I swallow. “She was always fragile. She had a depressive personality disorder. A lot of times she wouldn’t get out of bed, would go days without coming out of her bedroom. She was on medication, but more often than not she couldn’t be counted on to take it.” My eyes go unfocused as I retreat into memories. “When she found out about the women, the affairs… something just seemed to break inside her. Something that couldn’t be fixed. I was young. I didn’t know how to make her better. Neither did the doctors or the specialists or any of the psychiatrists my father paraded into our house. For years, we watched helplessly as she retreated into herself more and more each day…”
Parker’s eyes are red. Even Nate and Chase, ever stoic, look a bit shaken. Gemma doesn’t say anything, but there are silent tears tracking down her face. When she reaches out to take my hand, I don’t pull away. I lace my fingers through hers and hold tight.
“We think she went in the middle of the night. Took some sleeping pills, waded into the ocean in her nightgown and…” I trail off. “It was me, who found her the next day. Covered in sand and surf. I remember thinking she was like some kind of mermaid washed ashore.”
My eyes cut to Nate. His stare moves over my face, full of strength and support — I absorb it like a sponge for several long seconds before turning to focus on Gemma.
“I didn’t know,” she whispers brokenly, horror in her clear blue eyes. “I had no idea, Phoebe…”
“I know.” I try a smile, but my lips won’t cooperate. “None of this is your fault, Gemma.”
“But…” She swallows hard, and I know she’s overwhelmed. “I understand if you hate me. I understand.”
In that moment, I think about Nate. Hear his voice in my head.
Never say it. Even if you don’t mean it.
I think about my mother, even at her most fragile, telling me not to be afraid to test my wings no matter what life throws at me.
Fly far, little bird. Jump the nest.
I steady my shoulders and meet Gemma’s eyes. “We didn’t have a choice about how we got here. Not one of us,” I say, squeezing her hand tighter. “But we have a choice now.”
She squeezes back.
I take a deep breath. “I loved my mother. It took me a long time to forgive her for leaving us. It took me an even longer time to forgive my father for his part in making her leave. But I did, because when it comes down to it… you either die alone, surrounded by the ghosts of all the people who ever let you down, or you live a life full of flawed people whose imperfections you’ve made a choice to overlook. I don’t know about you but if given the choice, I’ll pick the imperfections every time. I choose understanding over resentment, love over hate, forgiveness over loneliness.” I look at Parker. “Some of us are still working on the forgiveness part.”
His eyes are still red, but his lips tug up in a half smile.
I take a deep breath. “You don’t get to pick your family. You don’t get to choose the people who work their way into your heart and build a home there.” My eyes move to Nate. “And life is too damn short not to spend it with the people who matter. Not to sayI love youwhen you still can. Not to hold each other close and admit, out loud,You matter to me. My life wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Something stirs at the back of Nate’s eyes, and I turn away before it makes me break down.
I look at Parker. “I love you. You matter to me. My life wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“I love you too, Sweet P,” he says. His voice is gruffer than usual, and I know he’s holding his emotions tightly in check.
I look at Gemma, smiling through my tears. My voice cracks. “I love you. You matter to me. My life wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Her tears drip faster and she nods, unable to speak. Her eyes return my sentiment, though. Tenfold.
I extend my free hand, the one not twined with Gemma’s, and hold it out for my brother to take. After a moment’s hesitation, his palm engulfs mine in a warm grip. The three of us stand there for a long time, tethered together by the tips of our fingers as much as we are by our common strands of DNA.
We didn’t have a choice about how we got here.
But we have a choice now.
And as I clutch my siblings’ hands, I know we’ve made the right one.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I know we name our dogs… But do
you think they name us, too?
Phoebe West, wondering whether Boo refers to her
as She-With-Many-Shoes or She-Who-Feeds-Me.