The first few days of Eden’s detox process are hard to watch. It’s terrible to see my sister this way.

It was probably a good thing that Lucy sent me away at first. To get Eden mentally prepared for everything she was going to go through. And to give me some time to steel myself for it. When Gunner drops me off at Lucy’s house the next day on his way to the club’s garage, my sister is in the full throes of withdrawal. She’s agitated, jittery. On her face is a sheen of sweat. She smells stale, despite the fact that Lucy tells me she took a shower just a few hours ago. She complains that her muscles ache, that her bones hurt.

Eden paces the house, her face ashen and feral. When she’s exhausted herself from pacing, she collapses on the bed in Lucy’s guest room, tossing and moaning. I sit with her, talking to her in calm tones and telling her how proud I am of her. That it will be over soon. That she’ll be fine. I don’t know if she believes me.

Sometimes, Eden manages to fall into a restless, fitful doze for an hour or two. I sit with her, in a hard back chair next to the bed, and look around the room. It used to be Gunner’s bedroom, and there are traces of his younger self everywhere. Ancient, curling posters of sports stars, motorcycles, and busty women fill the walls. On a shelf above his desk are some books: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Lord of the Flies. Ender’s Game. It’s strange to think of a young Gunner reading them. A pang seizes my heart with longing to meet that boy I’ll never know.

I think Lucy must catch me looking at Gunner’s things when I don’t notice, because sometimes when Eden’s sleeping and we’re sitting at the kitchen table, she’ll come out with a random story about something Gunner did when he was a boy. The stories make me laugh. I think back to what she said about Gunner falling for me, and marvel that she knew how he felt before I did.

Mother’s intuition.

I wonder if my mom would have liked Gunner?

I’d like to think that she would.

* * *

On the fourth day, when Gunner drops me off, Lucy greets me at the door.

“She’s taking a shower,” she tells me as she lets me inside. “She slept okay last night. I think we’re turning the corner.”

As soon as Eden comes out of the bathroom, I can see something’s changed. She’s a little less tremor-y. A little less restless.

The three of us sit in the living room, and watch a stupid movie on TV. Something goofy and funny, to make Eden laugh and distract her. Lucy makes popcorn, and it feels… okay. Like we’re just three women sitting around watching a dumb comedy for no reason at all. The normalcy makes me want to cry, but I push it down.

After the movie’s over, Lucy announces she has to go to the hospital for her shift. “There’s plenty of food in the fridge, and leftover lasagne for dinner if you want,” she tells us. “Gunner’s gonna come over and hang out with you when he’s done at the garage for the day.”

When Lucy’s car engine starts up in the driveway, I look over at my sister and realize this is the first time I’ve been completely alone with her in years. Since before our mom died.

Suddenly, I have no idea what to say.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

“Like insects are crawling all over my skin,” she admits. “But it’s better today.”

“Do you want to watch another movie?” I reach for the remote.

Eden yawns and stretches on the couch. “Maybe in a little while.”

“Do you want to go on a walk? Lucy said it’s a good idea to get some exercise every day.”

She cocks her head, considering. “Yeah. You know? That actually sounds kind of good.”

I wait for her as she goes into her room to grab a sweatshirt. It’s unseasonably cool today for the end of the summer. When she’s ready, the two of us head outside and turn right when we get to the sidewalk.

For a few minutes, neither of us says anything.

Then:

“I never really thanked you.”

I don’t ask what for. I know what she means, of course.

“It was Gunner, not me,” I tell her honestly. “I never would have found you by myself.”

“But you looked.” Eden turns her head toward me. “You came.”

“I was worried about you.”

“I knew that.” Eden shoves her hands in the pockets of her sweats. “I knew you were worried. And I didn’t care. I told myself you were being ridiculous, because I was fine.” A small, strangled sound escapes her throat. “And then, I wasn’t.”

“Eden,” I begin, “I’m so sorr…”

“Alix, no!” she stops short and turns to me. “Please, don’t be sorry! My God, what do you have to be sorry about? I’m the one who should be sorry!” Her face is anguished. “I’m the one who just left when Mom got sick. I’m the one who treated her like shit, and then just disappeared.” She shakes her head violently. “I thought I fucking hated her. And you.” She starts to cry, tears streaming down her face. “But I just hated myself, for being such a piece of shit all the time! I didn’t know how to be anything but angry!”

Without even thinking, I put my arms around her. We stand like that, the two of us, on the sidewalk in the middle of a neighborhood we’ve never been in before. Her weeping against my shoulder, and me just holding her.

Back at Lucy’s house, we go out on the back deck. Eden pulls a cigarette out of the pack Lucy gave her and lights it up.

“I couldn’t handle it when Mom got sick,” she murmurs in a low voice. She’s stopped crying now, and her words come out in a tired monotone. It’s like she’s trying to purge them from her system, just trying to get them all out. “I’d been such a hellion of a daughter for so long — I’d told her I hated her so many times — that it felt like her getting cancer was my fault. My punishment, for treating her like shit.”

Eden takes a deep, shaky drag of her cigarette, and blows it out. “I felt like I didn’t have the right to be there. To pretend like I cared all along. So I took off. And then I felt even worse. Because I did care. But I didn’t know how to tell her how sorry I was. How sorry I was that I was such a shitty kid…” A deep sob wrenches from inside her. “And how sorry I was that she was… dying…”

Eden bangs her hand angrily on the arm of her chair, hard enough that it has to hurt. It seems like maybe that’s what she’s going for.

“And now…” She swallows, struggling to speak. “Now I’m never going to get to tell her I’m sorry. It’s too late.” She closes her eyes against the pain.

“She knew you loved her, Eden,” I murmur. “She did. I promise.”

“Ever since she died, I’ve hated myself.” Eden turns to me. A grimace of self-loathing distorts her delicate features. “Hate. I wanted bad things to happen to me. Hell, I think I was hoping something terrible would happen, to punish me.” She stabs her cigarette out angrily on the ashtray next to her and starts to cry again, in terrible, hitching breaths. “But God, Alix, it was so terrible!”

She buries her face in her hands, her thin shoulders shaking. I scoot my chair closer to hers and wrap my arm around her.

“I know,” I murmur, even though I don’t. Not really. I can’t possibly know how awful the last weeks have been for her.

I don’t know how long we stay like that. Eventually, Eden’s crying slows.

“When I called you the one time — when I left the message,” she tells me, looking down at her shaking hands, “it was the first time I was sober enough to function well enough to do it. But Gonzalo found me. He took the phone and smashed it.”

“Thank you for calling me,” I murmur. “You might not believe it, but it was hugely important. Knowing you wanted to be found. It helped us.”

“There’s lots of stuff that I don’t even remember,” she says in a horrified whisper. “With Gonzalo. And the others. Stuff that I think happened, but I can’t be sure.”

I wait to see if there’s more she wants to say. But she goes silent.

“You know, Eden,” I begin after a moment. “You know what the best possible thing you could do for Mom is? Know she would want you to be happy. She would forgive you in a heartbeat.” I pause. “And she would want you to forgive yourself.”

For a second, she doesn’t answer.

“I know,” she whispers. “But it’s hard.”

“I know,” I say back.

We just sit there for a while, neither of us talking. Eden lights another cigarette, and smokes it.

“Wanna go in?” I ask when she’s finished.

“Sure.” She pauses. “We could watch another movie, if you want.”

“Good idea.”

We go back into the living room. I flip through the options on the screen, and we argue over the selections. For a moment, it’s like we’re just two normal sisters again.

I’ll take that moment. And file it away with the others.

Someday, maybe there will be a lot of them.

We finally settle on a romantic comedy neither of us has seen before. As I press play, Eden looks over at me with a tremulous smile.

“Mom would be happy to know we were together again.”

“Yes,” I answer softly. “She sure would.”