This is What Goodbye Looks Like (45 page)

“Your mom is home,” he tells us, not bothering with a greeting. “She didn’t want to keep staying at Uncle Jack’s house. Says it’s too tense there.”

Jeremy crosses his arms and stays just outside the room. “Camille’s doing the same, thanks for asking,” he says, spitting out the words in a sarcastic growl.

Dad’s voice remains calm as he replies—I think he’s just too exhausted to take Jeremy’s bait. “I know she’s the same,” he says. “That’s why we’re terminating her life support. Because she’s not getting better, and because it’s not right to keep her on life support when she’ll never actually be alive again.”

“You’re wrong,” I say. “She moved.”

It must be the hundredth time I’ve insisted this, although I’m also too tired to put much anger into my words. All I want to do is go hide in my room, where I don’t have to worry about running into Mom. Although, chances are, she’s already locked herself in my parents’ bedroom, where she’s been spending most of her time since the accident.

Dad lets out a long sigh and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Lea, you need to take down that campaign. Now. It’s drawing unneeded anger toward your mom, and that’s the last thing she needs with her trial coming up.”

“Keep Camille on life support, and I’ll take it down,” I say.

Dad shakes his head. “You know I can’t do that, Lea.”

“You can!” I snap. “There has to be some way. Sell the house, take out a loan, do
something
. Just give her one more month on life support. Please. She moved, Dad, I swear. She’s close to waking up.”

“Lea, you and I both know she didn’t move,” Dad says. “You need to stop this.”

“No,” I growl.

“Do you think your mom isn’t seeing this?” Dad demands, suddenly raising his voice. “She’s reading every single comment people are leaving. Murderer. Bitch. Psycho. Those people on your campaign site are calling her all of those things!”

He waves at the stairs, gesturing vaguely toward their bedroom. “Her first court date is coming up soon, and I can barely even get her to say a word about it. This has completely put her over the edge!”

“Keep Camille on life support,” I say, growling the words as I repeat them, “and I’ll take it down. Otherwise, that campaign is staying up. Forty thousand might not be enough, but it’s a start, and I’m not just giving it up.”

Dad grits his jaw and heaves in a huge breath, but just as he’s about to let loose a pent-up lecture, my phone lets out a loud ping. I pull it out of my pocket and check its screen, because it gives me an excuse to not have to look at Dad’s reddened face.

There’s an alert from my school email account stating I have a new email. My breath catches as I see the name of the sender: Seth Ashbury.

It’s a forwarded email chain, and at first I think it must be a mistake that I received it, because it looks like a series of messages between Seth and his grandfather. But then I read the message at the very top, the one Seth addressed to me.

“I showed my grandpa your campaign for Camille. He’s been refusing to even acknowledge that your family exists since the trial, but seeing the amount of people supporting the campaign changed his mind. My family talked it over. All the paperwork you’ll need is attached here.”

I swallow hard, having no idea what to make of the message. There are about half a dozen PDF files attached to the email, and I hesitantly tap one open, cringing when I see it’s some sort of legal letter. Shit. The Ashburys must be trying to sue my family.

But as I scan over the letter, I realize it’s not talking about a lawsuit. Actually, it’s not talking about Mom at all.

I swallow hard and keep reading. My heart pounds in my chest and then stutters. I read it again. And again. And again. But not matter how many times I devour the words, they remain exactly the same.

Jeremy’s hand rests gently on my shoulder. “You okay, Lea?” His voice is soft and his eyes are wide with concern, and it’s not until then that I realize I’m shaking.

I nod my head, shake it, nod again, and finally give up on a logical response and shove my phone at him. Jeremy takes it like he thinks it might explode in his face, keeping the phone held at a distance as he squints at the tiny font of the email.

Dad lets out a frustrated sigh. “What’s happening?”

I clear my throat and sniff back the tears threatening to break loose. “It’s from Seth Ashbury,” I say, my voice so choked I can barely get the words out. “He emailed me.” It suddenly feels important to make that clear—that this email is intended for me, and not for either of my parents.

Dad lets out a loud curse. “He contacted you? Dammit, Lea, I told you nothing good could come from that campaign!”

His words confuse me for a moment, but then I remember that Dad has no idea I met Seth at Harting. Dad has zero clue about the photo project, or our relationship, or any of my confusing feelings. I open my mouth to explain and then slowly close it. What happened between Seth and me isn’t for Dad to know.

“Parker Ashbury had a large trust fund set up by his grandpa,” I say, stating the only facts that matter right now. “It was supposed to be for his college and any grad school he decided to attend.”

Dad scowls. “Why would the Ashbury boy be emailing you about this?”

“Seth’s giving the money to us,” I explain. “His family decided it was the best thing to do with it. They want us to use it to continue paying for Camille’s life support for a few months.”

Dad’s eyes widen until they’re practically bulging. Jeremy just shakes his head in amazement, a grin spreading across his lips as he reads the letter and confirms what I said. I just stand there and watch them both, scared that I’ll completely break down if I let myself show the relief and elation slowly starting to punch through my shock.

“This is amazing,” Jeremy says. “Completely amazing.”

“It is,” I murmur, because I can’t think of any other response. It’s probably the most charitable thing I’ve ever heard of anyone doing, but it somehow seems fitting. If anyone was going to make this happen, of course it’d be Seth.

I want to kiss him for it. But that would require Seth letting me near him, which he’s made clear he doesn’t want. He’s doing this for my sister, not me.

“There’s one hundred and thirty thousand dollars in the account,” Jeremy says, jabbing an excited finger at the phone’s screen. “If we combine that with the money from the campaign—”

“—you still wouldn’t have the funds for one month of life support,” Dad snaps, cutting Jeremy off. “This is ridiculous. Lea, I don’t know why you’re in contact with that boy, but I want it to stop. We’re not going to let your sister keep suffering just because the Ashburys think it’s a good idea. It’s not like they even understand the situation.”

“No.” I want to sound angry, but my voice is weirdly calm, like the rage surging through me has become my normal response to the things Dad says. “No, they don’t understand, because we’ve lied about everything, and they know it. But they’re still offering this.”

I take the phone back from Jeremy and hold it up. “We’re taking the money, and we’re using it for Camille, like the Ashburys want us to.”

Dad balls his hands into fists. “It’s pointless,” he insists. “Camille is gone, Lea. We can’t just keep extending her suffering. I want you to give that money back immediately.”

“No.”

The word is so quiet, at first I think I’m hearing things. But then I look toward the voice and find Mom standing in the entrance of the room. She’s dressed in sweats and a loose t-shirt, and her face is too thin and darkened with fatigue. But her tear-reddened eyes are fierce as they focus on Dad.

“No,” she repeats, her scratchy voice a little louder this time. “The money is for Camille. If the Ashbury family thinks this is what’s best, then we need to respect that.”

Dad blinks a few times, like he thinks Mom’s protest might be a hallucination. Then he shakes his head and says, “Sophia, you’re not thinking clearly.”

“And I haven’t been for a long time,” she says. “I don’t know much about the Ashburys, but I know they were good parents. They loved their boy more than anything. If they think taking Camille off life support is a bad decision...” She swallows hard. “I think I should trust their instincts more than mine. And... and I took so much away from them. If they want to help, I’m not taking that opportunity away from them, too.”

Dad grits his jaw. “But this won’t help. It’s not
right
, Sophia.”

Mom suddenly slams her hand against the wall, her shoulders crumpling like someone’s struck her in the back. “I killed their son!” she says, her voice a choked shriek. “
That’s
what’s not right! But they’re still offering to help my daughter. The least I can do is respect their wishes.”

Mom doesn’t wait for any response before turning to me. “It’s settled. We’re keeping her on life support as long as we possibly can. The campaign and the trust will cover the bulk of a month’s payment, and we’ll have another fifteen thousand if we add the money we’ve set aside for my attorney fees.”

Dad’s eyes grow wide with horror. “Sophia! If we don’t pay those fees, you’ll—”

“—have no fancy attorney to represent me,” Mom says. She straightens her shoulders and faces Dad, her voice steadying as she says, “I’ll have little choice but to get up there and tell the entire courtroom exactly what happened on that night. I drank too much. I caused an accident. I killed a completely innocent boy with my actions.”

I suck in a sharp breath. Knowing it was one thing. Seeing it on the video was another. But hearing Mom say those words out loud? It’s disgusting and heart-breaking and relieving in the most sickening way possible.

“Do you realize what you’re doing?” Dad demands. “If you want even a chance at freedom, you need the best attorneys you can get.”

“Freedom?” Mom repeats. She lets out a laugh that’s so choked, it sounds more like a sob. “No. That’s never been an option. I lost my freedom the moment I killed that poor boy.” She shakes her head suddenly. “No, that’s not quite right. The moment I first hurt my kids with my actions, I gave up any chance I had to live free.”

Dad shakes his head. “I can’t let you do this.”

“You can and you will,” Mom snaps, suddenly sounding stronger than she has in months. “I’m not behind bars yet. I can still make choices about Camille, and I say we respect the Ashburys’ wishes and keep her on life support. You can try to appeal that decision, but it’ll take months for the hospital to process that sort of request. And, in the meantime, Camille is staying on life support. I don’t care if I have to sell the house and everything we own to make it happen. I’ll find a way.”

Jeremy sweeps me into a giant hug. I hug him back, pressing my face against his shirt and feeling dampness on my cheeks. Part of me wants to wipe away my tears, to hide them like I usually do, but this time it seems right to let them fall.

Dad storms out of the room, and Jeremy finally lets me out of the embrace. He’s crying, too, but there’s a wobbly, relieved smile on his face.

“You did good,” he says to me. And then he turns to Mom. His smile fades, and his expression grows harder, but he says, “Thank you.”

Mom nods. “I’ll call Doctor Walsh right now. We have a lot to discuss.”

An awkward silence descends over us, and Jeremy tugs the phone out of my hand, pointing to the document still lit up on the screen. “Um, I’m going to go do some research on this. Figure out the best way to process the paperwork and stuff.”

He moves to leave, but then hesitates and raises a questioning eyebrow at me. I nod, telling him I can handle being alone with Mom. He gives a small nod in return and then heads down the hall, his nose buried in the phone as he scrolls through the email’s contents.

Mom clears her throat a little, and suddenly it’s like all the strength just slumps out of her. She stares at the ground, pressing a palm to her forehead, her shoulders shaking with barely-controlled emotion. Tears stain her cheeks as she meets my eyes briefly, but then she looks away.

I walk over and reach out a hand, resting it on her forearm. We both flinch a little, but Mom doesn’t try to pull out of my grasp.

“Mom,” I say, my voice choked. “You must hate me for turning over that video. And, just...that’s okay. I get it. But I need you to know that even if it doesn’t seem like it, I love you. I never wanted to hurt you. Really.”

“I love you, too, sweetie,” she murmurs. “More than you could ever imagine. And I could never, ever hate you.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, because even if the pain in her voice isn’t my fault, even if it deserves to be there, I still regret having to hear it.

“Don’t ever apologize for loving your sister,” Mom says, shaking her head. Then a wisp of a smile brushes against her lips. “I’ve made so, so many mistakes and done so much wrong. And...” She swallows hard and reaches out to take my hand, folding it into her own. “And thank you.”

I give her hand a tight squeeze, trying not to sound too confused as I ask, “For what?”

“For being proof that I did at least one thing right.”

Epilogue

Four Months Later

I’m staring into my closet, trying to decide what to wear, when I hear the knock at my door. I shoot a glance at the clock on my nightstand and curse. My first college class is about to start in thirty minutes, and I’m still in my PJs, too panicky to get anything right this morning.