I nod, strangely nervous.
She leans forward. Above her, the clouds shift in the sky. “Consider the possibility that Ginny wasn’t rejecting you by planning to leave the band. That instead, she was simply exploring a new adventure, confident in the knowledge that no matter what she did or where she went, you would always be there for her. Perhaps you did such a good job loving her that she believed there was nothing she could ever do that would cost her her big sister. Can you entertain the possibilitythat Ginny applying to med school was a demonstration of faith in your bond?”
Tears of protest fill my eyes.
“And,” Dr. X continues, before I can say anything, “I’d like you to consider that Ginny might not have believed she was responsible for you in the same way that you, the elder sister, decided you were responsible for her. Consider that Ginny never expected you to burden yourself with maintaining her legacy or keeping her alive. Thatyouput those tasks on your shoulders out of misguided love, and guilt, and pain, but your sister would hate to see you struggling.”
For a long time, I can’t speak. What Dr. X has described is not the version of the truth I’ve been living with, but God help me, it sounds like something Ginny would say. I take a deep, shaky breath. “She always was the smart one.”
To my surprise, Dr. X reaches forward and covers my shaking hand with hers. “Loss gives us an unexpected gift.” Her grasp is warm as the sunlight. “Yes, it turns our lives inside out. But in tearing everything up, it can force us to make radical changes that were long overdue. You’re alive and Ginny isn’t, Hannah. There’s nothing you can do to change that. But Ginny’s giving you a second chance to start fresh. I know she’d want you to take it.”
Chapter 59
Hannah
Friday, January 3, 2025
For the rest of my life, every beach will belong to Ginny. Even the Atone Center’s few miles of shore. We normally saw the beach at sunrise, coming out early to surf while the world was still waking up, but sunset has its own magic. The sun’s starting to sink and turn the sky a brilliant orange pink. Luckily, they’re screening a new superhero movie in the treatment center’s auditorium, so I’m the only person left out here.
Without ceremony, Ginny appears next to me in the sand, knees drawn up. I’ve imagined her in her favorite sweater, the blue one that made her eyes luminous. She looks out over the ocean instead of at me.
“I bet it’s going to be strange,” she says, “going to the beach with-out me.”
I follow her lead and watch the waves. “A lot of things are going to be strange from now on.”
We say nothing for a moment. The sound of the water tumbling over the sand is almost hypnotic.
“Thank you for coming,” I say finally.
“You’re the one in charge, remember?”
“Right.” Two gulls swoop low in front of us, calling for each other. “I know the last time we talked, it was rough. I was pretty upset.”
She dips a finger into the sand and traces the letter G. “Are you done being upset?”
I watch her spell her name in the sand. “I wish you could tell me why you decided to go to med school.”
“You know I can’t,” she says simply. “It’s always going to be an unanswered question. You’re just going to have to believe what Dr. X said. That I wanted a new adventure and had faith you’d love and support me.”
“Okay,” I say softly. “I can try.”
“You brought me here to say goodbye, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.” I nudge her knee with mine. “I think we both know I can’t keep this up much longer.”
She looks down at the sand. Then wipes away her name with the palm of her hand. “If I’m not here with you, where will I be?”
My throat feels thick. “I’ve been asking myself that same question.” The sun inches closer to the water. It makes a shining path from the horizon to the shore. “What if we agreed to pretend you’re up there?”
She follows my gaze. “In the sun?”
“In the sky. The sunlight and clouds. That way, when the sun comes out every day, I can imagine you looking down on me. And when it’s rainy, I’ll pretend you’ve gone away to rest.”
“It’s never rainy in Southern California.”
My voice breaks. “Then I guess you’ll have to stick around.”
She turns her whole body toward me. The magic hour makes a halo of her hair. “Thank you for the songs you wrote about me. They were a good gift.”
