Mom waited until I’d poured the milk into my bowl and joined her at the table again before asking, “How does Kellie feel about you doing this?”
“I haven’t gotten ahold of her yet,” I said. “I’ve been emailing and texting.”
“So you don’t know if she actually wants this?”
I frowned at her. “Why wouldn’t she?” I asked. “She tried to tell everyone the truth three years ago. I should’ve helped her then, but I didn’t, so I am now. I’m sure she’ll be glad.”
“A lot can change in three years, though.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Mom opened her mouth, then shut it and shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “Like I said, I’ll support you no matter how you decide to handle this. But you should make sure Kellie is okay with it. If you try to make these letters you’re collecting public, that’s going to bring a lot of attention on her again. She might not be prepared for that.”
“The McHales’ book will do the same thing,” I said. “She’s going to get attention no matter what. I’m sure she wants to set the record straight more than any of us.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Mom said. She stood up and wiped the stray tears from her eyes. “I’d better go get ready for work. I’m taking over Nancy’s shift at the store for today. You going to be okay here alone? With everything that’s happening?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Mom. No one’s going to show up with the pitchforks yet. Give it a week or two.”
She swatted at my shoulder. “Don’t be a smart mouth. And don’t forget to take your medication.”
“I won’t,” I said. She was halfway down the hallway to her bedroom when I called after her again. “Mom?”
“Hm?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
There were so many answers I could have given. So many things that I’d never thanked her for. That she’d never ask me to thank her for.
For not talking me out of telling the truth, even if it meant life was going to get harder for her. For putting up with me for the past three years, even when I took all of my anger and frustration out on her. For being my biggest ally and champion and protector, even when I didn’t want her to be there at all.
“For everything.”
When I think of Kellie Gaynor, two memories flash in my mind. The first is a quick snapshot, her ashen face and wide, dark eyes when she turned around in the bathroom door and told Sarah and me to hide. It was the first word she’d ever said to me.
Hide.
The second memory plays more like a short film. It happened weeks later, at the local grocery store. It was the first time I’d left my house since the shooting. I’d told Mom I wanted to go to the store with her. I didn’t want to be left alone in our house. Not yet. But five minutes in and I already felt panicked. The store wasn’t even that crowded. There were maybe a dozen people with shopping carts. But it was enough that anytime someone came around the corner, my heart started to pound. When someone in the aisle next to mine dropped a can on the ground with a loud thud, I started crying.
“Lee baby,” Mom said, her own voice shaking. She reached out to touch me, but I jerked away. I didn’t want to be crying in the middle of the cereal aisle and I definitely didn’t want her to cry, either. That would just get more people staring at us. And besides, this wasn’t about her. She lowered her hand slowly and said, “You can go wait in the car if you want. I won’t take long.”
“I’m fine,” I snapped. “I can take care of myself.”
But thirty seconds later, I turned around and headed back toward the front of the store, leaving Mom to do the rest of the shopping herself. I wasn’t sure if I was going to wait in the car or just stand near the front of the store, by the exit, so I could see down each of the aisles and make a quick escape at any sign of danger.
But before I could decide, I saw her.
Kellie.
She was emerging from the freezer section, a curtain of dyed-black hair obscuring part of her face, her wounded arm still in a sling. She was staring at her boots and she hadn’t noticed me yet, which was just as well. I wanted to say something to her, but I wasn’t sure what just yet. “Hi” didn’t really seem sufficient given what had happened the last time we saw each other.
I was running through a few possibilities in my head as she got closer and closer to me, when a middle-aged woman in a pink floral dress stepped out from the canned goods aisle and bumped right into Kellie.
Kellie stumbled but caught herself. She turned to look at the woman, and if I’d assumed the collision was an accident, that thought went out the door almost immediately.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” the pink-floral woman yelled.
