“You don’t think people can change for the better?” I ask.
“Of course they can.” My sister’s words snip. “That’s not my point. My point is, you’ve moved on. You’re engaged to Brooks. You’re a grown woman. Your entire life is ahead of you. You don’t need to be drudging up the past, no matter how tempting it might be.”
“I’m not drudging up the past.”
“That’s exactly what you’re doing.” She exhales loudly. “I know you, Demi. You’ve been stuck in the past for years. You were finally moving on, and now it’s like you’re taking ten giant steps back. I see it. You don’t want to talk about Brooks. Truth be told, you don’t even act that upset about it. I worry that you’re internalizing, and that’s going to cause you to seek comfort in all the wrong places.”
Wrong places clearly meaning: Royal.
I throw the crayon at the tin. It hits the side and bounces off until it rolls down the table and falls to the dense carpet with hardly a sound. Not quite the statement I was trying to make.
“How am I supposed to act? You tell me. Do you want me to cry? Starve myself? Hang out at the bars? Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Just don’t accuse me of not being sad. This entire situation is depressing.” I huff. “In more ways than you’ll ever know.”
Delilah reaches across the table, placing her hand on mine. I wonder if it’s a technique they taught her at school, in her counseling classes. I love my sister, and I know she’s going to make a great therapist someday, but right now, she’s annoying the piss out of me.
“Demi.” She says my name softly and calmly. Her eyes study me, like she’s psychoanalyzing me. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
“Stop. Stop, stop, stop.” I drag my hand out from under hers. “Don’t go in shrink-mode. Just go back to being my sister. I like that version of you better. This one freaks me out.”
“Fine.” Her hands fly, palms out. “You want me to be real with you? Stop entertaining anything having to do with Royal.”
My jaw hangs. She knows damn well I need this closure. She knows more than anyone.
“You’re engaged. Do you realize how bad this looks? The entire town of Rixton Falls is upset about Brooks. People are rooting for him. Donating money. There are prayer circles every night at St. Andrews. Did you know that? And there’s a charity auction next weekend. The Rixton Falls Herald has a special page on their website dedicated to updates on Brooks.” Delilah tilts her head. “If people see you hanging out with Royal while your future husband lies comatose, they’re going to talk. The Rixton Falls rumor mill is alive and well. They’re thirstier than ever, and it’s been a long time since they’ve had anything this juicy to talk about.”
“I just want to keep him around long enough to find out what happened. I have no intention of doing anything remotely inappropriate.”
“Doesn’t matter what your intentions are. All that matters is how it looks from the outside. No one gives a damn about the truth, Demi. Not when a version of the truth is ten times more entertaining.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you. And I know you’re not wrong,” I say. “But I have to know what happened seven years ago. I have to know why he left. I’m not shutting him out until I get my answer.”
“Does it matter?” Her frankness hurts. “After all this time, does it really even matter? Life moved on. It moved on without him. Your life is over there now.” She points toward the hall that leads to the corridor housing Brooks’s room. “Brooks Abbott is your life now.”
I have to tell her.
She has to know.
I need someone on my side.
I can’t do this alone anymore.
“Brooks . . .” I pull in a deep breath, summoning enough strength to say this out loud for the first time.
“Oh, there you are, sweetheart.” Brenda Abbott strides our way. I suddenly feel guilty about sitting here coloring with my sister and niece. She’s oblivious. Or at least she’s not judging. I love Brenda. She would’ve made the best mother-in-law. “Your parents and Derek are on their way out.”
We both stand.
“Come on, Haven. Put the toys back.” Delilah takes her chubby hand.
“The doctors said the EEG they ran on Brooks last night shows promise. There’s activity there. And the swelling is subsiding.” Brenda’s face lights with the smile of a hopeful mother. “They’re going to bring him out of sedation soon.”
She calls it sedation because she can’t bear to call it what it really is: a medically induced coma. Sedation sounds more hopeful, like he was simply put under for a routine procedure.
“That’s . . . that’s great.” I hug her. And I’m happy. Brooks might be a cheating asshole, allegedly, but he doesn’t deserve to die for it.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Brenda pulls away, dabbing the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand. “Delilah, did you hear?”
Brenda gushes to my sister, but I tune them out. I see Brenda’s arms flailing and Delilah jumping for joy. They hug and cry. We weren’t even married yet, and already our families had begun to intertwine.
Subtract the doubts and the fears and the lies and the cheating . . . we might’ve had a beautiful little life together.
Delilah loops her arm around my shoulder. “Told you everything was going to work out.”
Fifteen
Royal
* * *
Fucking mailman.
I step on a stack of mail, the bottom of my boots leaving clumps of melting snow that leave the envelopes soggy within seconds.
There’s a set of mailboxes on the main floor, in the back of the laundromat, but the key rarely works, so he insists on shoving mine beneath the bottom of the door. The landlord says it’s the Postal Service’s issue. They say it’s his. I’m the one who suffers.
I pick the soggy mail up from the dirty floor and slap it on the counter.
And then I notice it. Just the corner. Sticking out from the middle of the pile.
The return address reads “State of New York—Board of Parole.”
Within seconds, I’m ripping the envelope and reading the letter as fast as my eyes will allow.
I’m discharged.
I’m finally. Fucking. Discharged.
I’d frame this thing if it didn’t make me so goddamned happy and furious at the same time. Never should’ve happened in the first place, but now that I’m clear, maybe I can finally move on with my life.
Maybe Demi will give me a second chance.
“Hey, Royal,” Rod Patterson calls out to me as soon as I step in the door that morning. His gaze narrows. “What’s up with you? You’re smiling. You get laid last night?”
“No, sir.” I smirk. Can’t help it.
“Yeah, fucking right. Goddamn lucky bastard.” His golden grin takes up his entire wrinkled face for half a second, and I sort of feel bad about fucking his daughter all those times. “Anyway. Got something for you.”
He motions for me to follow him to his office.