“Right, dumb question.” She pulls out of the police station.
“Why did you…?” But I don’t have the strength to finish that sentence.
“You might say I’m the self-appointed family representative. Not that any of the rest of them know I’m here, but I thought you were at least owed an explanation.”
I'm not sure what she means. The side of her jaw is working, like she's trying to keep from crying. After a few moments of silence, she asks, “What did Michael tell you about our sister Kaylee?”
I search my addled memory for the name before it comes to me. “He told me she was killed in a car accident when she was fourteen and he was sixteen, that they were very close.”
Karen nods. “That’s not quite true. Kaylee died in an accident when she was fourteen, but it wasn’t a car accident. It was a hunting accident. Michael was the one who pulled the trigger." She's quiet for a long moment. "Kaylee wasn’t like the rest of us girls. She was more like Michael. She loved skiing and hunting, and sports. They did all of those things together. It was an accident, a terrible, tragic accident—more her fault than his, really, but it broke something inside of him. His grades tanked; he stopped doing all the things he loved; he stopped living.
“My dad’s solution was to put him in ROTC. It was a family tradition, he'd been an officer before he retired from the Army. Somehow he thought the discipline would help Michael. On the surface, maybe it did. His grades improved, he went back to skiing, he started being more of himself, almost but not quite. Michael has always been a people-pleaser. He wanted my dad to be proud of him. He didn’t want my mom to worry about him. He tried not to let anyone see how much being in the Army crushed him. I’d moved out of the house by then, but I saw what a horrible choice it was. My dad refused to.
Tears squeeze out from under my eyes. I hurt for Michael, for Jacob, for all of us.
“From what I’ve heard, he wasn’t always great at hiding it in the Army either. He got shuffled around a lot, because the officers over him weren’t sure what to do with him. Dad still had some friends in the Army, higher-ups who were willing to pave the way and keep things quiet—his drinking, his temper. Still, I think he was heading for another crash. Then he met you.”
Karen turns to look at me, and I’m not sure how to take her expression.
“Michael was most normal when he was with you. Most like the person he was before. I think we were all hoping you could fix him,”she looks away. “That's why we tried to push you together, why Mom and Dad were willing to pay for an apartment for you in Korea, when they realized he wasn't going to get out of that assignment. That wasn’t fair of us. There was no simple fix that would have worked for him, but hard fixes and facing the truth aren’t top priorities in my family. Success, pressure, keeping up appearances—that's what's important. Getting kicked out of the Army and not getting into medical school pushed him over the edge."
I'm struggling to process everything she said to me, I'm stuck on one minute detail. "He told me he'd gotten into UW medicine, that he was starting in a couple of months."
She shakes her head and puts the car in park. We’re in front of the hospital. “I don’t know what’s going to happen with you legal-wise, that’s not my area of expertise. But even if no one else in my family will do it, I’ll tell the truth about what was going on with my brother.”
I sit for a long moment, not sure what to say. “Thank you,” I finally say. “For bailing me out, for bringing me here, and for telling me the truth.”
I reach to open the door. Karen puts her hand on my arm. “I came here first. I had a consult with the surgeon. I've seen the prognosis, and it isn’t good. Even if Jacob comes out of this, there’s no guarantee he'll be–”
“Don’t,” I say to her with more strength than I thought I had left.
She sighs. “You’re young, you're beautiful, you’ve already been through more than anyone your age should have to go through. If he loved you as much as I think he did, he wouldn’t want you to stop living because he's not...”
I pull away, hating that she’s using the past tense when she talks about Jacob. I won’t accept that—no matter what the outcome of all of this—as long as he still wants me. I won’t leave him ever again.
eighty-three
Jacob: Breathe
The darkness is full of noise, cries of anger, pain, and fear. Explosions, smoke and mud. The acrid smell of gunshot mixes with blood.
I fight and fade. The images become clear, then fade away. I can’t open my eyes.
The noise changes.
The whoosh of machines. Pain. Fog I can’t escape. Something solid and smooth and warm. A hand in mine.
Voices.
“The surgeon did everything she could, but there’s still a lot of damage. The prognosis isn’t–”
“Don’t.” Her voice.
Steve's voice. “We need to consider what will happen if he can't breathe on his own. He wouldn't want to livethis way. You need to prepare yourself. I’m not trying to be cruel, but we can’t live on false hopes.”
“Hope.” She laughs, but it's the kind of laugh that hurts. “If false hope is all I have, I’ll take it.”
“You’ve always been incredibly stubborn. Especially when it comes to him. We're grateful for that.” Mom's voice breaks.
