I looked at her.
“You don’t get to protect me from the truth after using grief as a babysitter.”
I didn’t visit the address alone.
Before leaving, I sent the deputy a photograph of it. Rose drove me there. She had followed us to the hospital and refused to leave. She could be overwhelming, but I knew she loved my sister.
Rose drove quietly before finally saying,
“Your mother looked terrified that weekend. Not guilty, son.”
“Those look the same when you’re the kid she lied to.”
The address led to a small blue house. A teenage boy was mowing the lawn. When he looked up, I stopped breathing.
Same eyes.
Same jaw.
An older woman stepped onto the porch.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m Hayden,” I said.
Her eyes moved between my face and the boy.
“You must be his son.”
“Eli’s mother stayed quiet because that money was his only support,” she said.
I held up the folded address.
“I’m looking for Hannah.”
The woman’s shoulders dropped.
“She stayed here for two weeks after the retreat.”
Rose touched my arm.
“Breathe, Hayden.”
“Where is she now?” I asked.
“With your Aunt Marlene and Uncle David.”
The woman went inside and returned with an envelope.
“She left this for you. Your mother told us not to mail it.”
My name appeared across the front.
Not Hayden.
Hay.
Only Hannah called me that.
I opened it on the porch.
“Hay, I begged Mom to tell you. I tried sending one message, but Mom caught it and said Dad would trace me through you.
I hated her for that.
Then I hated myself because I was safe and you were home grieving me. I never left you on purpose.”
The boy stood beside the mower watching me.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Eli.”
His voice trembled like mine.
I nodded.
“None of this is your fault.”
I wished someone had said those words to me a year earlier.
Aunt Marlene opened the door before I could knock. Uncle David stood behind her.
“Hannah?” I called.
A mug shattered in the kitchen.
I turned.
She stood beside the sink with soap covering her wrists. Her hair was shorter.
But it was her.
“Hayden?” she said.
My name sounded trapped inside her throat.
I wanted to hug her and scream at her at the same time.
Instead, I looked down at her ankle.
“Still can’t hike right?”
She made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
Then I crossed the kitchen.
She hugged me so hard my arm ached.
“I wanted to come home every day,” she cried.
“I was mad at you for surviving without me.”
She became still.
I stepped back.
“Then I realized I was really mad nobody let me survive with you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You were 16.”
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