Page 68 of Just Like the Brontë Sisters

He stood and went to the window, casually, like he was interested in the afternoon’s weather. “And once you proved this, what would happen next?”

“You’d be forced to leave and my parents and I would raise Bijou, without you. That’s what Jo Beth wanted.”

“You know what she wanted?” His back was to me, but I could see his arms were crossed. Did his stance indicate a guilty conscience, defiance, or just fear?

“Of course. I knew her better than anyone.”

He turned toward me, his arms fell to his side and his expression turned cloudy, like a cumulus bursting with rain. “When did Jo Beth tell you that she wanted you to raise Bijou?”

“Hold on.”

Sitting at my computer, I opened my dropbox, where I’d stored the very last voicemail from Jo Beth, and pressed play. “Sky, you have to believe me because Mom doesn’t…” I watched his face as Jo Beth accused him of insanity, but he didn’t flinch. He just squeezed his eyes shut and clamped his lips together, probably to ward away tears. “Skylar, where are you? Why didn’t you come?” Now it was my turn to cry; I couldn’t listen without being pelted by guilt. “I have to get myself and my baby away from Mitch. Once she’s born I’m going to leave and I’ll need your help. Promise that you’ll help me.”

I pressed stop.

“I understand,” Mitch said, sounding like a patient who’d just accepted his doctor’s unfortunate prognosis. “Do you want me to go to jail, or do you just want to get Bijou away from me?”

I let my fingers glide over the keyboard, thinking about all the correspondences Jo Beth and I could no longer have, happy emails with good news, and sad ones wishing we were together. They were all gone and the horrible realization sunk in: not even making Mitch suffer would bring Jo Beth back. I inhaled heavily. It hurt to speak. “When my sister died, the world stopped making sense. I had to blame someone, so I blamed you instead of blaming myself. I wanted to make you miserable, because you made Jo Beth miserable. I would take Bijou away from you because you took Jo Beth from me. That would be my retribution. After that… I don’t know. I guess I don’t care if you go to jail or not.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“I don’t need your sarcasm.”

“No really.” He came over and leaned against the desk where I sat. “I deserve the worst punishment imaginable. Nobody is more irredeemable than me. I should be in hell right now. But don’t worry…” He held out his hands in a limp, defeated gesture, as if the air around him was somehow made pathetic by his mere presence. “…I already am.”

“I doubt that.”

“Why?”

“Because as much as I blame you for Jo Beth’s death, I blame myself even more. I’m the one who deserves to be in hell.”

He didn’t argue and at first, I thought he wouldn’t answer at all. He just stared down at me, until finally in a whisper he asked, “Do you think I’m insane?”

“Why does it matter what I think?”

The eyes that examined me were passive but not still. His face held no flicker of challenge, nor a wish for a showdown. I got the feeling that if, at that moment, I whipped out a gun, he would remain rooted to his spot, but he might thrust out his chest to make it easier to shoot him in the heart.

When Jo Beth died, had a part of him died too? Did we have that in common?

“Never mind,” I finally said. “Jo Beth always said that I was too romantic, that I’m just like all the heroines in all the classic novels I read, who are way too eager to forgive a guy for his ‘many trespasses.’”

I’d used air quotes when I said, “many trespasses” but with an abrupt motion, my right index finger swung up and landed firmly on the keyboard’s delete button, erasing Jo Beth’s voicemail for good.

“Deleting it doesn’t matter,” Mitch said. “We’ll both always remember what she said. That voicemail is like a living, self-regulating organism that will simply adapt to being erased.”

“Okay….” I shook my head, unable to respond to his strange simile. “Look, I’ll try to forget and I think you should too. We should start clean.”

He rubbed his temples like he had a migraine. “Skylar, I wish I could explain what happened between Jo Beth and me. But I don’t think I can. You’re so pure, so convinced you know the difference between right and wrong, and maybe you do. Maybe you understand the things that will always confuse me. But nevertheless, I wouldn’t even know where to start.” He sighed and switched to massaging the back of his neck. “You loved her so much and she loved you back. No, go ahead and blame me for everything. It will make you feel better and I owe you that much.”

I knew there was subtext to his little speech, but I wasn’t picking up on the meaning. Slowly I rose from my chair, so we stood face to face. “What are you saying?”

His voice was soft, almost soothing. “I’m saying that I should go.”

I felt like pushing him but I settled for putting my hands insolently against my hips. “You can’t go! What about Bijou?”

“Obviously, she’ll go too.”

“You can’t take her from me!” Those nights spent rocking her, the days spent encouraging her to lift her head during tummy time, or the moments of just sitting, propping her up against my knees so I could watch her face morph into a variety of expressions (which I knew were probably caused by gas and probably not smiles) all came rushing at me. I was already way more attached to her than I’d ever thought I’d be.