I ran away to Carey’s whenever I could. When that wasn’t possible, I hid in my room and wondered if it would be easier for them if I wasn’t part of the equation.
One fight in particular left bruises. They’d been at it all day, neither of them backing down. I sat against my bedroom door, eavesdropping. They said the same things they always did, but this time my mother asked him a question that changed the tone of the conversation.
“Cole, before we got married, you promised that our family would come first. When are you going to make good on that?”
After a long silence, he said, “You’re asking the impossible. I have responsibilities. My men—”
“It’s not your men I’m worried about!” Her voice gentled and I had to put my ear against the wood to hear her. “It’s Sophie. You’re missing out on everything. Why can’t you see that?”
My father sounded brittle. “You think I don’t see how much I’ve missed? Her first steps, her first words, her first day at school. When I’m over there, I think about it all the time. Geez, Sophie, it ripped me up when I missed her birth!”
“I know, Cole. But at some point, there won’t be any more firsts for you to miss out on.”
“You expect me to just walk out? Men are dying over there.”
“And I’m dying over here!”
The argument veered back into regular territory with him accusing her of being overly dramatic and her telling him to fuck off. I’d heard enough, and packed a bag to spend the night at Carey’s. I decided to risk my parents being upset and leave without their permission. Mrs. Breen could call them later. They probably wouldn’t notice anyway.
As I tiptoed down the hall to the front door, the shouting grew louder. Before I closed the door behind me, I overheard my father say one thing I would never forget. He told my mother that he hated who she’d become. And he added, “And you’re making Sophie just like you.”
Some words hit you like a tree branch slapping you in the face. And some words rip into your flesh, leaving scars so deep, they never completely fade.
* * *
“Sophie,” my mother says to my back as I watch George disappear down the hall. “I’m so sorry. I’m sure he’s going to be okay.”
“No,” I tell her. “He’s not. He’s dying.” My quiet words sound like bullets. I turn to my parents. They stand a few feet apart, but they might as well be standing on the opposite shores of a river. “Why did you come here? This was the one good thing I had left. Why did you have to ruin it?”
My father speaks up. “Quinn—”
“Stop calling her that!” my mother says.
He turns, ready to lay into her, and I shout, “Shut up! Just once, could the two of you stop thinking about yourselves?”
I stride up to my mother. “Mom, you left. Dad stayed. You don’t know me, and you don’t have any rights where I’m concerned.”
She winces, but I am already turning on my father. He looks cold and distant, and my throat aches when my breath catches on a sob. “Dad, I’m not Mom. She left. Stop blaming me for what she did to you.”
His face drains of color. I fall back several steps, really crying now.
“I’m standing right in front of you, and you can’t even see me!”
The only people who see me aren’t here. Carey may be dead, and George comes closer to death every day.
I can’t breathe. My parents steal the air with their hatred. I run away, hitting the door to the stairs at a jog.
The last thing I hear is them calling my name.
Mom: “Sophie!”
Dad: “Quinn!”
Me:
Chapter Twenty-Six
Grave Woods has become my third home after the hospital and my house. That’s where I go when I leave the VA. Now that it’s mid-May, you can feel summer around the corner. It’s chilly tonight, but I can’t feel it anymore. Hours ago, I called the hospital to check on George. He was doing okay on oxygen, they told me, but they wouldn’t let me in to see him again today. He needed rest.
I’ve cried until I’ve turned myself inside out.
I roll onto my side on Josephine’s grave, the hard ground biting into my hip. George is my rock. What will I do without him? I knew he wasn’t doing well, but I turned away from it. What kind of friend am I?
I’ve spent enough time at the hospital to understand what’s coming next.
I don’t know if I can watch it happen. I’m not brave enough to watch him fade. Maybe if I hadn’t covered for Carey, I would be stronger.
But then, was that choice any easier?
* * *
The day after I spoke with Carey in Grave Woods, I realized our conversation hadn’t really solved anything. Not how I felt about Carey’s confession or about my feelings for Blake. I wasn’t sure how I felt about sleeping with him, or if I should tell Carey about it. What would I say?
Sweating in the summer heat, I lay on my bed, imagining how Carey would react and hoping a cooling breeze would blow through the open window. Every memory of Carey was colored by my new knowledge of him: The things he’d said. The promises he’d made. And the lies he’d told to keep his secret. I got angry every time I thought about it. Despite his sweet words, I wondered if our friendship was worth saving. How could I forgive him?
I spent hours stuck in that loop, like a hamster on a wheel—working but never getting any closer to an answer.
One fight in particular left bruises. They’d been at it all day, neither of them backing down. I sat against my bedroom door, eavesdropping. They said the same things they always did, but this time my mother asked him a question that changed the tone of the conversation.
“Cole, before we got married, you promised that our family would come first. When are you going to make good on that?”
After a long silence, he said, “You’re asking the impossible. I have responsibilities. My men—”
“It’s not your men I’m worried about!” Her voice gentled and I had to put my ear against the wood to hear her. “It’s Sophie. You’re missing out on everything. Why can’t you see that?”
My father sounded brittle. “You think I don’t see how much I’ve missed? Her first steps, her first words, her first day at school. When I’m over there, I think about it all the time. Geez, Sophie, it ripped me up when I missed her birth!”
“I know, Cole. But at some point, there won’t be any more firsts for you to miss out on.”
“You expect me to just walk out? Men are dying over there.”
“And I’m dying over here!”
The argument veered back into regular territory with him accusing her of being overly dramatic and her telling him to fuck off. I’d heard enough, and packed a bag to spend the night at Carey’s. I decided to risk my parents being upset and leave without their permission. Mrs. Breen could call them later. They probably wouldn’t notice anyway.
As I tiptoed down the hall to the front door, the shouting grew louder. Before I closed the door behind me, I overheard my father say one thing I would never forget. He told my mother that he hated who she’d become. And he added, “And you’re making Sophie just like you.”
Some words hit you like a tree branch slapping you in the face. And some words rip into your flesh, leaving scars so deep, they never completely fade.
* * *
“Sophie,” my mother says to my back as I watch George disappear down the hall. “I’m so sorry. I’m sure he’s going to be okay.”
“No,” I tell her. “He’s not. He’s dying.” My quiet words sound like bullets. I turn to my parents. They stand a few feet apart, but they might as well be standing on the opposite shores of a river. “Why did you come here? This was the one good thing I had left. Why did you have to ruin it?”
My father speaks up. “Quinn—”
“Stop calling her that!” my mother says.
He turns, ready to lay into her, and I shout, “Shut up! Just once, could the two of you stop thinking about yourselves?”
I stride up to my mother. “Mom, you left. Dad stayed. You don’t know me, and you don’t have any rights where I’m concerned.”
She winces, but I am already turning on my father. He looks cold and distant, and my throat aches when my breath catches on a sob. “Dad, I’m not Mom. She left. Stop blaming me for what she did to you.”
His face drains of color. I fall back several steps, really crying now.
“I’m standing right in front of you, and you can’t even see me!”
The only people who see me aren’t here. Carey may be dead, and George comes closer to death every day.
I can’t breathe. My parents steal the air with their hatred. I run away, hitting the door to the stairs at a jog.
The last thing I hear is them calling my name.
Mom: “Sophie!”
Dad: “Quinn!”
Me:
Chapter Twenty-Six
Grave Woods has become my third home after the hospital and my house. That’s where I go when I leave the VA. Now that it’s mid-May, you can feel summer around the corner. It’s chilly tonight, but I can’t feel it anymore. Hours ago, I called the hospital to check on George. He was doing okay on oxygen, they told me, but they wouldn’t let me in to see him again today. He needed rest.
I’ve cried until I’ve turned myself inside out.
I roll onto my side on Josephine’s grave, the hard ground biting into my hip. George is my rock. What will I do without him? I knew he wasn’t doing well, but I turned away from it. What kind of friend am I?
I’ve spent enough time at the hospital to understand what’s coming next.
I don’t know if I can watch it happen. I’m not brave enough to watch him fade. Maybe if I hadn’t covered for Carey, I would be stronger.
But then, was that choice any easier?
* * *
The day after I spoke with Carey in Grave Woods, I realized our conversation hadn’t really solved anything. Not how I felt about Carey’s confession or about my feelings for Blake. I wasn’t sure how I felt about sleeping with him, or if I should tell Carey about it. What would I say?
Sweating in the summer heat, I lay on my bed, imagining how Carey would react and hoping a cooling breeze would blow through the open window. Every memory of Carey was colored by my new knowledge of him: The things he’d said. The promises he’d made. And the lies he’d told to keep his secret. I got angry every time I thought about it. Despite his sweet words, I wondered if our friendship was worth saving. How could I forgive him?
I spent hours stuck in that loop, like a hamster on a wheel—working but never getting any closer to an answer.
