Page 62 of Dearly Departed

“That I’m—” Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Every fucking saint who’s ever existed. “Home.”

“Where are you getting these ideas?” Such sincere confusion on his face. “I can do whatever I want. That includes correcting mistakes I’ve made in the past.”

“Gabriel, please.”

“We’re your wife’s family. We are literally in-laws. And even if Catherine and Elise weren’t sisters, we belonged to you first.”

“I broke up with you. With a text. I was⁠—”

“You were a teenager surrounded by adults who were total fuckups. On top of that, they had a lot of power to make your life miserable if you didn’t go along with what they said.”

“That was nothing in comparison to⁠—”

“I’ve found that those kinds of comparisons will kill you if you let them.” Gabriel squeezes my hands. “You did what you thought you had to do.”

“Are you doing this because it’s what you think you have to do?”

“No. I don’t think I have to do this. I know I have to do this.”

“Because—”

“Because this is what you do when someone in your family is hurt. You hold their hand until you find out what happened, and then you give them what they need to get better. So let’s do the first part. Tell me what happened.”

I tell him.

I tell him about writing the letter and making arrangements to disappear and finding Catherine on the plane after we’d already taken off.

I tell him about what happened when we landed, and the miracle of that cabin, and the man on the speedboat. Cancer—that can’t have been his real name, or anything close to it—swore us to secrecy, but I can’t help telling Gabriel. I have to swear him to secrecy, too.

“And I—” By the end of the story, I’m losing steam and feeling worse by the second. I thought I’d reached rock bottom on the island and hadn’t intended to go back. “I killed him. The pilot. I stabbed him with a steak knife and killed him. He tried to hurt Catherine, so I killed him.”

It’s all there in an instant. Breathless shock. Sickening horror. The ocean rolling up on the shore like I hadn’t just watched a man die. Like I hadn’t been the one to kill him.

“I didn’t want to.” My voice breaks. It hurts to talk, and my vision is getting all grey around the edges again, like I’m still on that beach. “I didn’t want to do it. Not even to him.”

“I know you didn’t. You’ve never been the type.”

“I feel terrible.” My lungs spasm around a gasp. It takes me by surprise. “I feel so bad, Gabriel. I’ve never felt this bad. Not since⁠—”

Not since I was twelve, and then thirteen, and then fourteen. Not since I kept getting taller and taller and taller, and I had explicit instructions not to burden my horses with more weight than absolutely necessary.

I open my mouth to apologize for this horrendously shameful display. “I feel like I might die. I’m so tired. Jesus, fuck, I don’t know what to do.”

And then I crumple into a sobbing fit that destroys several ribs at minimum. I can’t stop crying. I can’t even sit up straight. Gabriel, who has never done anything unforgivable in his life, prevents me from sliding to the floor by putting his arms around me and just⁠—

Waiting.

He just waits.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t—I can’t force this on Catherine. Not after all she’s been through. I can’t let her⁠—”

“You don’t need to worry about this right now,” says Gabriel. “Catherine’s with Lydia and Elise. She’s going to be okay, and so are you.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You’ve done enough. You got home. All you need to do now is rest.”

“But that’s not⁠—”