Uncle Boone didn’t try to say more. I stood up and hurried back to my room. Where I could be alone. Where I wouldn’t have to talk.
Aunt Coralee came and knocked on my door a few minutes later. I assured her I was okay and wanted to be alone and didn’t want to talk about it.
She didn’t argue with me.
An hour later my bedroom window slid open, and West stepped inside. His face was etched with worry and concern. I stared up at him from my spot on the bed where I was sitting with my knees folded under me. The hollowness where the pain should be shattered, and the first tears broke free.
He was on the bed, pulling me into his arms, before the sobbing started. While I was safely tucked against him, I cried for all I’d lost. All I’d never have. I cried for my mother and how tragically she’d died. I cried for West and his dad. And I cried for me.
Epilogue
WEST
It wasn’t until we were sitting at Brady’s, looking through old photo albums several weeks later, that I realized who she was.
It was the Christmas that Brady and I were in seventh grade. He’d had to go to Tennessee for his family’s Christmas party, and he begged his mom to take me with him. I had been before and I knew how boring it was, but he was my best friend. So I went.
We always took our football and tossed it outside, even in the snow, while the party went on. The only time we went in with everyone was to eat. There weren’t any other kids but a girl. I had seen her a few years ago, the last time I came to this thing, but I hadn’t seen her this visit. Not that I was looking.
Brady had gone inside to help his dad, and I’d decided to explore the house. I didn’t get far before I heard someone crying. I debated going inside the room, hoping whoever it was didn’t notice me standing there in the doorway. But she lifted her head, and the prettiest green eyes I’d ever seen looked directly at me. Long dark hair framed her face. The pink-and-silver bedroom reminded me of something from a fairy tale. It fit her.
She sniffled and continued to look at me. I wasn’t sure if she wanted me to leave her alone or to ask her if I could do something. My momma hadn’t raised me to run off and leave a girl crying, so I’d walked over and sat down beside her.
“It can’t be all that bad. It’s Christmas,” I said, hoping to lighten the mood. I didn’t mention the fact she reminded me of a princess and I’d never seen one of those cry on television.
She sniffed again and wiped at her face. “It doesn’t feel like it,” she’d whispered back.
“What with all the Christmas music and the way this house is decked out with more decorations than the entire town of Lawton? How can it not feel like Christmas?”
The girl looked away from me. Her face remained sad. “Not everything is what it seems. Not everyone is what they should be or appear to be.”
How old was this girl? She talked like she was grown. But she didn’t look any older than Brady and me. “One of your friends do you wrong?” I asked. I knew about girl drama. Happened at school all the time.
“I wish,” she whispered, not looking back at me.
She wasn’t a real open book. I was getting tired of trying to cheer her up, because I obviously sucked at it. “Whoever it is isn’t worth your time if they’re making you sad like this.”
Finally she glanced back at me. “We don’t always get to choose who we give our time to. We don’t get to choose our parents, for example. And we don’t get to make their decisions for them. So it’s not that simple. He’s my dad. I love him. I have to love him. But he hurts her. She tries so hard to make him happy, but he’s always off with someone else. Like tonight. He’s supposed to be here. He promised her he would be.”
I didn’t know what that felt like. My parents loved each other and I could never imagine my dad hurting my mom. But it sounded like this girl had a very different life. One I wasn’t envious of. Even if her house was bigger than the church I went to on Sunday. It was even bigger than Gunner Lawton’s house, and that was big.
“Then yeah, that sucks,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
“Yeah, it does,” had been her only response.
Brady had called my name then, and because I didn’t know what to do or what to say, I left her there. When she’d come to eat, I couldn’t make eye contact with her because I felt guilty for not being able to help her. And for knowing her secrets.
We were both in the photo that they’d taken that night. When I saw her little girl face, the memories came flooding back. I’d completely forgotten about that girl and what she’d told me. But that Christmas I remembered thanking God for my parents. I realized I’d been blessed with good ones.
“That was you,” I said, looking at her as my heart broke for the little girl I wanted to go back and hold. She’d shared her secrets with a stupid boy who’d done nothing to make her feel better.
She frowned as if she didn’t know what I was talking about, and then her eyes lit with understanding. “Oh my God. I forgot. . . . I was so upset that night. But it was just one of many nights I felt that way,” she said as her fingertip gently brushed over my face in the photo.
“You were the only person I ever told that to. I regret that. Not telling anyone my secrets. I might have saved her if I had,” she whispered, lost in her thoughts.
I pulled her against me. I wasn’t going to let her dwell on her regrets. “You were a kid. We both were. Confused kids who didn’t know the right answer to anything. He was your father. You loved him. Don’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t control.”