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But not all the way.
It's not always enough.
* * *
Luna staysfor a few episodes of trashy reality TV. She invites me to come to Oliver's family lunch, but she doesn't press when I say no. She hugs me goodbye with a, "Seriously, fix this, she's amazing."
In the quiet afternoon air, I feel my sister's absence more. The ache that goes to my bones. The desperate need to understand.
I do what I always do. I look through Deidre's stuff. I turn over old photos.
I open Imogen's site.
It's still there, and it's still offering all this unfiltered understanding.
A gift I took.
A gift I didn't repay.
That's what I need to do.
I need to thank her.
And I need to show her I understand too.
ChapterForty-Eight
IMOGEN
Patrick textsI'm sorry. Can we talk when you're ready?
I replyI'm not ready yet, then I turn off my cell, close myHearts and Thornsemail, bury myself in swimming and schoolwork.
All week, I stay busy.
All week, I keep my mind occupied.
Until I'm in my car, parked outside my parents' place.
The second I turn off the engine, my thoughts hit me.
All the things I want to say to Patrick, to Julie, to Mom.
How the hell do I do this?
It's easier, throwing my thoughts into the universe. Even knowing the universe is there, knowing he's reading.
Is he reading?
Or did he stop?
I don't know.
I want to turn on my phone. I want to check. I want to read every single comment, asking myself if any of them are his. And what does that mean?
How long has he been reading?
Instead, I get out of my car, I gather my purse, I walk into the house.
