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In the silence, Jorden’s toast pops out of the toaster. The sudden noise makes us both jolt. Then Jorden plummets down into the chair next to me. “Fuck.”
“This is all my fault,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have used her name at the party. I shouldn’t have called her last night. She said she wanted to come with us wherever we decide to go, and now, she might be…”
“She’s going to be fine.” Jorden pats my hand. Her own fingers are icy cold. “Francia is one tough bitch. She’ll be okay.”
I try to nod along in agreement, but my hand shifts towards my phone.
If I want Francia to be okay—if I really want to make sure I do everything I possibly can to save her—then I know what I need to do.WhoI need to call.
I just have to sift through a whole lot of pride to pick up the phone and do it.
But if there is any way I can help, I have to try.
There isn’t another choice.
79
IVAN
I slept like shit last night. I have no one but myself to blame.
That didn’t stop me from trying.
As I tossed and turned, I first started to blame Anya. It was her voice that kept ringing in my ears, after all.If you sacrifice yourself now when it’s no longer necessary, you aren’t a hero—you’re a coward.
I drag a hand down my face and reach for my coffee.
I decide to blame my father next. His personality ruled the house when we were younger. Anya and I were just kids and my mother’s soft, sweet nature didn’t stand a chance.
“You have to take care of yourself before you can take care of others,” she said to me once. She was cutting back the peony bushes in the backyard, preparing them for winter. Elbows deep in dirt is where she was always happiest. Outside of the house.
Away from my father.
“That’s why I come out here every morning,” she continued. “I breathe in the morning air and feel at peace before the day starts. Which is why you need to get inside and back to bed.”
She wrinkled her nose, grinning as she swept six-year-old me back towards the patio.
I dug my heels into the ground. “But I want to help with the garden! I need to feel peace, too.”
My mom planted her hands on her hips and looked down at me. She couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “Just this once. Do you hear me? After today, you need to figure out your own way to find peace.In your room.”
I managed to cut back just one of the dozen peony bushes before my father stormed onto the patio and called me inside. Being six was no excuse to busy myself with “a woman’s work,” he snarled as he dragged me in by the scruff of the neck.
I look out over the lawn now. It looks so different than it used to. When Mom got sick, the bushes became overgrown. The lawn devolved into a tangled mess of vines and overflowing garden beds. Otets didn’t hire a gardener until after she died. The first thing they did was rip out the peony bushes. He never explained why he had them ripped out, but I knew.
They reminded him of her.
Now, a line of neat hedges borders the fence. I never gardened again after that day when I was six, but I think I managed to find my peace.
And then I let her walk away.
“God damn you, Anya,” I mutter.
The moment the words are out of my mouth, my phone starts to ring. I’m positive it’s my sister somehow sensing that she won this round and calling to gloat.
Then I pick up my phone and see her name instead.
Cora.
