Page 129 of When Lemons Give You Life

“Griff, look at me. You didn’t cause your dad’s death.”

He flinches.

“You were a kid, it was a terrible accident. Mum told me. The other driver ran a red light.”

He shakes his head, eyes filling with tears. “If I hadn’t—”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I say again, firmer. “You didn’t deserve any of it. Not the blame. Not the bruises. None of it. There is no debt.”

He tries to turn away, but I won’t let him, cupping his face gently in my hands. “It. Wasn’t. Your. Fault.”

He breaks. The sobs come fast, like a dam finally giving way. I move closer, wrapping my arms around him. His body tenses for a moment, then he hugs me back. I hold him while he cries the tears of an eight-year-old boy who never got to be a child.

And in that quiet, something shifts. Something deep and old. The silence that’s lived between us for decades—one that started long before the dementia—begins to lift.

85

Griff

Brent’s voice, cruel and unwavering, hisses in my ear. If it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t be dead.

My jaw clenches. The words don’t fit. They don’t belong to me. Not anymore.

I can hear other words now, louder. Beau’s last recording, his love for me. My sister’s love for me. It. Wasn’t. Your. Fault. Those words have the power to change my life. To make a bad person good. Maybe Scotty is right, and I am something resembling a pineapple after all.

Lisa holds me until I finally, finally dare to believe it. The weight doesn’t vanish—not completely—but it becomes lighter. Just enough to let me breathe. And there, settling in its place, is something new. Not peace. Not yet. But maybe the beginning of it.

I pull back, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “I should’ve forgiven you years ago. Should’ve been honest about everything, like Beau pleaded with me to do. Tell me it’s not too late?”

“It’s not too late,” she whispers. “I thought it was. I grieved you, Griff. Not just after your diagnosis, but long before. I grieved the version of you I never got to know. The one who might’ve been my brother if things had been different. But now you’re here. And I’m here. Maybe that’s enough.”

We lean in and hold each other close, nothing sharp left between us.

Lisa sniffs. “If only Beau could see us now!”

I smile then burst into tears again. “I don’t know how to exist in a world where he doesn’t.”

She takes my hands in hers. “This. This is how. We’ve got each other now. We’ll do it together.”

“He was kindness personified.”

“You’re kind too, you know, even without Beau. Scotty told me about the amazing difference you’ve made for all the residents.”

“I’ll never be like Beau was.”

She pauses. “Beau’s kindness was effortless. He didn’t have to fight himself to be that way. You . . . you’ve had to fight a lot—your past, your guilt, your anger. And, yeah, sometimes that spilled out onto other people. Maybe you didn’t always go about it in the right way. But the kindness you’ve shown over the past few months—trying to make things better even when you’re broken yourself—that comes from knowing what hurt feels like and choosing not to pass it on. That’s not a lesser version of kind, it’s a hard-earned one.”

I squeeze her hand. “I’m not sure I’d go as far as kind . . . but maybe I’m not a ratbag?”

She narrows her eyes, her face breaking into a smirk. “Nah. Still a ratbag.” She tousles my hair. Her eyes dart to the packed bags by the door, as my phone buzzes on the coffee table: the Uber reminder. “Griff,” she whispers, her voice steady now. “Cancel it. Don’t move away. Not this time.”

My hand trembles as I reach for the phone. For years I’ve perfected the art of leaving—slipping out of kitchens, families, lives, lucidity—but with one swipe of my finger, the booking vanishes, closing the door on all the escaping I’ve ever done.

For once, I’m not running away. I’m running toward her. Toward us. Toward a future that finally feels like family.

“I love you, Lisa. I always have.”

“I love you too, Griff.” She squeezes my hand. “How about I meet you back at my place tonight? You can stay as long as you need. I can pick up some Chinese for dinner from that place Beau used to love . . . ? It’s one of Frank’s favorites now too.”