She looks away as she props her chin up on her good hand. I pause, waiting for her to say something as a tear streams down her face.
Finally, she takes a deep, shaky breath. “You were always so afraid Mom and Dad were going to leave you, but I was just as terrified I was going to lose my brothers—and I did.”
“But you didn’t lose us,” Ford says.
“Dude, you have to listen,” I say. “You have to listen to her feelings. Not to start a fight, but that’s one of the biggest issues you have. You scratch the surface with us; you don’t dive deep. So listen to Palmer.”
Understanding crosses his face as he nods. “Sorry. Why, uh . . . why did you feel like you were losing us?”
Palmer looks grateful for the moment to speak candidly. She takes her time, though.
“I always . . . well, I always had you two by my side, loving on me, playing with me. I know you worshipped me more than you should have—I was definitely spoiled—but you two were amazing brothers growing up. Always dealing with my annoying little-sister tendencies. But because of the age gap, you left before I was ready to say goodbye, before I was ready to give up those everyday interactions. And I know it’s not your fault, but it still gutted me. Ford, you took off, and it felt like you didn’t look back. You came home for holidays and summers, but you were different. Serious. Didn’t want to goof around, and it felt like you didn’t have time for me anymore. And Cooper, you stayed at home, and I cherished those moments with you, but they also started to dwindle, especially when you met Dealia. I felt abandoned, and it’s stupid because I know we’re all supposed to move on, but . . .”
“You weren’t ready.”
She shakes her head. “No. I wasn’t. And there was no proper goodbye, you know? You both just floated away.”
“Is that why you didn’t have a good senior year?” Ford asks.
Palmer nods. “I struggled. Honestly, I was lucky I got into NYU early after the grades I pulled.”
“And the fire,” I press, though gently this time.
Another tear streams down her face, but she doesn’t wipe this one away. “But . . . the cameras weren’t even running at that point, and they were destroyed in the fire. How do you know?”
“We love you, Palmer, but Mom and Dad had those security cameras, which you thought made the store look so hideous, installed that year because things were starting to be stolen. Some of your friends were a bit too friendly with the merchandise, apparently. And this is a small island—word spreads quickly, especially secrets. Between the rumors and the thefts, Mom and Dad realized their daughter was having parties in the store. Sure, they didn’t have footage of what happened the night of the fire, but they knew it was you.”
Guilt is written all over her face. “Why didn’t they say anything?”
“They wanted you to learn the hard way. They thought if the cops were called or something bad enough happened to scare you, that would teach you a better lesson than any lecture they might give you. But then the fire started. And they were in shock; we all were. We thought that was it—you were going to finally tell us—but you never did.”
“I was too ashamed,” she says. “I thought that Mom and Dad bought the story that I didn’t start the fire but was just trying to put it out, save the store. I thought it would all be okay, but that was the beginning of the end, wasn’t it?”
I nod. “It was for me. That’s where I felt the disconnect between us start to happen.”
“I encouraged Cooper to say something to you,” Ford says, “since you two were closer at the time. But he wouldn’t.”
“I didn’t have it in me,” I admit. “I couldn’t look you in the eye, knowing you didn’t claim one ounce of responsibility, especially after seeing how distraught Mom and Dad were. So, Ford and I got into a huge fight over it. We blamed each other for not saying something to you sooner.” I sigh, remembering all the useless anger, the hurtful words we threw at each other. “Nothing came of the fight besides resentment—neither of us could take the blame, could solve the problem—and as a result, we ended up going months without talking. After that, it felt like our relationship was never really the same.”
Ford nods. “Yeah. And you know Mom and Dad; they were never ones to truly punish us but to wait for us to learn from our mistakes. Since you never confessed, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I told them that since you didn’t show any responsibility or regret for what happened, I didn’t want you working with the business.”
“That’s why you’ve never offered me a job or included me in developments.”
Ford nods. “I didn’t want someone who didn’t care about the store to be a part of it.”
“But I do care.” Palmer faces us now and wipes at her eyes. “I care so much. I have some of my best memories at the store, especially—” She chokes up as a sob escapes her. “Especially with you two. I couldn’t face your anger, your disappointment in me. It was cowardly of me not to say anything, not to own up to what I did. And not a day goes by that I don’t regret it. You two are my heroes, my . . . my everything. Being connected to the store meant I was connected to you. And then I lost it—by my own doing, but it was still a loss. So I did everything I could to flee, to build my own life, to prove to you that I didn’t need my heroes in my life, that I could do it on my own . . . but I can’t.” She sucks in a sharp breath, and I feel the sudden, surprising urge to hug her. “I can’t do any of this on my own.”
“You’ve done a lot on your own,” Ford says. “Give yourself credit.”
“But it’s landed me with no money, no actual job, and no home. I’ve failed. And I came back here, trying to show you just how great my life is, when it’s really not great at all.” She presses her shirtsleeve to her eyes, so I get up and grab a box of tissues off the counter. I hand them to her, but instead of taking them, she takes my hand, tugging it so I sit down next to her. She looks me in the eyes. “I’m so sorry, Cooper.” She reaches her hand out to Ford, and he scoots closer as well. “I’m so sorry, Ford. I hurt you both, lost your trust, and I’ve fucked up this family.”
“We all did,” Ford says. “You were right: I haven’t taken the time to listen to you two. I’ve just pretended like everything is okay so that I can keep moving forward with the business. But I think I’m struggling so much because the core of the business is this family. I don’t really know it anymore.”
“And I should have spoken up,” I say, realizing this isn’t all Palmer’s fault. It’s all of ours. We all failed each other at one point or another. Even our parents, although that’s hard to admit because I hold them on a pedestal. I know they always let us solve our problems with each other, among siblings, but I think they approached this wrong. They should have stepped in. “Not just about the fire, but about everything. I’ve been harboring all these feelings, especially about Mom and Dad. I’ve been clinging to my resentment, my inadequacies, and I’ve taken them out on you two. My failure to go for the things that would make me happy has a lot to do with my fear of losing Mom and Dad, something I’ve been discovering in therapy.”