Page 91 of Resist

“About everything.”

“What do you mean everything?”

“About . . .” She blinked her eyes a few times as she stared at me. “About Uncle James.”

“That he was mean to us? That he . . . I don’t know what—Sam, what do you mean?”

“You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” She shoved away the tears that slid down her cheeks with the back of her hand and sniffled. “Just know that Grandma didn’t want to help us. She didn’t think he was mean, because a brilliantly educated man like him wouldn’t hurt us. But he did, Vee. And now we’re gone from there, and we’ll figure things out. We’ll wait a few more days, and then we can go back to the bus station for the stuff I stashed there in the locker. We can sell some of it off to have a place to live for a bit, get jobs . . . we’ll make this work.”

The waves crash on the beach. The day is dreary like my mood, and the few straggling tourists daring to brave the wind have their hands holding their hats down but only last a short time before heading back to the safety of the casino.

But I pay no attention to them.

Instead I remember the absolute hurt that flashed across Samantha’s face when she realized I didn’t remember . . . and then the relief that followed soon after that makes so much sense now when it didn’t back then.

And my heart hurts because of it.

For the fact that Samantha had to face this all alone, had to find a way to suffer in silence so that she wouldn’t burden me with what I couldn’t remember. So that I could have a chance at the happiness she spent a lifetime struggling unsuccessfully to find.

I lose hours.

I walk down the strip and stare at the entrance to the first casino that gave us jobs and a room to stay at a reduced rate. So much hope and despair shared in this place. So many memories I’d never take back regardless of how good or bad they were.

Because this was before the drugs took my place in her heart. This was when we depended on each other in this life of nothing, when for so long we had every material thing we wanted at our fingertips.

Everything, that is, except for safety.

Then I continue down memory lane—to where we’d gorge on hot dogs because they were a dollar a dog on Thursdays, and that was all we could afford. We ate like queens on that day and then went back to our rooms with upset stomachs but smiles on our faces. I venture to see if the secret entrance to a rival casino is still there. It was where we could sneak in, sit in the hall, and listen to the live music. We’d close our eyes, pretending we were in the room watching the performance, and then later as we lay on our beds, compare notes over what we thought the musician looked like.

Then my thoughts veer to the first time she brought a man back to the hotel room we lived in. There was nowhere else for me to go at two in the morning, so I had to put a pillow over my head to shut out the noises he made and the tears she cried when she crawled into bed to snuggle with me after he left.

Too many memories of a life I lived but never really understood. Too many recollections of things when I leave here today that I’ll put behind me and never look back on again. Too much emotion for a sister I now realize I could have saved if I’d just known what my memory was blocking out sooner.

When I finally leave with the casinos’ flashing lights that cut through the moonless night sky, I feel no better than when I came here this morning.

But I’m no longer angry at Samantha for leaving me alone. For leaving me to fight for her now.

Do I miss her? God, yes, with every ounce of my being . . . but I no longer hate her for her decision. I never understood why she’d choose the drugs over me, why she chose death over Lucy . . . and I still don’t, but I no longer can blame her for it like I’ve been doing.

She saved me. She protected me.

The one thing I do know is that now more than ever, I have to somehow repay Samantha for everything she did for me. For the hurt she held on to and for the pain she tried to dim with drugs until she couldn’t anymore. For the chance she gave me at having a normal life when she couldn’t have one.

I have to fight for Lucy.

That more than anything is crystal clear.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Vaughn

Exhaustion is an understatement when I hit my front porch.

The packages sitting there take me by surprise. A bouquet of flowers with a sunshine balloon attached by an orange ribbon. A stuffed pillow that’s covered in sequins that spell out PRINCESS sits next to it, and I assume it is for Lucy.