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The force of Hope’s guilt and heartbreak slams into my chest, and even I can’t breathe.
“But I didn’t mean it. I didn’t want a break. I wanted forever.”
“People say things when they’re angry.” The words fall too short to be comforting.
“He looked at me. He turned away from the road and looked at me, horrified that I’d say that. I didn’t even mean it, but I was so angry. So stupid.” Hope’s tears stream down her cheeks. “The other driver hit us then. Ran through the red light. And Brandon—he died. He died, andthat’s the last thing I said to him. If he’d been watching the road instead of reacting to me, the stupid thing I said, he’d be alive.”
“Oh, God. Hope.” Words rise and fall in my throat. “I’m sorry.”
She doesn’t flash a warning look at the apology. Her shoulders shake with the force of her sobs. “That’s why I need Maeve’s magic to be real, it’s why I need to connect to Brandon. I keep telling myself that if I can just tell him I didn’t mean it, tell him that I love him with my whole heart and always will, it will ... I don’t know what it will do. But it will make this hurt less. It has to.”
Her hands shake, and I have to swallow hard against the rising wave of emotion.
“It’s not your fault.”
She steps back, into the gathering shadows. “I don’t know why I lied to everyone about the fact that we were arguing. I just ... I didn’t want people to blame me. I blamed myself too much already.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say, and Hope shakes her head. She looks up at the sky, where the moon and stars have gone invisible.
As if they don’t know how to fix Hope’s truth either.
23
HOPE
Tears slide down my cheeks as I head to Tessa’s house the next morning. They do nothing to wash away that final image of Will’s expression after I admitted what had happened in the car between Brandon and me.
If Will was that horrified by what I’d admitted, I can’t even imagine how horrified he’d be if he knew all of it. Or if Tessa knew. Or Logan.
Yesterday was the closest I’ve ever come to telling the truth. And it only confirmed that I cannot tell. Ever.
Tessa’s doorbell is broken, and my knock is answered by a little voice that dries up my tears.
“Mommy, Aunt Hope is here.”
I swipe underneath my eyes and don a happy-aunt smile.
A commotion sounds on the other side of the door, like the girls are fighting over who turns the lock. Eventually, the door swings open and Tessa stands in front of me, a white bathrobe wrapped around her body. Everything about the way she’s glaring at me and holding herself is hard and cold, and maybe I miscalculated how early parents of young kids actually wake up on a weekend.
“Hey, did I wake you?” I ask, in my softest kids-have-been-up-since-sunrise voice.
Emma and Macy rush toward me, squealing my name. I bend and wrap both girls in my arms. They smell like Cinnamon Toast Crunchand gummy bears. “I’ve missed you two.” I lean backward to take in their full height. “You both have grown like a foot since the soccer game. How is that possible in two weeks?”
“Mommy says I have big feet and that means I’ll be tall,” Macy says, lifting a foot to show me. She’s a mini Tessa, down to the Lululemon headband holding back her curls.
I crane my neck to see Tessa, who hasn’t softened. I need Tessa to be Tessa right now. I need my big sister.
“Mommy’s very smart,” I say.
“Girls, why don’t you go inside and finish your cereal. Maybe Daddy will put on a show. I need to talk to Aunt Hope alone.”
Emma turns to me with a serious expression. “I’ve been working on my magic tricks. I’ll show you later, okay?”
“Definitely,” I say, remembering the magic set I bought her from one of the first mediums I visited. Tessa wasn’t pleased.
Both girls disappear, giggling down the hall, and I face my sister.
She glances down at her white robe and white slippers. “You’re wearing all black.”
