Seven long years of remorse.
“Oh, Maddie.” She pulls me into her warm embrace and rocks me back and forth as I cry in her arms. “You’ve been holding onto this guilt for too long.”
“I-I never deserved her friendship.”
She leans back, shaking her head. “She would hate to see you like this. And I can tell you that, because she told me everything. She was never upset with you.”
I nod, swallowing hard. Because I know it’s true. My carefree, forgiving, wild-hearted friend would’ve hated knowing I was blaming myself.
“Maddie. You were still there for her in other ways.”
I shake my head. “I wasn’t.”
“You were,” she says with conviction. “By not knowing about the cancer recurrence, Camila was given a chance to embrace her life outside of her sickness. She was able to celebratebecoming a mom and have normal conversations without the underlying questions that often accompany cancer. You think you took a step back, but, Maddie, sweetheart, you were still in frequent contact. Maybe less than you had been before, but you spoke more than most friends. You were still her best friend, her sister, and I will always be thankful she had someone she could be herself with.” She smiles softly and takes my hand. “I know you’re upset she didn’t tell you, but you played a part, unbeknownst to you, that I will always be grateful for.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
“I mean every word. Now you need to let this go, Maddie. You’re punishing yourself for no good reason. It’s time to let the past be the past.”
Letting go of the past seems like it’s a common theme since last night, and it feels like something I want to do. But I’m afraid I don’t know how.
I stand and walk over to the collage of photos. Most of them now feature Claudina, but the older photos still remain. There’s one of the four of us—Nate, Leo, Camila, and me—posing in this very room before a night out. Another from summer camp, where our grins were big and sunburns were strong.
There’s even one of Claud and me from a visit with Harrison.
“Claud looks just like her,” I murmur.
“I know, she’s beautiful inside and out, just like her mother.”
I move down the wall, past photos of Juliette and Harrison. But just as I near the end, Rosa gently intercepts me, tugging me back toward the couch.
“Tea time,” she says a little too brightly.
I glance at the pictures, curious but unable to see anything.
It was almost as if she were preventing me from seeing the rest of the photos.
“Maddie Grace.” Rosa’s voice rouses me from a deep sleep.
I blink my eyes awake, and a waft of syrupy goodness invades my senses. “Is that your famous french toast I smell?”
“You know it. I made it just for you. To go.”
I sit and take a sip of the water she hands me. “To go? Kicking me out so soon?” I tease.
“No, but it’s ten in the morning, and I know you. Even though Leo called to tell you to stay home today, there is no way you’re missing a full day’s work. So you can eat it on your way home to change.”
She’s right.
I stand, yawning as I stretch. God, I wish I were a slacker. I’d love to stay home and sleep all day.
I’m exhausted.
“Thank you.” I take the breakfast and my now clean, dry clothes I wore here.
“I meant to ask, how’s your mom doing?”
God…another depression topic.
