I wanted to laugh at that, but no sound came to me. I’d never told Naomi about the night with Stephanie Witts—not to keep it away from her, but because it wasn’t something I needed to process. Stephanie Witts never hurt me. She actually helped, and I didn’t want to give her any more time in my mind.
“She was sleeping a lot too, and then some nights . . .” Some nights she would be working out. Some days she slept two hours, and some days she slept twelve hours.
“Some nights?”
I shook my head. “I thought she had an eating disorder. I didn’t know she was suicidal. She never . . .” My throat was burning again. “Feeling hopeless, thinking about wanting to die, feeling trapped, feeling like being a burden, unbearable pain . . .”
I kept listing the symptoms. The checklist had been engraved in my memory since June thirtieth, last summer.
“I just thought she had an eating disorder, and I didn’t take it seriously. I thought they would help her. I just thought . . .”
How do you do this? How do you talk about how it was missed in one person, but it shouldn’t have been for another?
Naomi sat forward, leaning down so her arms were resting on her legs. “Mackenzie, I’m confused.” Her voice was quiet. It was always quiet. She paused as if she was unsure of what to say, but I knew that couldn’t be true. Counselors knew what to say. They understood things the rest of us didn’t. They understood us even when we didn’t understand ourselves.
Right?
Then Naomi spoke again, her voice still soft and delicate, as if she were trying to trick me into opening up to her. “I haven’t pushed about your sister’s suicide note, but I know you read it. Your parents told me. It was right next to her when she, when you . . .” Another awkward cough. “When you found her. Your mother told me it was in your hands, but you won’t talk about it and acknowledge it. I think . . .”
Yes, Naomi. Tell me what you think. Tell me how I’m supposed to process and grieve, and more importantly, tell me how I’m supposed to tell the truth about the worst day of my life. Tell me, please.
I raged at her in my head, but not one of those words passed my lips. I was a statue, my head turned away, my usual stony expression firmly in place.
Yes, there were cracks. Yes, some of the cuts had healed. Yes, I had a new layer on the outside. My life had changed. It wasn’t exactly better. There was no world where I would say it was better without my sister, but it was different.
There were days I felt good. There were days I was convinced I’d already gotten my happily ever after. There were days I felt stronger than before. But then there were days I missed Willow so much I wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. There were days the hole inside me ached so much that I was convinced I’d actually lost a lung or my liver or half my heart. Those were the days when I understood the unbearable pain she must’ve been in.
But there was still something no one knew. Only Willow.
It was something that tricked me at times—into thinking I was in an alternate universe. If I thought about it, a crack in my foundation would open completely, and everything would fall in. And I didn’t know how I would survive if that happened, but I had to talk about it today.
Ten months of counseling. Almost a year since Willow died.
I had healed. I had gotten stronger. I had persevered, but this one thing still haunted me. Maybe this was the real reason Willow haunted me? She wasn’t around as much, but I still felt her, and I always knew she wanted me to tell the truth, but it scared me.
My voice would leave me, literally, in those times. It was as if I were too scared to talk about it because I was too ashamed.
“Mackenzie?” Naomi had scooted her chair even closer. “What’s going on with you?” Her hand came down on mine. “You’re trembling.”
“I’m getting better.”
“I know you are.” I heard the pride in her voice. Her hand squeezed mine. “You and Ryan are good?”
I nodded.
“You went to prom together? I saw pictures in the local paper. I didn’t realize they did that, but I guess when it’s Ryan Jensen, anything goes, huh?”
“He was prom king.”
She lifted her hand and sat back. She was getting comfortable again. “Were you prom queen?”
I shook my head. “Cora was.”
“And you were happy for her?”
I moved my head in the other direction, up and down this time. “Yes. She deserved it. She’s one of the most popular girls now.”
“If I’m remembering correctly, you had a part in that, didn’t you? You took her under your wing, like Willow did with you. Am I right?”
God. My throat was searing.
It was never going to go away. I realized it then.
I looked at her, meeting her gaze, and the words choked out of me. “I’m never going to fully heal, am I?”
The sadness in her eyes answered me, but she said, “Losing a twin is like losing a mother, or a father, or a soul mate. I can only imagine that it would be worse in some ways. So no, Mackenzie. I think it’s a hole you’ll feel for the rest of your life.” Her lips pressed together, and she scooted close again, leaning down so she was almost touching my knees. “I don’t think this last year was about you healing or getting over Willow’s death. I think it was about learning to cope, and I think you’ve done a remarkable job.”
But she didn’t know.
No one knew.
Except Willow.
“You wanted to talk about Willow’s suicide note?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. I had brought it up, not her. That wasn’t how this went.
“Yeah. I wanted to talk to you about it at our last few sessions, but you seemed so much better when you came in, so I didn’t push.” Her head inclined toward me. “Do you want to talk about it today?”
No. But I had to. “Willow never talked about feeling trapped or hopeless. She never talked about suicide, but those are some of the signs.”
“There are others, but yes. The list you mentioned are some of the warning signs, if people are looking for them, but sometimes, it’s really hard to see everything the way it is, or for what it is. Your parents were worried about your sister, but they were worried about you too. Moving right before your senior year can be upsetting for any teenage girl. But Mackenzie, you can’t beat yourself up for not seeing the signs.”
I shook my head. “Willow never talked about that.”
“Maybe not, but it was what she was feeling. She talked about being invisible, feeling worthless, of not being able to compare to her siblings. I can tell you that even if she didn’t say the words, she was feeling all of those things.”
Naomi’s tone shifted, and she frowned, looking at the ground for a moment. “I’m confused about the direction of this conversation. It seems as if you don’t believe your sister’s feelings. It was all in the suicide note.” She took my hand again. There was usually a no-contact policy with Naomi. She didn’t even like hugs, which I was fine with. I liked touching Ryan, and I liked hugging Robbie, but that was it. No matter my progress over the year, I still held back with my parents and everyone else. It wasn’t that I didn’t love them or like them; it was just me. It’d been me since Willow died.