This is What Goodbye Looks Like (35 page)

He kisses me softly on my neck, making my heart kick. “But I don’t think being selfish is actually your issue,” he murmurs. “I think you honestly believe your sister might make it through this, and if you believe that... Well, then who’s to say you’re wrong? You’re her older sister. I doubt anyone knows her better, and if you have faith in her, then maybe other people also should.”

“But it’s just blind faith, and I know it,” I say quietly. “Her doctors think I’m wrong.”

He gives a small smirk. “I have to admit, I don’t see what’s so terrible about blind faith.”

I choke out a small laugh, but then I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling another round of tears coming on. Only this time, they’re the relieved kind. “Thanks for not telling me I’m crazy. Just...thanks.”

Seth just nods and kisses me lightly on the lips. We’re quiet for a long minute, and then I ask, “Is Brie coming back this semester?”

I want to know for sure she’s coming back before I tell him who I actually am. He’s going to need her to lean on.

“Of course,” he says. “She said she’s probably going to be back next week.”

I let out a relieved breath. Then I bite my lip and say, “She told me about Bailey. That he’s actually her son, I mean.”

Seth freezes. Seconds tick by, tense and silent, and then he says, “I’m glad she told you. I’ve always done my best to be there for her, but she needed to tell another girl. Someone who can actually kind of get it.”

“I don’t know how well I handled it,” I say, thinking of how haunted and terrified Brie had looked right before she left.

“Did you freak out?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“And did you comfort her the best you could?”

“Of course. I just kind of held her for a bit and let her cry.”

“Then you handled it just fine.” He lets out a sad sigh. “It’s not like she told you because she was expecting you to take away the pain. She told you because she decided she wants you to know who she really is. She’s trusting you, not asking you to fix things for her.”

I wince. “Seth, there’s something I need to tell you,” I murmur, the words falling out of my mouth slowly and painfully. There’s no point drawing this out any longer—waiting to tell him is no longer a good option. He deserves the truth, and he deserves it now, before he wastes any more affection on me.

“Is it something happy?”

“No,” I say. “Definitely not.”

His mouth dips into a frown, although he doesn’t look all that surprised. “Is telling me a matter of life or death?”

“Not life or death. But really important.”

Without any warning, he kisses me on the lips. His lips are gentle against mine, and he cups my face in his hand, softly stroking my cheek with one thumb. It seems like the kind of kiss most guys wouldn’t use while lying in bed with a girl. But it also seems perfect, gentle and sweet and completely Seth.

When he finally pulls away from me, he wraps me back in his arms and presses one more tender kiss against my forehead. “Do me a favor and wait until tomorrow to tell me,” he says. “Let’s let tonight be a happy night. We might have figured out how to save your sister, Bailey is better, and I have you in my life. I don’t want to deal with anything sad right now. I just want to be happy for once.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Seth, I need to—”

“You need to let me hold you and shush,” he says, cutting me off with a teasing smile. He runs his palm up and down my back and presses his forehead against mine. “There’s nothing you could possibly be stressing about that can’t wait until the morning. Please. Just give me one night to be happy. I’ve missed this so bad.”

He looks like an angel with the moonlight filtering in and making his hair shine, and it’s all so similar to that first night I talked to him out on the back patio of the pizzeria. Except that back then, he reminded me of corpse, and now I realize he’s the most alive thing I have. I reach up with a shaky hand and brush his hair out of his eyes, revealing those beautiful hazel irises that see all of me and none of me.

“One more night,” I murmur. “Then we need to talk.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

It’s almost dawn when I feel Seth’s fingertips stroke my cheek, lightly gliding along my skin and brushing the hair out of my face. I keep my eyes closed and continue to pretend sleeping, not knowing if I can survive another conversation without breaking down and admitting to everything. He pauses, like he’s waiting to see if I’m awake enough to react to his touch.

When I don’t, he presses a soft kiss right below my ear and whispers, “I wasn’t sure it was possible for me to feel like this anymore, but I think I love you.”

It’s the first time in almost a year that I’ve heard those words and believed in them completely. My response nearly leaps from my mouth, desperate to escape, desperate to tell him I feel the same way for him.

But I force myself to swallow back the words, staying silent and letting him think I’m still sleeping. I’ve hurt him so much with my lies, but right now, keeping this truth from Seth might be the only gift I can possibly give him.

Sometimes love is purest when it’s not voiced.

Chapter Thirty-Four

When I wake up the next morning, I’m sick. And not just emotionally sick, but vomiting-my-guts-out, pounding-headache, just-kill-me-now sick. Seth stays with me for awhile, but he’s just making me feel worse with his concerned fussing, so I tell him I want to be alone.

He finally leaves when Ms. Thorne comes in and starts fussing just as much as Seth. She can’t seem to decide if she’s more upset about Seth obviously spending the night in my room or about me being sick. I tell her one last lie and say I was sick all night, and that’s why Seth stayed here. That settles her a bit, and she just clucks her tongue and tells me it’d better never happen again.

Seth texts me a few minutes after leaving and tells me Landon is also feeling like crap, so it’s probably just food poisoning. Landon and I had been the only ones to order ranch dressing with our burgers, so it makes me feel a little better to know I’m not contagious. At least when I leave, I’ll only give Seth a screwed up heart. His stomach is safe for now.

After every last bit of my dinner comes up, I spend the day huddled in a pile of blankets, hating life. Ms. Thorne comes in to check on me every few hours, shoving cups of water into my hand and nudging saltine crackers my way. I’m going to miss her. As much as I hate to admit it, she reminds me of my mom, and I think that’s the only reason I let her take care of me.

Around two in the afternoon, my fever finally goes down a bit. I end up in a staring contest with my cell phone, but finally work up the energy to reach over and grab it from my nightstand. It takes me another minute before my fuzzy brain remembers I have to dial if I want to talk to someone.

I erased her contact months ago, but somehow I manage to punch in the right numbers. It takes four rings before anyone picks up. Then the line clicks, and a whispery voice say, “Lea?”

My stomach drops, and I realize I must be sicker than I thought. Hearing her voice hurts more than all my aching muscles combined, and my brain must be totally fried if I’m willingly seeking out this pain.

“Hey.” My voice is a soft croak, partially from my raw throat, and partially from the fear and anger choking me.

There’s a long silence. “Lea, this is Mom.”

I know what she’s actually saying:
“Did you dial the wrong number? Do you really want to be talking to me?”

“I know it’s you,” I murmur.

Another silence, although this time I can practically feel the shock stunting her voice. She clears her throat, and then her words get all stilted and uneven as she blurts out, “I miss you, sweetie. And I love you so, so much. I hope you know that. It’s...it’s just hell not having you around the house.”

“Yeah.” I bite my lip. “Okay.”

“Are you alright? You sound terrible. What happened, sweetie? Do I need to come get you?”

The question slams into my gut so hard, I almost throw up again. This is why I haven’t voluntarily talked to her in months. It’s little phrases like that—
Do I need to come get you?
—that hurt more than anything.

She used to ask me that all the time when I was little. If I was away from home and had the slightest worry, I’d borrow a phone and call her, and she’d always offer to come pick me up and take me away from whatever was scaring me. I rarely took her up on the offer, but her words were still a comfort. Back then, I actually believed in her powers to keep me safe.

“Sweetie, are you there?” Her words are a hollow, ruined version of her old voice, much higher and scratchier than she used to sound. “Are you okay?”

“I... I don’t know.”

“What’s wrong?” she blurts out. “What happened? I’m coming to get you now, okay? I’ll be on the next plane out there, I promise.”

She sounds nearly hysterical, so I quickly say, “It’s just food poisoning, Mom. I’m not in danger or anything. You don’t need to come get me.”

“Do you need to go to the hospital? Oh god, can you even get to the hospital? I was just checking the weather over there, and it says you had a storm recently, so I know—”

“Mom.” I cut her off sharply, forcing my voice to rise in volume. “It’s okay. Don’t panic. I’m fine, alright?”

My eyes burn with tears. For so long, Mom was the one who protected me. But now it’s flipped. She’s the one I need to shield from the truth—that I’m not fine, that everything’s wrong now, that it’s all her fault.

Telling her those things would shatter the last remnants of her, and...I can’t do that to her. She screwed up, but I did, too. Maybe other people should truly despise every part of her for what she did, but I can’t.

She breathes a relieved sigh and then quietly asks, “What can I do to make you feel better?”

“I have a teacher keeping an eye on me and making sure I don’t get too sick,” I say. “And if I do, it’d be easy to go into the doctor’s. So, seriously, you can stop worrying.”

“But I’m always worried about you. You’re so far away.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why I’m calling. I need you to call the office at Harting and tell them I’m going back to San Diego tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Lea, you can’t travel if you’re sick. What if you end up getting worse while you’re on the plane?”

I grit my teeth, hating that it’s actually a good point. “Okay, fine. The day after tomorrow. It’s just food poisoning, so I’m sure I’ll be fine by then.”

“Why are you in such a rush to get home? Did something happen?”

“I realized Dad is right.” Not an easy thing to say, but the best lie I can think of. “Getting sick made me realize it’s not safe for me to be so far away from home. And I miss San Diego. He’s right, I never should have come here in the first place.”

“You’re really coming back home?”

“Yeah.”

“And...and are you really talking to me again? Or was your dad just not picking up his phone?”

I swallow hard. “I’m talking to you again. For real.”

She makes a little choked sound, like she’s trying to hold back a sob. “Thank you. I’ve... I’ve missed talking to you so much. You have no idea.”

“So will you do it?” I ask, clearing my throat a little. “Call the front office, I mean?”

“Of course,” she says. “But I’ll tell them you’re just visiting home for a few days. I don’t want to officially pull you out until you’ve had more time to think this over and make sure leaving is the right thing. If I say you’re just taking a short absence, it’ll make going back easier if you decide to.”

She sounds so much like her old self when she talks like that. Always thinking ten steps ahead, carefully planning the logistics of everything.

“Okay, that works.” I bite my lip. “I should go now. I’m tired.”

“Alright,” she murmurs, and the hurt and disappointment in her voice is so clear it cuts into me like a serrated blade.

But really, what was she expecting? A long, heart-warming conversation? I might be talking to her again, but that doesn’t change the facts. She killed a boy. She sent Camille into a potentially fatal coma. She drove Jeremy away.

She hurt all of them.

She hurt
me.

“I’m sorry, Lea,” she says. She doesn’t say exactly what she’s apologizing for, but I think that’s kind of the point. The list of things she should apologize for seems to grow every day.

I force in a deep breath. “Mom?”

“What is it?”

I hesitate, not wanting to say the words, but unable to keep the truth in any longer.

“I miss you.”

“Oh, Lea.” She sniffles a couple times before she manages to speak again. “I miss you, too, sweetheart.”

But the difference is that she’ll get me back when I come home. I’ll have a skeletal shell to greet when I return to San Diego, but it won’t be Mom. Not really.

“Bye,” I murmur.

“I’ll see you in a couple days,” she says. “When you book your ticket, let me know your flight times, okay? I’ll pick you up from the airport.”