I put my pen down, shutting my eyes. I knew she’d say this, eventually. It’s been looming over us for more than a week. “You don’t have to,” I say, fighting that unreasonable part of me, the one my father nurtured, the one that wants to lock her in my basement and not let her leave.
“I know I don’t.”
I want to be so selfish. To tell her she doesn’t need money anymore, or to go back to that house near Inverness. That I could gether into any university, anywhere. Pay off her tuition fees. Pay for a new house.
But it’s against everything she stands for. She’s trying to build her own identity.
She takes my silence as a question, explaining her decision. “I’ve thought about staying, Alex. I have. But I have prayed and prayed for friends, for a chance at a career, for a life that isn’t fueled by revenge. A life that belongs tome. I have a friendship group, a scholarship, a place on the swim team.”
“I know.”
“I owe seventeen-year-old Ophelia better than giving that all up.”
Like I have, twice.
My conversation with my mother weighs heavy on my mind.
For a horrible, unkind second, I almost think she’s lucky to have so much freedom. Then I think about the hug Josie gave me as I walked out the door, the coffee my mom delivered to my bedside table, the way Mia always leans out the window to say good morning, the way it’s those seven women who have given me purpose for the past twenty-four years, and I feel disgusted with myself.
I remember the way the cold in that house of hers had sunk its way into the foundations, the cardboard boxes of possessions that Ophelia had packed up alone. The untouched double bedroom at the top of the stairs. The wordluckysours on my tongue.
“I didn’t mean that youhavedone that,” Ophelia blurts out, when the silence stretches on.
“I know, baby. You’re right for going home.”
“Worst case, it’s just over two years long distance. We can manage that. I could come here once I’ve graduated, maybe.”
All those houses I’ve looked at in the UK float through my mind. But I don’t know if the girls would agree. And my mom needs stability, not another huge life event. God, what I wouldn’t do to live close to Ophelia.
Being five inches from her makes me grumpy, let alone three thousand miles. But she’s right. With a lot of late-night phone calls and long showers, maybe I could survive it.
“You can take a jet home.”
“I’m going to just try to fly on a normal plane.”
“I’ll help you book a flight later.”
“Thank you. I love you,” she says, voice wobbling. She’s upset. I start packing my things straight away.
“I love you, too. Talk to me.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong. I started my period. Charlotte made me an anklet.” Her voice cracks, her next sentence revealing what’s really the matter. “I killed Laura. I think of her every time I feel happy.”
“Shall I get you a hot chocolate on the way back?”
I hear a muffled sniff. “Yeah. Maybe that’ll fix me.”
“If it doesn’t, we’ll find something else.”
I keep Ophelia on the line until I have to get into the elevator, promising I’ll see her soon.
Mike gets in one floor down, giving me a quick nod. He presses the button for the garage, even though I’ve already pressed it. “Congrats on the contract.”
“Thought we were never going to land that one.”
The elevator plunges into silence as it descends. Mike whistles a quiet tune, flashing me a quick glance. “How are things going with that girl of yours?”
It’s an odd question. In fact, there’s an odd atmosphere in the elevator. Mike’s jaw is so tense that I’m surprised his molars haven’t turned to dust. “It’s going fine.”
