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“Lucy, what did I do? Tell me so I can change. I’ll do anything.”
But her response was to push me away.
I didn’t realize I needed to protect her. When I’d complain, my parents tried to intervene with the psychological claptrap they’d read or that the school therapist had fed them, anything to not face up to the actual issues.
“She’s seeking independence,” George said. “From us and from you. It’s natural.”
I knew it was unnatural because of the secretiveness. She never came out and said,I don’t want to be with you anymore.
I took responsibility for the chasm until a friend called attention to Lucy being stoned. In a rare moment of transparency, I let my friend know how heartbroken I was at Lucy’s abandonment.
“It’s nothing you’ve done, Bellabug. She’s a stoner. Everyone knows. She hangs with those lowlifes now. She skips school all the time. If the nuns haven’t called your parents out on it, then they are falling down on the job.”
We had all ignored the obvious physical signs.
“I don’t believe it!”
“Look at her! She’s skin and bones, her eyes are always bloodshot, her face is covered with zits. She’s a mess.”
I was appalled, angry at the friend, but it made me take a closer look. Lucy had become so sneaky and manipulative. The routines of our lifetime, dressing together in the morning, sharing our thoughts, staying in touch during the day, none of those things existed any longer.
Part of me died when she cut me off. Truthfully, after six years, I still haven’t completely adjusted.
That afternoon, alone in my room after aborting my date with Flynn, I realized that my mother was right. Margo, too. It was over. There was no point in dumping on my mother and father and making them feel worse. I needed to move beyond what was seemingly Lucy’s betrayal and forgive her, too. She had been sick, mentally ill. I wished I knew the details, the whys, but unless I opened up what would surely be a messy and painful investigation, there would be no answers. Unless my parents were curious about it, the crisis had ended at Lucy’s death.
But I was comfortable there in my cocoon of self-pity. I wasn’t the first person to lose a twin. I grabbed my computer and reread articles regarding the research done, and it hit home. Losing a twin was right up there with the worst of grief. But my mother was right. It had been six years.
I needed to forgive everyone, including Lucy and myself.
The side door opening and the distinctive sound of plastic bags rustling got my attention; someone had gone to the grocery store.
With hands full of bag handles, Brian held the door open with his foot while Dale squeezed through with six more.
“You guys!” I said.
“Yeah, we got sick of eating our families’ leftovers,” Brian said, grimacing. “It's time to cook again.”
“I’m starving,” I said. “I just ate all the fruit.”
“You can eat whatever you want,” Dale said, stretching out her arm with a bag. “Here, put this away.”
It was more fruit.
“Why are you home?” Brian asked, suddenly realizing I wasn’t on my day-long date.
“I cut it short. It was a mistake.”
“Oh, no. What happened?” Dale asked.
“His family was rightfully hostile since he asked them not to talk to me about the accident, and then we tried to go to eat, and Lucy’s name snuck into the conversation. I don’t even remember now what was said, just all the BS that I hate talking about. I wanted to come home, and he thankfully brought me here. I don’t think I want to see him again.”
“Aw, Bellabug, you always do things that end up punishing yourself. You like the guy.”
“Yeah. I’m over it. Anyway, then Skippy called to tell me the city is giving me that hero award and I have to go on a stage at City Hall, and they’ll give me a check and a medal. I don’t have to tell you that this is the last thing on earth I want to face right now.”
“How much money?” Brian asked, handing Dale cans to put away.
“I have no idea.”
