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“Logan, please,” I cry. Every one of his words slices my skin.
He turns his head, but he’s quiet. And I realize this is my chance. The only one I may have left. I need to make him understand. I take a deep breath, and I finally let out the words I’ve been holding in for so long.
“My father was sick,” I start. Logan’s head is still turned away from me. “It was likely undiagnosed bipolar disorder. He seemed to have it under control when I was young, at least from what I remember. But when my mother died when I was a teenager… I think the grief triggered it. He had these, like, manic episodes. He would be violent toward me and Robin. He would hurt us.
“The injuries were never too serious. We could usually cover the bruises and scrapes easily enough, so no one would know. When I left for college, Robin had to bear the brunt of my dad by herself. I thought he was getting better by then. We both did. I wouldn’t have left her behind if I thought otherwise.
“But then, during the beginning of my sophomore year of college, he lost his job. After that, he spiraled. Robin’s injuries became more frequent, more severe. We tried to get him to a doctor, but he wouldn’t go. During fall break, I requested that he go see our local practitioner, and I ended up with a dislocated shoulder. And it wasn’t like we had any other options. Both our parents were onlychildren, my mom’s parents were long since dead, and my dad’s mother didn’t want anything to do with us.
“I needed to help Robin. But she was still seventeen. Underage. If I called Child Protective Services, they would have put her in foster care. It would have killed my father. And I was just nineteen and in college. I wasn’t ready to take care of her on my own.” I squeeze my eyes shut, working up the nerve to tell the worst part of the story. “So I did the only thing I could think that would work. That would save them. Robinandmy dad.”
All this time, Logan’s had his eyes glued to the floor, but this statement finally prompts him to turn toward me, giving me the reassurance I need to continue.
“I knew my father would never get better without medical help. But there was no way Robin and I would ever be able to get him to go to a doctor. So I decided to bring the medicine to him.”
I remember when the thought came to me as I was tossing and turning in my dorm room bed. It was so simple it made me sit upright. If this worked, everyone would win. My dad would get better, Robin would be safe, and everything would go back to normal. Like it was before my mom died.
“I started going to the school medical center, telling them I had all Dad’s conditions. I explained my periods of hyperactivity, which would boil over into violence, along with weeks where it was impossible to get out of bed. I included just enough secondhand details to make it believable. And it worked. The doctor prescribed me Xanax.”
I feel Logan’s attention prick up at the sound of the drug.
“I started stockpiling it. My father and Robin were planning to come visit me at school for Thanksgiving that year. I figured I wouldslip my dad the drugs during the visit. If it made him calmer, more like our old dad, I would give the rest to Robin with instructions to start putting the crushed-up pills in his food and drinks. I thought I’d figured everything out. Thinking back on it now, I can’t believe I thought it would work. It was stupid, really—so many things could have gone wrong. The doctor could have stopped prescribing me the Xanax. Maybe it wasn’t even the type of medication my dad needed after all. He could have noticed or felt the difference and panicked. But I didn’t think that far ahead. I was just happy to have found what I thought was a solution, a way to help Robin after leaving her in that mess.”
I cough, trying to cover the emotional choke hold the memory has over me. The anger at my naivete.
“I barely slept the few days before my father and Robin came to visit. But when they did arrive, Dad didn’t notice anything was off. He didn’t stop talking long enough to. He’d booked us this huge room at the hotel down the street from school, a suite with two separate bedrooms, a living room, and a makeshift kitchen. More space than we needed by far.
“When we were unpacking, he pulled out a cooler I hadn’t noticed in the car. It had a bottle of Moët and a Tupperware of strawberries. He said he was proud of us and wanted us to celebrate…” Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I feel my throat grow thick.
“That’s why you seemed so off when we had the champagne at our engagement party,” Logan says, and I nod frantically, feeling a small prick of hope that I can make him understand.
“Dad popped the bottle and started pouring, and he had Robin use one of the hotel knives to cut up the strawberries to put in ourglasses. When he turned around to supervise her, I knew that was my chance. I pulled out a Ziploc bag of two crushed Xanax pills I’d prepared the night before and shoved in my pocket and dropped the contents into one of the glasses, using my finger to stir it as quickly and quietly as I could. Neither of them noticed.”
I look over to Logan, who’s still staring at me with wide eyes. I want desperately for him to reach for my hand. To give me the comfort he usually does. But he doesn’t move.
“They came back from the kitchen with the strawberries, my dad picking up each glass and plunking them in. I made sure Dad got the right flute, and after we all clinked our glasses, I watched him take a sip. I was so relieved, so sure that everything was going to work.
“I hadn’t told Robin about any of it. I didn’t want her to be involved if my father found out what we were doing. I wanted all the blame to be mine.
“My dad was on a high, talking a mile a minute. And then he grabbed us, one by one, twirling us around the room, dancing, despite there being no music. He took the glasses, handing each of us one to drink. I tried to follow them, I really did, but I didn’t see which one he picked up. I couldn’t be sure that he’d grabbed the right one.”
I pause again, my breath growing thin as I get closer to the end.
“I should have found a way to confirm that Dad had the right glass. I should have knocked it out of Robin’s hand or warned her in some way. But I couldn’t move. It was as if I was frozen. And she drank it so quickly. In two gulps. She was so excited, her first glass of champagne.”
Despite everything, a sad, wet-sounding laugh erupts frommy lips, quickly evolving into a sob. I swallow it, forcing myself to continue.
“And then Robin started saying that she felt sick. She staggered into the closest bedroom, barely making it onto the bed. And she never moved again.”
I hear Logan’s breathing stop, just like Robin’s did all those years ago. I force myself through it as I feel the tears on my cheeks, rushing to get to the end as quickly as possible.
“Dad knew something was wrong immediately. He ran to her, shaking her body, screaming her name, but she didn’t move. He checked her breathing, took her pulse, but I could already tell she was gone. And then he snapped. Just like he always used to.”
The tears pool at my eyelids as I remember his voice, deep and hateful, a tone I had never heard him use even at his most manic. “You. You did this. What did you give her? Her heart, Meghan!”
“Apparently, my sister had a heart condition I didn’t know about,” I continue. “She had been diagnosed a few months before, but she never told me. I guess she didn’t want me to worry. She wasn’t supposed to drink, something my father clearly ignored. And the Xanax mixed with the champagne was too much for her to take.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and feel a tear sneak down my cheek.
“My dad started coming at me across the living room,” I say, forcing myself to finish. “I could tell in his eyes, Logan, he was going to kill me. I’ve never seen such pure rage before. So I backed up, away from him, until my legs hit the kitchen counter. And he grabbed my throat, squeezing, squeezing. I don’t know how he didn’t break my neck.”
