TWENTY-TWO
Okay.
When Scott and I walk into the house that afternoon, I immediately know that something is wrong. First, because my mom doesn’t have any music playing. She is always listening to some annoying song through the speakers that drives us all crazy. And two, because the chef is cooking carbs. Lots and lots of carbs.
My mother hates carbs.
And I also note that it’s not vegan.
“Who died?” Scott asks when we walk into the dining room to eat.
I laugh, because seriously, we’re having CARBS. We haven’t had spaghetti since my mom accidentally ran over Scott’s dog when we were thirteen.
I miss that dog.
However, neither Mom nor Stanley laugh, making me feel sick to my stomach. I quickly take a seat.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
And that is when my mom bursts into tears. And not her usual, I’m being an overly dramatic thirteen-year-old cry. No. It’s a full on cry. The kind of cry that I haven’t seen since my grandmother’s funeral when I was nine. It was the first and last time I had ever seen my mom truly upset—until now.
Scott sits down beside me, obviously realizing the same thing as me. Whatever this is, it can't be good.
“Today, we got a call from the police,” Stanley says. He seems oddly calm, but cautious. Kind of how he was the day he and Mom came to the school after the shooting, which frightens me even more. “They were doing construction in the old neighborhood that you grew up in… tearing down houses and leveling some land…”
It's been needing to be done for a while. That neighborhood isn't the greatest.
“They found a body,” Stanley says, taking a deep breath. “Isla, it was your dad.”
“My dad?”
I haven't seen him in so long. And I guess in the back of my mind I thought there was a possibility he could be dead. But I always imagined him living a new life. Maybe with a new family, even. I always wondered if I had some half siblings out there that I didn't know anything about.
“He's been dead for eight years,” Stanley says.
Eight years?
“Wait,” I say, doing the math in my head. “My dad… he didn't leave?”
“No. We don't know a lot of details, but they found his body only a few blocks away from your old house,” Stanley says.
It takes a few minutes for the information to really sink in.
“So he never abandoned me?” I ask.
“It doesn't look like that was the case,” Stanley says. “We don't know every detail yet, but I promise I will let you know when I can.”
I nod. “Is there going to be a funeral?”
“Of course,” Stanley says. “We are hoping to have a graveside service next week.”
“Okay. I want to be there. I want… to say goodbye.”
“Whatever you want is fine,” Stanley says. “I'm really sorry, Isla.”
I stand up from the table. “I'm not really that hungry. I just… I'm going to go to my room for a bit.”
I go up the stairs, feeling a bit numb as I go. As soon as I shut my door, I sit down on my floor. I don't know why, but I just feel… so free.
Since I was little, I thought my dad had abandoned me. I thought he didn't love me. But that isn't the case. He didn't leave. He died. And I don't know exactly what happened, but somehow knowing that he's dead is better than thinking he had abandoned me.
My dad was never a perfect man. I know that. Him and my mom had their problems. But I know he loved me in the way that he could.
I pull out my phone to call Cam because I need to talk to him… to tell him everything that's going on. But then I remember he won't answer. Still, I call, just to see. My call goes straight to voicemail.
The door to my room opens and I look up and see Scott walk in. He doesn't say a word. He just sits down beside me and pulls me in for a hug.
“I'm really sorry, Isla,” he says.
“It's okay,” I tell him. “I'm okay. Really. I mean, I know this sounds bad, but it's almost a relief. I've spent most of my life thinking that he hated me, but he didn't. I'm sad I didn't get more time with him, but I'll be okay.”
“I'm proud of you,” Scott says. “You've grown so much.”
I smile, because I like that Scott is proud of me. It makes me feel good. I have grown a lot over the past few months and I like the person I am becoming.
“You’ve grown too,” I say.
“I feel like I’ve been asleep for a long time and I just woke up one day and realized what I was doing,” he says. “I wish I hadn’t wasted so much time sulking.”
“You weren’t sulking. You were mourning. There is a big difference.”
“Dr. Sanchez said that to me,” Scott says, then laughs. “I didn’t believe her, but I think I’m starting to. Maybe. But it still doesn’t excuse the way I acted. I was a complete jerk to you and you didn’t deserve that. What I went through doesn’t even begin to compare to what you went through.”
“Don’t compare,” I say. “We both went through horrible things. I thank God every single day that you weren’t there in that room when Derek Miller started shooting people. What if he had shot you too?”
“But what if I could’ve done something?” Scott asks. “What if I could’ve stopped him?”
“You couldn’t have,” I say, turning to face him. “There were four football players in that room, including the quarterback. They couldn’t do anything because it happened so fast. Derek knew what he was doing. He was a good shot and he didn’t stop pulling the trigger until each person was on the ground. He only stopped to say something to me before he turned the gun on himself. I truly thought I would be next. But my time never came.”
“That day… when I was told the news… I was so relieved when I heard that you were okay,” Scott says. “I know that makes me sound so selfish, but I was glad you were the one to live.”
“What about Kelsey?” I ask.
“I miss her,” Scott says. “But she wasn’t… nice. I mean, she was to me and you and all our friends. But she was awful to Derek Miller. She didn’t deserve death, obviously. None of those kids did. But she was kind of a bully to a lot of kids who she deemed not cool.”
“I wonder if those kids would’ve been my friend if it weren’t for the fact that you were my stepbrother,” I say.
“That’s funny, because I always wondered if they would be my friends if you weren’t my stepsister,” he says, smiling at me. “You were always the cool one, Isla.”
“Yeah, right,” I say. “I just went along for the ride with you. I was always nagging at them, telling them they should be nicer to people. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have put up with that if you weren’t their friend.”
“Well, I guess we both just remember differently then.”
There is a moment of silence and I can’t help but think about how much we have grown. Even a few months ago, there would be no way that we could talk about this kind of stuff. We can now.
“Maybe we should go eat,” I say. “I’m kind of hungry and I doubt we are ever going to see carbs in this house again.”
“Let’s go,” he says, standing up. He holds out a hand to help me up, which I accept.
Scott and me… we’re going to be okay.