Owen’s standing by the door that leads into the house, crutchesin hand from when he broke his foot a few years ago. Once I’m on the crutches, Liam pulls me into a hug.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he says. “I have something for you in the living room.”
Tears well; I don’t think he’s ever said anything like that before.
Mom peels him off as I hobble to the living room and lower myself onto the couch.
Sitting on the coffee table is a small round red velvet cake that readsFEEL BETTER SOON, EMMA!There’s a little note taped to a toothpick, clearly not part of the original decoration, that reads “Liam got you the cake??” My sweet little brother, whose love language must have been getting me treats, and I never saw it until right now.
I break into sobs. I try to bite my fist to contain them, but the feeling is too big.
I risked my life in such a stupid way, and my family is acting like me returning home is something to celebrate.
“Oh, great job, you made her cry,” Owen says.
“It’s happy tears!” Liam replies.
“Boys,” Mom says. “Let’s lay off, huh?”
Mom nudges Liam into the kitchen to cut the cake.
Owen stays on the couch. I make eye contact with him, and he clears his throat, clearly unsure of what to say.
We’re not twins, but extended family always treated us as such. In most photos, we look like twins, but we both know we’ll never have the bond that real twins have. Yet I think about Paisley and Beck. I think about that speech Beck gave at Paisley’s vigil about her life not beginning until Paisley was born. There was real love there once, before Paisley started being so critical and lashing out so violently at Beck. They were close once, yet by age eighteen, they’d become so estrangedthat Paisley was capable of inflicting real, physical violence onto Beck. They were so estranged that Beck genuinely was relieved to see her dead. Sure, it was a complicated, guilt-ridden kind of relief, but that’s what it truly was. I feel the same way about Paisley, despite everything that’s happened.
I don’t want Owen’s and my relationship to fester and die like that.
“Hey,” I say. “I’m gonna be stuck at the house for a while. Do you want to maybe play through a game together?”
Owen goes stick straight, confused, before something soft hits his eyes. “Yeah, I do. Have you playedAlan Wakebefore? It’s kinda old, but it reminds me of the movies you like.”
I smile through the tears bunching again. “Let’s do it.”
EpilogueFour Months Later
By the time October hits, enough normalcy has been carved back into Beck’s and my lives that facing that anniversary feels survivable. Our physical wounds heal, leaving only a few scars that are easy to hide under clothing. Grief, it turns out, doesn’t resolve itself in one month, six months, or even a year. Sometimes it’s hard to tell which part of the deaths hit me when. With Beck, it feels even more complicated. A part of her has known her sister has been dead for a year now, but both of us also still say Paisley’s only been really gone for four months.
Beck never rejoined the volleyball team, but she’s been using the extra time after school and on weekends to follow her whims and try out new interests: surfing, getting CPR certified, volunteering at animal shelters and wildlife rescues, and then getting a part-time job at a local ice cream shop. I still work at the horror museum and am trying to keep my grades and portfolio up as I set my eyes on art school applications. Beck and I are both in weekly therapy. I talk to my therapist about being neurodivergent, however that identity evolves in my life. I think of Evan’s and Paisley’s bodies and what Beck and I did to thema lot, but gradually the thoughts pop up less and less.
She and I don’t talk about what happened often, but anniversaries do open up the conversation.
After school on the day of the anniversary, we grab sugary drinks from Priscilla’s and head over to the cemetery.
We go to Opal’s grave first.
“She didn’t deserve it,” I say as I set flowers down, tears bunching in my eyes. “God, I really hate thinking about her the most. She just didn’t know how to stand up for herself. There was so much she could’ve become.”
Beck shakes her head. “I know. I hate that she fell into my sister’s orbit. She so easily could’ve left and been fine.”
There’s one single comfort, though. Opal used to talk about her uncle’s ranch and how much she loved the stars out there. If those Montana starry skies are anything like what Beck and I saw in Kingston, they must be magical. I hope, I believe that’s where she is now. Always blanketed by the stars.
“I wish more than anything that we could’ve just talked to each other,” I say. “I think we had more in common than Paisley let us think.”
I still can’t believe I’ll never know what Opal would do with her life after high school. We’ll never have a chance to talk about Paisley and that horrible night.
“That’s on Paisley, you know, right?”
I nod.
