Unconditional

“You did?” I brighten, just a little.

Garrett nods, releasing my hand. “I haven’t heard the engine yet, either,” he points out. “You could catch her if you hurry.”

I stare at him, torn, then feel a surge of determination. I quickly get up. “I’ll see you later?” I check, already heading to the door.

“I’ll be around,” he says with a wink.

A sudden longing strikes through me. I want to kiss him, wrap my arms around his neck and taste a moment of oblivion, safe in his arms. But then I hear Juliet’s engine start outside. There’s no time.

“Thank you!” I call, sprinting away. I dash down the hallway and outside, bounding down the steps. “Wait up!” I call, watching Juliet reverse down the drive.

She pauses, waiting with the engine running as I catch up.

“What’s wrong?” She leans out the window.

“I want to come with you,” I say, catching my breath. “To see Mom. I mean, if that’s OK.”

Juliet looks surprised. “Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

“No, I want to,” I insist. “I can’t believe I forgot about it, of course I’ll come.”

Juliet pauses. I can tell she doesn’t want to agree, but she always hated confrontation. She takes a breath. “OK. You can come.”

17

Juliet doesn’t look happy to invite me along, but I’ll take what I can get. I climb in the passenger side, buckling my belt as Juliet finishes reversing and turns onto the main road. Houses and backyards drift by, the ocean glittering in the sun through the knot of trees.

“So…” I search for a safe topic of conversation, some place to begin aside from our tangled family history and all the drama we don’t talk about. “How’s Emerson? Is the restaurant coming along?”

“He’s good.” Juliet shoots me a sideways glance, as if to check that my question doesn’t hide some critical barb. “We found a great space, an old firehouse, but it’s been abandoned for years, so it’ll take a lot of work.”

“That sounds amazing. Will there be a theme, or…?” I pause, feeling awkward. “I guess I don’t know what it’s called, the type of restaurant.”

“Oh, no theme,” Juliet replies. “Just good food, you know, rustic, American-style. But he hasn’t figured out the menu yet; we won’t open for months.”

“Great,” I say again.

“And you?” Juliet asks politely. “How are things at work? Do they mind you taking time away?”

“They shouldn’t,” I try to joke, but it falls flat. “They let me go months ago.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

We fall silent. Juliet keeps her eyes fixed on the road and I turn to rest my head against the cool glass of the window and despair. Why did I let Garrett talk me into this? Anyone can see, Juliet doesn’t want to spend another minute with me. We’re so divorced from each other’s lives, we don’t even know what the other is doing.

This was a huge mistake.

Juliet turns, driving up the snaking road that leads to the cliffs on the far side of town. I feel my stomach twist tighter with every mile we travel. Mom doesn’t have a grave, not really. We scattered her ashes out over the ocean, that terrible summer almost five years ago. We said it was the cancer that stole her from us, and it was, in a way, but the truth is, it was a handful of tiny white pills she took one afternoon, ending her secret struggle for good.

I wasn’t there. I was off at the beach, working on my tan, texting my friends how I couldn’t wait for summer to be over. I couldn’t understand why Mom dragged us all out to Beachwood; I’d just graduated college and was about to go off on a big trip with my friends. The last thing I wanted was to be cooped up with her and Dad and Juliet, trapped in the middle of their terrible marriage like I always have been.

Mom told me it would be our last chance to spend summer together. I thought she meant before I moved out and started an adult life of my own. After it happened, I always wondered, did she plan it from the start? Did she know it would end here, one way or the other?

I wish she’d told us. I would have done it so differently. I would have been better, kinder, a different me. But she hid her illness from all of us, even as she got sicker and wasted away. Flu, she told us, it was a viral infection, and I guess I didn’t care enough to think twice.

I’ll never forgive myself for that selfishness.

Juliet found her; that’s the second thing I can’t forgive. She was the one to walk into that bedroom and see the body, lifeless on the bed. She called the ambulance, and she waited for it to come, all alone while I ignored her calls and flirted with the lifeguard and strolled into town to get an icecream, oblivious to the fact that just a few miles away, her life was being ripped apart.

I’m her big sister; I should have been there, protecting her. I should have sheltered her from the pain. But I was selfish instead, too wrapped up in my own guilt and grieving to think twice about her pain. Even when Emerson broke up with her, a double heartbreak, and I could see she was falling apart, I couldn’t bring myself to share in her misery. I didn’t want to risk piercing my walls of denial; I was scared that if I shouldered her burden too, I might just break. So I pretended I didn’t see the depths of her despair; I kept right on going with my own, flimsy life. And then I did the worst thing of all.