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“You know what I figured out?” I ask. “That only I get to decide what my actions mean. Only I get to choose how I feel about who I am and what I did. I get to define what I’ll accept and what I won’t. And that goes for you, too. You’re in charge of your life.”
She wrinkles her nose. “West is in charge of my life.”
“He’s in charge of keeping you alive and fed and all that, and making sure you have a chance to learn stuff and become a good person. You’re in charge of everything else. And you know, what Clint did, that sucks. It should never have happened. I’m sorry it did happen. But the thing to remember is, he was the one with the problem, not you. You were the one who fought back. Not in the most constructive way possible, I think we can agree …”
She cuts me a glance. Smiles when she sees I’m smiling.
“… but you know you have it in you. You can stand up for yourself and take down the guy who’s threatening you. And that has to feel pretty good, right?”
Frankie nods. “He’s afraid of me now.”
“Awesome. Just so long as you don’t use your mighty fists again, right?”
“Right.” Frankie tilts her head, thinking. “Is the guy who tried to hurt you afraid of you?”
I see it in my head—Nate passing me on my way home from class. Glancing to the side so he doesn’t have to meet my eyes.
“I think he kind of is, actually. But what matters to me even more is that I’m not afraid of him.” I wiggle my toes. “Are these done?”
“Yeah, but you can’t walk around for a while.”
“You want to make some popcorn?”
“Movie style?”
“Is there any other way?”
“No.”
“You’ll have to do the hard work, though,” I say. “Since I can’t move.”
“I know how.”
Frankie skips over to the cabinet to get out the air popper.
Skips.
I wish West could see her. I’ll tell him later tonight, when he gets back from working with Laurie.
I’ll tell him all of this, because it will help remind him that even though she’s struggling, his sister is amazing and resilient.
So am I.
Bridget uses tongs to pick four hard-boiled eggs out of the bowl on the salad bar.
“Can you make some for me?” I ask.
“Sure.” She adds three more eggs. “Are you going to do a sandwich?”
“Maybe just on crackers.”
“Okay. Pick me up some bread, and I’ll get the mayo.”
It’s halfway through December, and we’re in the dining hall, grabbing lunch between classes. This has been our Wednesday thing since
freshman year, and even though we’re both off the meal plan, eating most of our meals at the house, we still do Wednesdays.
Or we try to. I missed last Wednesday because I had to go to Iowa City for depositions with my lawyer in the afternoon. Those weren’t too bad, but this morning I had to get up at the ass-crack of dawn and drive to Iowa City again, this time to be deposed by Nate’s legal team.
