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I hold it to my chest and back away. “She entrusted it to me. I’m supposed to be with Marah when she reads it. I promised Katie. ”
“She made a lot of mistakes when it came to you. ”
I shake my head. This is happening so fast I can’t quite process it. “Did I make a mistake in cleaning out her closet? I thought you—”
“You only ever think about yourself, Tully. ”
“Dad,” Marah says, pulling her brothers in close. “Mom wouldn’t want—”
“She’s gone,” he says sharply. I see how the words hit him, how grief rearranges his face, and I whisper his name, not knowing what else to say. He’s wrong. I meant to help.
Johnny backs away from me. He pushes a hand through his hair and looks at his children, who look scared now, and uncertain. “We’re moving,” he says.
Marah goes pale. “What?”
“We’re moving,” Johnny says, more in control this time. “To Los Angeles. I’ve taken a new job. We need a new start. I can’t live here without her”—he indicates his bedroom. He can’t even look at the bed. He looks at me instead.
“If this is because I tried to help—”
He laughs. It is a dry, scraping sound. “Of course you think it’s about you. Did you hear me? I can’t live in her house. ”
I reach for him.
He sidesteps me. “Just go, Tully. ”
“But—”
“Go,” he says again, and I can see that he means it.
I clutch the journal and ease past him. I hug the boys together, holding them tightly and kissing their plump cheeks, trying to imprint their images on my soul. “You’ll visit us, right?” Lucas says unevenly. This little boy has lost so much and the uncertainty in his voice kills me.
Marah grabs my arm. “Let me live with you. ”
Behind us, Johnny laughs bitterly.
“You belong with your family,” I say quietly.
“This isn’t a family anymore. ” Marah’s eyes fill with tears. “You told her you’d be there for me. ”
I can’t listen to any more. I pull my goddaughter into a fierce, desperate hug so tight she struggles to break free. When I pull away and leave the room, I can hardly see through my tears.
Six
“Will you please stop humming?” I say to Kate. “How am I supposed to think with you making that racket? It’s not like these are pleasant memories for me. ”
I am not humming.
“Okay. Quit beeping. What are you, the Road Runner?” The sound is soft at first, like a mosquito buzzing near my ear, but it amplifies steadily, becomes ridiculously loud. “Stop making that noise. ” I am starting to get a headache.
A real headache. Pain sparks to life behind my eyes, seeps out, turns into a hammer-pounding migraine.
I am as quiet as the grave over here.
“Very funny. Wait. That’s not you. It sounds like a car alarm. What the fu—”
WELOSTHER, someone says, yells, really. Who?
Beside me, I hear Katie sigh. It is a sad sound, somehow, like the tearing of old lace. She whispers my name and then says: Time. It scares me, both the exhaustion I hear in her voice and the word itself. Have I used up all the time allotted to me? Why didn’t I say more? Ask more questions? What happened to me? I know she knows. “Kate?”
