This is What Goodbye Looks Like (43 page)

A jolt of pain hits me when I jerk my legs off the side of the bed. I bite my lip to keep in a yelp, and as I massage the stiffness out of my knee, anger slowly starts bubbling up in my chest. He ditched me. Maybe Jeremy’s had good reason to be avoiding dealing with our family, but that’s still no excuse for ditching.

I stumble out of bed, and right then, there’s a tentative knock on my door. I pull it open. Jeremy stands there, his eyes red with exhaustion and his clothes rumpled from travel, but his appearance mostly unchanged from the last time I saw him. Same messy hair, same black-framed glasses, same awkward skinniness.

His gaze instantly shifts to the scar on my neck, and he just stares at it for a long second. Then he quickly shakes his head, like he’s chasing away dark thoughts, and leans down to sweep me into a hug.

“You came,” I say. I’m not sure if I want to embrace him or hit him, so I settle for hugging him a bit too tightly.

“Of course,” he said. “I told you I’d come. I need to see Camille before, um, well...”

I swallow hard. “I thought you’d change your mind. With Mom’s case being re-opened...”

He shakes his head and pulls away. “I’m not getting involved with any of that. I’m just here for you and Camille.”

I bite my lip. “Camille moved.”

Jeremy leans against the doorframe and lets out a long breath. “Yeah. Dad mentioned it the other day when we talked on the phone.”

I cringe a little, knowing Dad didn’t present the situation the way I would have. I probably should have told Jeremy first, so I could say how things really went. But I’d been too scared to tell him over the phone. I knew he’d likely be just as dismissive as Dad and Mom had been, and with half my family already thinking I made it up... I didn’t want to add Jeremy to that list.

But I guess it was pretty inevitable.

“I’m not lying,” I insist. “Not about this, I swear. Camille held my hand.”

Jeremy chews at his lip, which is already chapped and broken, like it always gets when he’s overly stressed. “Maybe she did,” he mumbles, but I can tell he’s only saying it to avoid arguing.

I take a closer look at him, noticing the coffee stain on his rumpled shirt and his untied right shoe. He looks like he just stumbled off a last-minute flight, and I suddenly feel bad for making him just stand there. I wave at my bed.

“Go sit down. You look like hell.”

Jeremy nods a silent thanks and collapses on the end of my bed. He manages to stay sitting for about three seconds before he lets out a tired groan and falls back on the mattress.

“Your flight was that bad?” I ask.

Jeremy takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes. “Worse.” He points at me. “Never let me have children. Ever. Just castrate me if I decide it’s a good idea.”

I can’t help but smirk a little. “Screaming kids?”

“No, screaming devil spawn,” he mutters. “With a clueless mother to boot. All three of them sitting right next to me for two hours.”

“I’m sorry it was a shitty flight,” I say. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

A smile nudges at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, I am too.” He waves at me, motioning for me to come over. “I need another hug. I’ve missed you, Little Lee.”

I sit next to him and lean over for a hug, and he pulls me into an embrace even tighter than before.

“I’m just so damn sorry,” he murmurs.

“It’s...it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay. None of what I’ve done is okay. I hate Mom and Dad for dealing with their issues so shittily, and then I go and do the exact same thing. You deserve better than that.”

His hug is so strong, it almost hurts, but I don’t want him to let me go. I press my face against his shirt, breathing in the comfort of his familiar scent. “You haven’t done anything that bad,” I say. “Not really.”

“But I haven’t done anything at all. I just left you. And I think that’s almost worse.” He lets me out of the embrace, but then grabs my shoulders and stares right at me. His eyes are red and swollen, although I’m not sure if it’s from tears or pure exhaustion. “I want to make things better between us.”

“You’re here now,” I say. “That’s a good start.”

“Oh. Jeremy.”

We both jump a little at the sound of Dad’s voice. Jeremy’s face instantly darkens, but then surprise flickers over his expression as he looks over Dad, who’s standing in the doorway. Dad’s eyes are dark and sunken, his clothes rumpled, and his hair messy. On anyone else, it might look like he had a bad case of the flu, but on our normally pristine father, it looks almost worse than death.

“Hey, Dad,” Jeremy says hesitantly.

Dad shuffles his feet and stares at his mismatched socks. “You’re home,” he says, like we somehow could have missed this fact.

Jeremy scans over Dad again, his forehead wrinkling in concern. “Dad, when was the last time you got some sleep?”

I’ve been wondering the same thing, but I’ve been too scared to ask. I don’t think Dad has slept a second since Mom was arrested. Part of me wants to march straight down to the police station and beg to take the video back, because surely it’s not worth inflicting this sort of pain on my family.

But then I remember Seth. If handing over the video is a way to give him a little bit of closure, a little bit of comfort...

I think of what he told me, about how all he wants for the remnants of his family is peace. I don’t know if he’ll ever get that, but this is the closest I can give him.

Dad just shrugs in response to Jeremy’s question, and his gaze settles heavily on me. I know he thinks I’m a monster for turning over that video to the police—with that strong of evidence, there’s just no way Mom is going to escape serving time in prison. But the video will also give Seth’s family closure, and it’s also given Camille a fighting chance to stay on life support.

Monster. Hero. The Hero’s Journey makes it all seem so simple—twelve clear steps to map out a journey against evil and become a good hero. But I guess that’s why we use it to analyze legends and not life—because that perfect, black-and-white distinction between hero and villain is fantasy, and nothing more.

Dad lets out a sigh, and his hand trembles a bit as he scrubs his face with it. “I just got a call from Camille’s doctor.”

Jeremy sits up, and my breath catches in my throat, but Dad waves away our excitement with a flick of his hand.

“The EEG results came back,” Dad says. “They’re just the same as before. No changes in her brain activity.”

I swallow back my disappointment. “But those tests are unreliable,” I remind him. “Her doctors have always said that.”

He ignores my feeble protest. “I also got a call from your mom,” he says. “The prosecutor’s office set a date for the initial court hearing. It’s in two weeks.”

“Okay,” I murmur. I had planned on exactly this happening, but I can’t stop the searing guilt that constricts my chest.

Dad slumps against the doorframe, and his skin looks even paler with it pressed against the white-painted boards. “Lea,” he says, and then he just cuts off and looks at me, like he’s hoping I’ll tell him that’s not my name, that he’s got it all wrong, and I’m not actually the person behind any of this.

When that doesn’t happen, he lets out a long, defeated sigh. “Your mom’s case is going to be a complicated one.”

For the defense, maybe, but not for the prosecution. The video will make a guilty verdict easy. But I don’t say any of that and just nod.

He runs a hand through his hair, which is sticking out in about a dozen directions. “I’m trying to help put together a good defense for her, but it’s going to be near impossible.”

He speaks in an eerie monotone, and I look away from him and stare out the window, hating how broken he looks. A tiny song-bird lands on my windowsill, and it immediately reminds me of Seth, its gold and green feathers the same color as his eyes. The bird gives a little twitter and then flits away. I find myself reaching after it, but quickly snatch my hand back and let it fall in my lap.

“She did it, Dad,” I murmur, running my palm over my aching knee. “You
know
she did it.”

He stares at his feet. “The video is strong evidence.”

I clench my hand, trying to keep my anger locked in my fist and out of my voice. “I’m not talking about evidence. I’m not talking about her case. I’m talking about what she did. The
truth
.” I force in a deep breath. “You already made me lie once, and you’ve been lying to yourself this entire time. But, Dad, you have to stop. Mom hurt people. She killed a boy and devastated a family.
Two
families. And it’s about time she owned up to that.”

Dad grits his jaw. “So is that why you turned over the video? Vigilante justice? You wanted to punish your own mom?”

“It’s not my job to punish her,” I snap. “It’s never been my job. The only thing that’s ever been my responsibility is to tell the truth, and that’s what I finally did.”

“You ruined her.”

“She ruined herself!”

He has no answer for that other than to glare down at the floor. “Look, Lea, I’m going to be honest with you, since you say you want the truth. The legal fees for this trial are going to cost us a lot of money.”

“I don’t get why you’re telling me this,” I say. “If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, you can stop. I already feel horrible enough.”

“What I’m trying to tell you is that paying for Camille’s life support would have been a stretch before, but it’s an impossibility now.”

All the breath rushes out of my lungs. “What?”

“I told you it wouldn’t work, Lea,” Dad says, and his voice is quieter now, more sad than upset. “I told you this campaign would change nothing. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I swallow hard. “But...”

“But nothing has changed with Camille’s situation,” Dad says. “It’s just the same as it’s always been.”

“Bullshit!” I jab a finger toward the laptop on my desk and snarl, “You said the campaign wouldn’t work, but you were wrong. It’s only going to be a day or two until I’ve got forty thousand in donations.”

Dad lets out a frustrated groan and walks straight out of the room without another word. Jeremy looks over at me in confusion, clearly struggling for something comforting to say. But before he can come up with anything, Dad strides back into the room, this time carrying a bunched piece of paper in his fist. He drops it in my lap.

“Read it,” he says, and the hopelessness in his tone whisks away my urge to argue.

I snatch it up and scan it over. It’s a report from Camille’s medical insurance company detailing her hospital expenses for the month of February. My stomach drops when I see the total amount of money at the bottom.

“One hundred and eighty thousand?” I say, nearly choking on my disbelief.

Dad nods grimly. “Like I just said, your campaign changes nothing. Forty thousand would hardly cover even a week of care.”

I shake my head. “No.
No.
You said
forty
. You told me her care costs forty thousand a month.”

“No, I said the fee for keeping her in the hospital is about forty a month. But that’s not nearly the whole bill, Lea. With the life support treatments, it’s nearly two hundred thousand.”

“Why didn’t you
tell
me?”

He lets out a long sigh and rubs his temples. “I honestly didn’t think you had any chance of raising even close to forty thousand. But I figured if it made you feel better to try, I might as well let you. I had no idea it’d spiral into this mess.”

“You should have told me!” I shriek. “You should have told me
exactly
how much it costs!”

“What difference would it have made?” he demands. “You’re still days away from raising forty thousand. You really think if your goal was quadruple that amount, you’d ever get enough donations to reach it?”

No. As furious as it makes me, I know he’s right. If I had set my donation goal to $180,000 instead of $40,000, there’s no way I’d ever make it. Or at least not in time to pay for Camille’s next month of life support.

“You still should have told her,” Jeremy says to Dad. “You should have been honest with her right from the start.”

Dad’s eyes narrow as they lock on Jeremy, and I can feel the tension boiling up between them again. I’d figured being away from each other for a few months would be enough to ease their anger. But apparently not.

“Maybe you think that,” Dad snaps. “But your opinion doesn’t matter in this household anymore. You want to say goodbye to Camille, fine. But you say your goodbyes, and then you leave. Is that understood?”

Jeremy goes quiet for a long moment, and I reach out and grab his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. His jaw clenches, and his eyebrows furrow, but I know him well enough to see that he’s more hurt than angry. He always tries to cover sadness with an angry look.

But Dad doesn’t even seem to notice how much his words hurt, because his face remains impassive. Or maybe he just truly doesn’t care. I don’t know. I feel like I don’t know anything about Dad at this point.

Jeremy grits his jaw and tilts his chin up. “No.”