
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