to do with this.” Dad shook his head. “I know he did.”
You’re right, D
ad.
You’re so close
.
“What are you going to do?” Mom demanded. “Lock up a sixteen-year-old boy for having a fight with your daughter? He’s a
child,
Daniel. You saw her heart—” Her voice wavered. “You saw it with your own eyes. We all did. Don’t you dare try and tell me Jacob Fischer is responsible for that.” She broke down, sobbing.
More than you think.
“You’ve been sleeping at the office for weeks.” Mom turned around to face him, tears flowing down her cheeks. “We need you here, Daniel. Jack and I need you.”
“What about Brie?” he said. “She doesn’t?”
“She’s GONE!” Mom screamed at the top of her lungs, her shoulders shaking.
No, no, no, please don’t fight, please don’t fight.
I wanted to cover my eyes and my ears—I wanted to run away and never come back. But I couldn’t tear myself away from the window.
“I’m close,” said Dad. “I have a theory.”
“You have us,” sobbed Mom. “Isn’t that enough?” She tried to hug him, but he pulled away.
“No.” He stood up. “Not right now it’s not.” He took his car keys from the counter. “I’m one of the top cardiac surgeons in the world, Katie. How do you think it
looks?
How do you think it looks when I don’t have an answer for what happened to my own daughter?”
That’s my dad for you. Always the realist. It was what he did best, after all. He gave the facts. He laid out the truth. People came from all over the country—all over the world, even—seeking his help. It had to be killing him that he hadn’t been able to put me, his own daughter, back together again.
Mom was different. She was the artist in our family. The free spirit. She taught advanced drawing classes at the SF Art Institute. When they first met, their differences made them stronger. Now those very same differences were tearing them apart.
“They need me at the hospital,” Dad said.
“We need you
here,
” said Mom.
Stop it, stop it, please don’t fight, not over me. I’m so sorry
.
“I’ll try not to be too late.”
“What about dinner?” said Mom bitterly. “It’s her birthday, Daniel. You’re really going to work late tonight?”
I froze.
My birthday
. I turned to Patrick.
“Sixteen,” he said. “Happy birthday, Brie.”
Dad sighed. “I’ll do my best.”
“Your best isn’t good enough.”
“I have to do this, Kathryn.” His voice was cold. Angry. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d called my mom by her full name.
She stormed out of the kitchen. “Do whatever you want. I don’t care.”
I darted from the kitchen window, back across the yard. I took the porch steps two at a time, racing to the front door. I had to try and talk to them. I had to let them know they didn’t have to worry about me. I would go inside, and everything would be okay. I’d find a way to
make
it okay. This was my family. And they needed my help.
You can’t,
Patrick whispered inside my head.
Can’t what? Stop telling me what I can and can’t do.
I reached out, preparing to feel the cool touch of smooth, hard metal just like I had a thousand times before. But when I grabbed the doorknob and tried to turn it, nothing happened.
What the—?
I tried again. Then again. I was locked out.
“I hate this stupid house!” I lashed out, trying to kick the door in.
Still nothing. No matter what I did or how much I pushed and shoved and rammed my body into the door, it wouldn’t budge.
“I hate it I hate it I hate it!!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, the words burning my throat like hot coals. After a minute, I collapsed on the porch stairs, breathing hard. I was so angry that tiny wisps of steam were rolling off my arms and back. I was literally on fire.
Patrick slowly made his way up the steps. “Feel better?”
I’ve got to go inside
.
You CAN’T
.
“That’s crazy!” I screamed. “Why not?” I spun back around,
You’re right, D
ad.
You’re so close
.
“What are you going to do?” Mom demanded. “Lock up a sixteen-year-old boy for having a fight with your daughter? He’s a
child,
Daniel. You saw her heart—” Her voice wavered. “You saw it with your own eyes. We all did. Don’t you dare try and tell me Jacob Fischer is responsible for that.” She broke down, sobbing.
More than you think.
“You’ve been sleeping at the office for weeks.” Mom turned around to face him, tears flowing down her cheeks. “We need you here, Daniel. Jack and I need you.”
“What about Brie?” he said. “She doesn’t?”
“She’s GONE!” Mom screamed at the top of her lungs, her shoulders shaking.
No, no, no, please don’t fight, please don’t fight.
I wanted to cover my eyes and my ears—I wanted to run away and never come back. But I couldn’t tear myself away from the window.
“I’m close,” said Dad. “I have a theory.”
“You have us,” sobbed Mom. “Isn’t that enough?” She tried to hug him, but he pulled away.
“No.” He stood up. “Not right now it’s not.” He took his car keys from the counter. “I’m one of the top cardiac surgeons in the world, Katie. How do you think it
looks?
How do you think it looks when I don’t have an answer for what happened to my own daughter?”
That’s my dad for you. Always the realist. It was what he did best, after all. He gave the facts. He laid out the truth. People came from all over the country—all over the world, even—seeking his help. It had to be killing him that he hadn’t been able to put me, his own daughter, back together again.
Mom was different. She was the artist in our family. The free spirit. She taught advanced drawing classes at the SF Art Institute. When they first met, their differences made them stronger. Now those very same differences were tearing them apart.
“They need me at the hospital,” Dad said.
“We need you
here,
” said Mom.
Stop it, stop it, please don’t fight, not over me. I’m so sorry
.
“I’ll try not to be too late.”
“What about dinner?” said Mom bitterly. “It’s her birthday, Daniel. You’re really going to work late tonight?”
I froze.
My birthday
. I turned to Patrick.
“Sixteen,” he said. “Happy birthday, Brie.”
Dad sighed. “I’ll do my best.”
“Your best isn’t good enough.”
“I have to do this, Kathryn.” His voice was cold. Angry. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d called my mom by her full name.
She stormed out of the kitchen. “Do whatever you want. I don’t care.”
I darted from the kitchen window, back across the yard. I took the porch steps two at a time, racing to the front door. I had to try and talk to them. I had to let them know they didn’t have to worry about me. I would go inside, and everything would be okay. I’d find a way to
make
it okay. This was my family. And they needed my help.
You can’t,
Patrick whispered inside my head.
Can’t what? Stop telling me what I can and can’t do.
I reached out, preparing to feel the cool touch of smooth, hard metal just like I had a thousand times before. But when I grabbed the doorknob and tried to turn it, nothing happened.
What the—?
I tried again. Then again. I was locked out.
“I hate this stupid house!” I lashed out, trying to kick the door in.
Still nothing. No matter what I did or how much I pushed and shoved and rammed my body into the door, it wouldn’t budge.
“I hate it I hate it I hate it!!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, the words burning my throat like hot coals. After a minute, I collapsed on the porch stairs, breathing hard. I was so angry that tiny wisps of steam were rolling off my arms and back. I was literally on fire.
Patrick slowly made his way up the steps. “Feel better?”
I’ve got to go inside
.
You CAN’T
.
“That’s crazy!” I screamed. “Why not?” I spun back around,
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