Page 85 of Chasing Clouds

“So, I picked up a handful of dirt and held it high so she could see I was about to fling it at her. Squealing, she started running. Our house sat at the western northernmost part of the property, and we were at the south end. Clare started running east. There were trees on the perimeter of the property, which would be easy enough for her to duck into and hide behind. We’d run through those trees more times than I could count, and I took off after her. ‘Yeah, you better run fast!’ I hollered.

“I chased after her, we ran through the field, and at that moment, I was the happiest I had been in so long. It was just me and her, my sister, my best friend. I knew after that day things would change—they already had, really. Time was flying by, and our days together were almost up. I was embracing every second of our time in that field.

“As I started running, I realized we’d been out longer than planned. The sun had dropped behind the tree line, we were in that golden hour phase of light, and soon it’d start getting dark. It crossed my mind that we needed to head back. I was certain by then they were looking for us, but instead of calling her in, I chased her harder. We’d spent so many hours running through every inch of the field . . . but when Clare looked back at me, laughing, and then her face distorted with such acute agony and fear, time immediately went into slow motion. I watched as she fell to the ground, grabbed her leg, and let out the most horrific, pain-filled scream. I thought maybe she just tripped or stepped in a hole, but nope. I landed on the ground next to her, and there in the middle of her calf were two large puncture wounds. She’d been bitten by a snake.”

“HOLY SHIT,” I say, fully entranced by her story.

“Yeah. There are thirty-nine nonvenomous snakes in Georgia and six venomous. Speculation is that the snake was sleeping. It should have woken up from the vibrations on the ground headed its way, but that’s not always the case, especially when it’s from a small female and not a large heavy animal. There was no warning, or if there was, I guess Clare wasn’t paying enough attention to hear it. She stepped right on an Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake, the most venomous of them all. We heard the rattle of the tail as it retreated away, and I will never forget that sound.”

I’ve never heard that sound, except for what they play for sound bites in movies. I can’t imagine lying in bed at night and hearing it. I’m certain I would never forget it either.

“We were a good mile away from the house and neither one of us had our phone. Once we got her to calm down and then up and moving, her leg started to swell, badly. That’s when we knew we were in trouble. She wanted me to run ahead and get help, but I didn’t want to leave her, and I forced her to keep going. Night was coming fast and I was afraid.”

“I would have been afraid, too. I have zero experience when it comes to snakes and no idea what to do in that situation.”

“Things I learned after the fact that you shouldn’t do when bitten: move, because it increases the blood flow to the heart, or get anxious and worked up, because it increases your heart rate—both of which we were doing. I had ripped off my shirt and tied it just above the bite to hopefully slow down the dissemination of the venom, but she kept swelling and I kept having to loosen it. It was all happening so fast. You’re supposed to receive medical attention for a snakebite within thirty minutes. It had been well over that before I finally left her in the field and ran ahead for help—well, ran is an exaggeration. I was hyperventilating and pretty much hysterical, and I couldn’t go very fast.

“By the time the paramedics got to our house and we drove through the field to get to her, she had already started vomiting, lost function of her arms and legs, and had difficulty breathing. Her heart failed on the way to the hospital and she was pronounced dead immediately after arriving.”

“I don’t know what to say.” I shake my head. The entire situation sounds utterly horrendous, and I can’t even imagine what it was like for her to witness it.

Camille turns to look at me. Her eyes are so despondent and hollow, intensifying the sheer need I have to erase all of this for her.

“They say the chance of a person dying from a snakebite is so low, it’s nine times more likely you’ll die from a lightning strike. There are only five or six fatalities on average per year. It’s because of this—well, this and other things—that I’ve always felt responsible. Time was in our favor. I didn’t move fast enough, soon enough.”

I run my hands down her arms and shake my head, willing her to somehow agree with me. “Camille—”

“No. Whatever you’re going to say, don’t.” She readjusts so one of her legs tucks up under her, the other hooking over my shin, then she reaches out and squeezes my waist. “There’s nothing you can say that will change how I feel. This is what I live with every day. I was the reason she was in the field. She died because of me, and they’re right to call me a murderer.”

Anger toward myself because I once thought that disgusts me, and animosity toward those who’ve called her that charges through me. I want to strangle anyone, everyone who’s ever made her feel like it was her fault.

“It was an accident. You are not a murderer—I know you know this,” I grit out, trying my hardest to contain the anger I feel for her.

She shrugs her shoulders and drops her eyes to her hands. Her fingers flex in the fabric of the pullover, and one by one, I feel them push into my skin.

“People don’t understand what it’s like. Yes, losing a sibling is devastating, I’m not trying to take that away from anyone, but losing your identical twin . . . it’s incomparable. She wasn’t just my best friend—she was me. I lost myself, and I lost all the good parts of me.”

“That’s not true. I may not have known you before, but I see so many good things in you, so many that sometimes I wish I were more like you.”

She leans back in surprise and her eyes find mine. “Really? Like what?”

“Camille, you are so kind.” I reach up and tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. “You say you like to keep the peace, and I know you do, but you genuinely want those you care for to be happy. You always look for the best in others, giving them the benefit of the doubt even if they don’t deserve it. With me, you’ve been loving, creative, and happy. You’ve made me want to be a better person, because you deserve the best from me.”

Her bottom lip quivers as she studies the details of my face. She’s so beautiful, inside and out, and I deeply want her to see it, too.

“Thank you.” She blinks slowly, her long eyelashes sweeping down and up like they’re waving at me.

“Can I ask you a question?” I ask her.

“Of course.”

“How did you and Patrick happen?”

“He sat next to me at the funeral. It wasn’t intentional on his part—my parents called him up—but after that day, we sort of gravitated toward each other at school, social events, graduation. He understood more than anyone else how badly I was hurting, and in return, I understood him, too. I needed him and he needed me. Later that summer, Patrick was required to take a date to a political fundraiser, and he asked me if I would go. Of course I said yes since we were friends, but one event turned into many, and before I knew it, people had declared us a couple. I didn’t care, though—being with him made it feel like my sister was still here, and I’m certain he felt the same way. Numb with emotion, I molded myself to be what he needed, what everyone needed. After all, all of it was my fault. My parents were thrilled, and for the first time in a long time, it felt like they were proud of me.”

“Did you love him?” I hate asking her this, but given everything between them, I perversely need to know. My heart starts racing.

“No. I missed her,” she says, clearly hoping I’ll understand her meaning, and I do. “I still miss her, every day.”