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“You never claimed to be. But I still think you’re wrong.” Her eyes shimmer up at me, a smile spreading across her plump little lips. “I can only think of one other person on this planet who would’ve done for me what you did, and she’s the best person I know.”
I exhale softly, the vise grip around my heart lessening at her whole-hearted acceptance. The violence in me isn’t something that can be extinguished; you have to learn how to fan the flames, keep them contained except when needed. “Maybe I’m just good for you.”
Hauling herself up and snuggling into my side, she nods, wrapping one arm around me. “Maybe you’re right.”
When I’m wheeled to a private room and undergo a series of EMG tests and X-rays, our families finally pile in. My mother practically smothers me with her trembling arms, mascara streaking her cheeks and making guilt flood my chest. She pulls back, smoothing her hands down over my face, and gives me a sloppy forehead kiss. “Itoldyou she was the one.”
Clasping her hand in mine, I squeeze carefully. “You’re always right, aren’t you?”
“About most things.” She beams, pulling Fiona and my father down for a massive group hug.
And for a moment, it’s almost possible to imagine Murphy’s presence, a thorn in my side I don’t think I’ll ever rid myself of. But the pain from the pricking dims each day, the darkness inside me beginning to swallow it whole, giving me hope that maybe one day his ghost will actually forgive me.
Epilogue
Juliet
Awarm, wet sensation between my thighs pulls me from the deep slumber I’ve fallen into; my eyelids peel open, meeting the electric gaze of the man I love as his mouth devours me, coaxing pleasure from my soul with each swipe of his tongue.
My back arches, my head twisting to the side as he spears into me, and I notice the curtains in our bedroom are pulled aside, allowing the shaded midmorning sun to trickle through. The October sky is gray and soft, perfect weather to drive people into a fundraiser being held by Elia tonight.
Well, sort of. He’s sponsoring the charity drive for the proposal to createA Free Hand, a legitimate advocacy group for victims of human trafficking. Not long after Lynn Harrison’s arraignment, girls who’d managed to escape the horrors in the aftermath of the federal shutdown began crawling out of the woodwork of King’s Trace and surrounding areas, offering witness accounts sure to put my mother away for a long time.
If her trial ever stops being delayed, that is.
What can I say, the criminal justice system in this country is slow and often yields infinitesimal results.
Still, as long as she rots in the Stonemore County Prison, I don’t really give a shit.
Caroline and I don’t ever visit. Sometimes I think she gets the urge to, maybe to give our mother a piece of her mind or try to understand why she did what she did, and I recognize that flicker of guilt in her gaze. Recognize the shame that slumps her shoulders, the nervous twitch that accompanies resistance.
I never mention it.
What could I even say?
I’ve been there, and we’re both still healing. Still coming to terms with the course our lives took.
My grief over our father is still tucked away deep inside me, but I don’t go to the cemetery anymore. I’ve stopped giving myself to ghosts that don’t deserve it.
We have group sessions with Hana scheduled every three months, although we’ve only been to one thus far; I didn’t say much, wary of opening up around my sister when we’ve spent our whole lives repressing ourselves, but seeing how she came undone in that room, as if those four walls held some key to her frustrations and soaked up every ounce she vented, then locked them up for safekeeping, makes me hopeful for the next round.
Because part of what once made me so broken was feeling disconnected from Caroline; as close as we always seemed to be, with both of us holding back most of our lives, trying to shield each other from our pain, our bond never really rooted.
But we’re working on it, and I help out around Care’s Crazy Cakes twice a week, getting to know Caroline as my sister and not my white knight. I’m set to graduate at the end of this semester, and she’s been helping me get applications together for internships at different labs across the state.
‘Healing is an ongoing process,’ Hana keeps telling me.‘It’s not an overnight destination, and sometimes wounds never fully recover. Sometimes they scab and scar, leaving behind visible, painful residue we can only work to soothe, but never rid ourselves of entirely. And that’s okay, because those imperfections remind us of our humanity.’
I’m not totally sure about her, or her insistence on practicing meditation when I wake up and before I go to bed, but I can’t deny that I’ve been sleeping better in the months since I started seeing her.
At least, according to Kieran, who still wrestles with his own demons from time to time. But I think he’s got a better grip on his darkness, like he’s using a bit of my light for himself, without trying to squander it.
Turns out, there was some minor nerve damage in his brachial plexus as a result of the gunshot wound; although he still had primary use of his arm and hand, there was numbness and tingling and weakness that bothered him, and so he underwent a nerve graft a month and a half ago. Since then, he’s been rigorous with his physical therapy, determined to regain full, unencumbered use of his hand again so he can go back to work.
I try not to think about his career. Like Caroline and the other significant others of the underground, it’s something we have to compartmentalize and separate from our realities. Pretend we don’t know why they occasionally come home with blood on their hands or wearing non-tracking army boots.
The skeletons in his closet are none of my business. He gutted his brother’s cabin last month and has been working on renovating the entire thing, top to bottom, erasing the evidence of any and all evil from the dwelling. His mother even gave it the seal of approval recently, although with her declining memory, I’m not entirely convinced she knew what she was talking about.
We’ve been renting an apartment downtown while the house is being done, having decided on moving in together when he started the renovations. I wasn’t entirely sure about the decision, especially so early on in our relationship, but Kieran is not deterred by time. And I’m sick of letting fear rule me.
