it’s not news that Tilly and Louis can’t stand me. But they
aren’t going to hurt me. That’s too crazy, even for them.”
“People do crazy things. Bad things,” he
added.
His voice was hard and he said it like he’d
had some experience with bad people or bad things, or maybe
both.
“They can’t hurt me with words. I’m not
thirteen anymore,” she added, before she thought better of it.
He moved a step closer to the bed. “What
happened when you were thirteen?” he asked. His green eyes were
narrowed and his jaw set.
She played with the zipper on her suitcase.
She did not want to get into this—it was ancient history. But she
thought it quite possible that if she didn’t, George would go find
Louis and keep at him until the man told him what George wanted to
know. “Oh, fine. Shortly after my parents died he told me that it
was my fault that my parents were killed.”
“That’s ridiculous,” George said. “You were
just a child.”
“Well, true. I mean part of what he said was
right. He said that they’d have never been on that particular
stretch of road, that particular night, if it wasn’t for me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We lived about a hundred miles north of Los
Angeles. The summer I turned thirteen, my best friend moved to Los
Angeles and we’d made plans for me to go spend a couple weeks with
her in the summer. They’d dropped me off at her house and were on
their way back, when they crashed over the side of the road.”
“But you weren’t even there. You had nothing
to do with it.”
She so didn’t want to talk about this. “Look,
it was a stormy night and my parents didn’t really want to make the
drive there and back. But I begged and begged. I missed my friend
and I’d waited months to see her. I didn’t want to wait another
night.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said again, like
he was determined to convince her.
“What I’ve come to realize over the years is
that it doesn’t really matter whose fault it was. What matters is
that my grandmother lost a daughter, Tilly lost a sister, and the
world lost two really wonderful people.”
He looked mad. “That’s a heavy burden for a
thirteen-year-old. Your family should have been the ones telling
you that it wasn’t your fault. Not the other way around. Did you
ever tell you grandmother what Louis had said?”
She shook her head quickly. “No. I knew it
would cause trouble between Louis and Grandmother, which would have
ultimately caused trouble between Tilly and Grandmother. Tilly and
Louis had been living here for about two years when this happened.
Within twenty-four months, my grandmother had lost her husband and
a daughter and son-in-law. I didn’t want to do something that would
cause her to have a rift with her only living child.”
“That was pretty grown-up of you.”
It felt good to hear him say that. “Losing
both your parents at one time forces you to be mature, whether
you’re ready or not. When you love someone and they die, it changes
you.”
He sucked in a breath, almost like he’d taken
a blow to the stomach. Had he lost someone special? “Did I say
something wrong?” she asked, feeling bad.
“It’s fine,” he said.
She knew it wasn’t. Could tell by the stiff
way he held his shoulders. She waited for him to say something else
but he didn’t seem inclined to tell her any more.
The need to touch him, to comfort him, was
strong. She got up off the bed and walked over to him. Reaching up,
she tucked a piece of his wayward hair behind his ear. She let her
hand trail down the length of his strong jaw. His skin was warm
against the tips of her fingers.
“I’m sorry, George, if what I said makes you
think about things you’d rather forget. I’d like to think I’m not
normally so careless or hurtful with my words.”
He stood as still as a statue. “You’re
neither careless nor hurtful, Melody,” he said. “But you’re right.
Losing someone you love does change
aren’t going to hurt me. That’s too crazy, even for them.”
“People do crazy things. Bad things,” he
added.
His voice was hard and he said it like he’d
had some experience with bad people or bad things, or maybe
both.
“They can’t hurt me with words. I’m not
thirteen anymore,” she added, before she thought better of it.
He moved a step closer to the bed. “What
happened when you were thirteen?” he asked. His green eyes were
narrowed and his jaw set.
She played with the zipper on her suitcase.
She did not want to get into this—it was ancient history. But she
thought it quite possible that if she didn’t, George would go find
Louis and keep at him until the man told him what George wanted to
know. “Oh, fine. Shortly after my parents died he told me that it
was my fault that my parents were killed.”
“That’s ridiculous,” George said. “You were
just a child.”
“Well, true. I mean part of what he said was
right. He said that they’d have never been on that particular
stretch of road, that particular night, if it wasn’t for me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We lived about a hundred miles north of Los
Angeles. The summer I turned thirteen, my best friend moved to Los
Angeles and we’d made plans for me to go spend a couple weeks with
her in the summer. They’d dropped me off at her house and were on
their way back, when they crashed over the side of the road.”
“But you weren’t even there. You had nothing
to do with it.”
She so didn’t want to talk about this. “Look,
it was a stormy night and my parents didn’t really want to make the
drive there and back. But I begged and begged. I missed my friend
and I’d waited months to see her. I didn’t want to wait another
night.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said again, like
he was determined to convince her.
“What I’ve come to realize over the years is
that it doesn’t really matter whose fault it was. What matters is
that my grandmother lost a daughter, Tilly lost a sister, and the
world lost two really wonderful people.”
He looked mad. “That’s a heavy burden for a
thirteen-year-old. Your family should have been the ones telling
you that it wasn’t your fault. Not the other way around. Did you
ever tell you grandmother what Louis had said?”
She shook her head quickly. “No. I knew it
would cause trouble between Louis and Grandmother, which would have
ultimately caused trouble between Tilly and Grandmother. Tilly and
Louis had been living here for about two years when this happened.
Within twenty-four months, my grandmother had lost her husband and
a daughter and son-in-law. I didn’t want to do something that would
cause her to have a rift with her only living child.”
“That was pretty grown-up of you.”
It felt good to hear him say that. “Losing
both your parents at one time forces you to be mature, whether
you’re ready or not. When you love someone and they die, it changes
you.”
He sucked in a breath, almost like he’d taken
a blow to the stomach. Had he lost someone special? “Did I say
something wrong?” she asked, feeling bad.
“It’s fine,” he said.
She knew it wasn’t. Could tell by the stiff
way he held his shoulders. She waited for him to say something else
but he didn’t seem inclined to tell her any more.
The need to touch him, to comfort him, was
strong. She got up off the bed and walked over to him. Reaching up,
she tucked a piece of his wayward hair behind his ear. She let her
hand trail down the length of his strong jaw. His skin was warm
against the tips of her fingers.
“I’m sorry, George, if what I said makes you
think about things you’d rather forget. I’d like to think I’m not
normally so careless or hurtful with my words.”
He stood as still as a statue. “You’re
neither careless nor hurtful, Melody,” he said. “But you’re right.
Losing someone you love does change
Similar Books
