I know they’re going to worry because it’s not my normal night or time to check in.
I just need to talk to them. It’s been days since I was with Amy and I can’t hold the truth back any longer. In fact, the more I sit with it, the more muddled my thoughts get.
It was all a lie.
She proved it.
And I lost my right to know anything.
“Brennan?” my mother answers, already wary. Ever since my injury, her voice hesitates before she hears that I’m okay. I know that even across thousands of miles she’s running through a maternal checklist to make certain she doesn’t need to jump on a plane and cross the Atlantic.
“Hi, Mam. Is Da there too?”
There’s a beat. Then my father’s voice, steady and cautious. “It’s late there,a mhac.” His buddy. He’s always called me that.
I rub a hand over my heart. “I needed to call. I—” I exhale. “I found out I was wrong.”
“Wrong about what? Playing?” my father asks.
“No, Da. In fact, I wish I’d never played if I could have spared her this.”
“Who?”
“Amy.” Her name is weighted down by the truth I now have in my possession.
My mother inhales sharply. “Go on. Tell us, then.”
I do. I tell them everything that came out from Mark, and his confessions about Brielle. To how I moved to Willow Creek, seeing Amy, bringing her the truth, and how she stood for her own honor. I conclude morosely, “She stood there all those years ago and begged me to listen to her.”
My mother snaps, “Jesus, Brennan. Didn’t I tell you to be sure?”
“I know.” My voice is a mere echo of the misery that’s taken residence in my soul.
She shouts. “I asked you if you were sure. Asked if you actually looked into the evidence or if you were just listening to gossip from people who stood to lose nothing.”
“I know,” I repeat, because when my mother’s on a rant, there’s nothing else to say.
“But no. You said you had it handled. Said I was being sentimental because you told me you were in love with Amy. That I wanted to believe the best of her because she was kind and smart and I wanted to believe in love. Who was right and who was wrong,a vick?”
Her calling me her son in that tone causes my stomach to churn since I can’t refute a single thing she’s saying.
“I knew something was wrong.” Her voice breaks. “I knew it.”
“She did.”
“When we would talk with her, she’d have stars in her eyes.”
I remember the excited chatter between my mother and Amy when we’d be at my apartment on a video chat. I close my eyes briefly. They open just in time for my mother to add to my shame. “Then, I told you I ran into her on campus after…everything. She was moving boxes and had bruises under her eyes, Brennan. Didn’t acknowledge me, even though I called out her name.”
It hurts knowing I didn’t just ruin my relationship with Amy, but the one my parents had with her as well. Despite the fact my father hasn’t said anything, waves of silent disappointment radiate through the line. I try to break in, “Mam?—”
Her voice cracks fully then. “Do you know how many times I’ve wondered what happened to her? Wondering if she was okay?”
I press my fingers into my temples. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
She snaps. “Just because it wasn’t your objective, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.” She goes quiet, and then I hear it—the soft, wrecked sound of her crying.
My chest caves in. I whisper, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
