She places her hand over mine, her warm palm grounding me to her phantom pain. “I’m not complaining, I still had a great childhood. But to me, his actions weren’t so… surprising.”
“And what about his death? It ruined our family.”
She smiles weakly as she shrugs. “Yes, it might have. But it started long before that.” She squeezes my hand. “What I’m saying is that I’d always been alert around Dad. Always attuned to the changes in his mood, but I’ve never felt the same around Jericho.”
Her sad eyes find mine and hold them.
“I know you’re scared of violence. I know that,” she repeats when she sees me opening my mouth to protest. “I know you don’t understand that, but I deal with it every single day. Sometimes it’s not as one-sided as it seems.”
“You sound like Grandma,” I mumble grouchily, already knowing I’ve been wrong to judge Jericho the way I did so fast. I thought only about myself without giving him thebenefit of the doubt. If he never talks to me again, that’s on me.
“I don’t know what to do,” I tell her finally, when all my words have run out. “He probably will never forgive me.”
Cheryl sighs, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear like she used to when we were kids. “You’re not asking the right question, Nora.”
“What do you mean?”
“You keep asking what you should do. Maybe you should be asking why you’re so scared to hear his reasons.”
I stare at her, surprised by the challenge in her voice. “I’m not scared.”
“Aren’t you?” She leans back, studying me. “You ran from him without hearing him out. You wouldn’t let him explain. That doesn’t sound like the sister I know.”
“The sister you know doesn’t date people who can’t control their anger,” I snap.
“The sister I know believes in second chances.” Her voice softens. “The sister I know has been looking for someone to see her—really see her—for years.”
I swallow hard. “I thought he did.”
“Maybe he still does.” She reaches across the table for my hand. “Look, I’m not saying you have to forgive him for not telling you. That’s on him. I’m saying maybe you should hear him out before you decide there’s nothing to forgive.”
“What if his reasons aren’t good enough?”
She shrugs. “Then at least you’ll know. But what if they are?” The way she says it… like she knows more than she’s letting on.
I look down at our joined hands, at the steady strength of my sister who’s never let me down. “I’m scared,” I admit finally. “Not of him. But of being wrong. Of relying on the wrong people again. Of ending up alone.” My voice drops to a whisper. “You’re right, I’m scared of everything.”
“Oh, Nora.” Cheryl squeezes my hand. “Being scared is normal.”
“You’re not scared of anything.”
She starts laughing. “I’m scared of everything. I mean it, almost everything.”
“Then how do you do the job you do every day?”
She shrugs. “I just show up and fight the fear every day.”
I blink. “So, I just need to show up?”
Her smile brightens her face. “Start with that and see how it goes.”
Fueled by Cheryl’s advice, I drive to Jericho’s house with my heart in my throat, rehearsing what I’ll say. But when I pull up, his truck is gone. The house sits dark and silent, like it’s holding its breath.
I wait for an hour on his porch, nestled in the comfort of his swing. Then two hours. He doesn’t come.
As the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across his empty driveway, I accept that he’s not coming back. Not today, at least.
I walk home, the weight of missed chances heavy on my shoulders. Grandma is in the kitchen when I arrive, stirring something on the stove that smells like childhood and comfort, and yet it’s not enough to calm my anxiety.
