“Why didn’t you tell me that Mallory was cheating in school?” I ask.
Dad glances over at me, eyebrows lifted. “How do you know about that?”
“I just do.”
He leans forward with his face in his hands. “I didn’t want her to be remembered for that.”
“But she—”
“It’s not important now,” he says. He shifts his weight again. “Your sister was a good person.”
But it is important. She jumped off a bridge because of it. “Is that what you told her when you found out?”
He can’t look at me, and his eyes water.
“What did you tell her?”
He takes a deep breath. “I told her I was disappointed in her.”
I bite my lip because I’m tired of crying, but it doesn’t do much good. Would that day have changed if he’d said something different? Would she be sitting between us?
Anger bubbles in my chest because for the first time since I lost Mallory, I’m upset with someone other than myself and Myles. He could’ve changed the outcome. I know I shouldn’t be upset with him, but I can’t help it. “You know why she did it, right?”
A puzzled expression falls over his face and he shakes his head.
“She was your little genius.” I wipe my cheeks and stare directly at him. “So she had to be perfect.”
I don’t know what I’m trying to accomplish. It’s not like this is going to change the past. It’s only hurting him more, but I’m in pain. I feel physically sick from seeing my sister try to kill herself and not being able to talk to anyone about it. It’s bottled inside of me like pent-up steam and I don’t know how much longer I can hold it in.
I wish I didn’t know the truth.
It would be easier.
Dad doesn’t say anything after that. After a few minutes he stands up, walks to his room, and closes the door. I just broke him, and I can’t help but wonder if he’ll come backout of that room or if he’ll leave me alone for months again.
I hug my knees as the guilt for hurting him immediately hits me in the chest. The room is big and lonely, making me feel like a speck of dirt.
Maybe pushing people away is all I’m good at.
I drag myself off the couch and up the stairs, stalling by Mallory’s door. I push it open and it’s the same as when I left it a year ago. Her backpack is still leaning against the bed and I can still picture the note, a crisply folded paper in the center of the comforter.
I wander closer to her bed and lie down, taking one of her pillows that somehow still smells like her and crying into it until I fall asleep.
“Emma?” It’s Mrs. Meyers.
I pry my eyes open.
She’s sitting on the bed next to me, patting my back. “Hello, dear.”
I prop myself up on my elbow, blinking until the room comes into focus. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Your dad went to work and asked me to stay with you today.”
That means I didn’t totally break him last night. He’s still functioning.
She stands up and pulls the curtain open to let more light in. It fills the room, but the light is cool, making the room feel gray.
“I made you some breakfast. Why don’t you change and come down?” she says.
