Epilogue

Juliana

Three years later

 

 

Wrestling the last bits of clothes into the washing machine, I slammed its lid with a satisfying thud and headed back to the kitchen to check on my quiche. It had taken almost three years to teach myself how to cook, but I felt like I was finally starting to get there. Quiche, however, despite the nightmare that my first attempt had turned into, was a dish that I had long since mastered and that my little family loved.

Pacey was at work and would be home soon, but I still had a few things left to do before I was done for the day. Before I carried on, however, I wanted to check on the person responsible for the messes I’d spent most of the day cleaning up.

Popping my head into Jason’s bedroom, my heart fluttered and sang the way it always did when I looked at our 2-year-old son. He was growing a mile a minute, and I could hardly believe that nearly three years had gone by since two little lines on a plastic stick told me that our lives were about to change irrevocably.

Jason was sitting on the carpet in the center of his bedroom, playing with his absolute favorite toys for the moment: oversized plastic army men that Pacey bought the day we found out that Jason was a boy.

At only 2 years old, my boy truly was my husband’s child. He had Pacey’s dark hair and beautiful eyes, but the flecks in them were my shade of green instead of Pacey’s gold.

Two of the men Jason held in his tiny hands were engaged in an epic battle that I was sure Pacey would be proud of. At first, I wasn’t sure whether buying him army men at such a young age was a great idea, but Pacey convinced me that it was a rite of passage for a little boy to have the toys and that he would keep a close eye out for anything inappropriate.

I leaned in the doorway to his bedroom, folded my arms across my chest, and simply took in my little whirlwind blessing that filled my heart with a joy and gratitude that I couldn’t describe. Jason looked up at me and smiled, his small white teeth gleaming.

“Mama, did you see Joe win?” His eyes sparkled as he held up the man in his left hand.

“Sure did, sweetheart. Daddy is going to be so proud of him,” I told Jason, who lived for Pacey’s praise, despite how freely and often he gave it.

We hadn’t talked about children very much before I found out that we were pregnant with Jason. It had been raining outside, and Pacey had come home late after being stuck in a traffic jam coming home from the next town over. The business had expanded already, and they often had to travel a couple of towns away to service their clients.

He was tired and annoyed by the time he got home, but like always, his expression softened as soon as he laid eyes on me. He swept me into a big hug, crashing his lips to mine in a kiss that took my breath away.

“God, I needed that. In fact, it’s the only thing that made it worth my while to get out of bed this morning. I think tomorrow I’ll just stay in it with you.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Our wedding had been only a couple of weeks before and I’d quit my job at the bank shortly before that and started helping out with the administrative and logistical details of the yard care business, so I’d been working from home.

Our wedding day was magical and perfect; a small ceremony attended only by those closest to us. It took place on the same hilltop where Pacey had kissed me for the first time. He’d gone out of his way to make sure that everything was just so for our outdoor ceremony and made every dream come true when he promised to love me for the rest of my life.

Looking at me, like he wanted to start enacting the plan of staying in bed the whole next day immediately, I’d squealed when he threw me over his shoulder caveman-style and carried me to our bedroom. I hadn’t had time to get a word in edgewise.

Once there, he quickly rid both of us of our clothes and proceeded to rock my world twice, gathered me up in his arms after, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. I was still struggling for words, not entirely sure how to broach the subject. 

His eyes had narrowed as he looked at me quizzically, stroking my hair with one hand and the other resting just about where our baby was growing. “What’s going on in that head of yours, baby?”

“That’s just it,” I breathed, my heart hammering in my chest as I considered the magnitude of the bomb I was about to drop on him.

Palming my cheek, he placed a thumb under my chin and forced me to look into his concerned eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I, uh, I got some news today, and that’s just it. We’re having a baby, Pacey.” His cheeks paled, and for just a second, I thought he was upset. But then his eyes grew wide, and the only emotion I could make out behind them was elation.

Fingers digging into my hip, he dragged me closer and kissed me deeply before pulling back to look at me with the most awed expression.

“Are you serious?” he asked, his gaze locked with mine.

My lips curled into a small smile as I nodded. “I just did the test, and yeah, I’m serious. I know we never talked much about children, but—”

“But nothing. This is the best news I’ve ever gotten.” He pressed another kiss to my lips and smiled against them. “How is it possible that life with you just keeps getting better and better?”

I smiled at the memory now as I watched the tiny baby who’d grown into the sweetest little boy play, walked over to give our son a quick hug, and laughed when he sighed and twisted out of it. “Mommy, no time for hugging. I’m in the middle of a war.”

“The day you have no time for hugging your mother, you will see what a war really looks like, buddy.”

Jason’s sweet little laugh followed me down the stairs, and I couldn’t hold back my own grin as I entered the kitchen. Before Jason, when people referred to babies as bundles of joy, I thought they were a little touched in the head.

He’d taught me the true meaning of that expression the first time I’d laid eyes on him. Combine that with his incredible father and my life was so full, so much of the dream that I’d been too afraid to have that I still pinched myself sometimes.

The quiche was happily baking away in the oven as I reflected back over the last three years. A couple of minutes later, the front door opened and my gorgeous husband appeared in the kitchen. He opened his arms, and I walked right into them. It was the same thing we still did every day, and I loved the smell of freshly mowed grass and pure sunshine that he emitted.

Home.

“How’s my girl doing?” His lips moved against my hair as he started nuzzling my neck and pressing kisses to my skin.

“I’m fine. How was your day?” My blood still heated whenever his lips were on me, and my thoughts still tried to flee. I laced my fingers behind his head and tilted my chin so that my lips were only inches away from his.

“Busy. Just like we’re about to be.” Pacey smirked and walked us backward out of the kitchen until my knees hit the couch in our living room. “Where’s Jason?”

“In the middle of a war.”

“Perfect,” he said. “That’ll keep our little man busy until dinner, I think.”

Wrapping an arm around my waist, Pacey spun, sat down on the couch, and pulled me down with him so that I was straddling him. His hands caressed my sides as his pupils dilated before claiming my mouth with his.

Our kiss started out slowly and gently, but true to form it quickly turned hungry, and before I knew it, Pacey had the straps of my dress and bra pushed down and was thumbing my nipples into hardened peaks. I moaned and arched my back, pressing my breasts into his hands.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Pacey said, his voice raspy.

“Have you now?” I wiggled in his lap, gasping when I hit his rock-hard length with my core. I rocked against him, reveling in the low, pleasured groan that sounded from the back of his throat. “And what might you have been thinking about?”

“This. You. Our beautiful little boy. Don’t you think it’s time to give Jason a little brother or sister to play with?” It wasn’t the first time he’d asked me that question, but I hadn’t wanted to rush the time that we had alone with Jason.

It was, however, the first time that I found myself seriously considering my answer. Pacey’s hands speared into my hair as he pulled my head down for another kiss. “While you think about it, let me show you how much fun trying could be.”

I relaxed into his kiss, allowing the familiar desire and arousal that never seemed to fade for him, to come bubbling to the surface. Pacey groaned into my mouth and shifted his hips so that my clit hit his hard bulge at an angle that was driving me crazy each time I rocked against him.

Just as I was about to drag him to our bedroom, the smell of burning hit my nostrils and I realized that my quiche was probably on fire by now. A confused look crossed Pacey’s expression, then he burst out laughing.

“Crap!” I exclaimed, scurrying off his lap and running back to the kitchen, where smoke was swirling inside my oven, visible through the glass door. It’d been ages since my last full-blown kitchen disaster, but this was definitely turning out to be one.

Pacey reappeared a minute or so later with his smug-looking mini-me on his hip. Jason wrinkled his nose and pointed to the oven. “Mommy, fire!”

“There’s no fire, baby,” I told him, though it had been a narrow miss. “Daddy should be sent to the naughty corner for distracting mommy while I was trying to make your favorite.”

Quiche was far from his favorite, but at least he would eat it, which was all that I could ask for. Jason was going through nutritional kicks, but quiche always seemed to be a safe bet. The week before he decided that he was no longer eating meat, then this week he was eating meat again, but was taking a stand against anything green.

Pacey laughed and stalked up to me and caged me to the counter with his free, muscular forearm, with Jason still cradled in the other.

Pressing kisses to my neck and jaw, he swept my hair to the side for better access and whispered in my ear, “I’m only going to the naughty corner if you’re coming with me.”

With that, he started cooing to Jason and strapping him to his high chair, doling out high-fives as he listened to what his son had gotten up to that day, then debating the merits of fish fingers for dinner.

Pacey was, and I wasn’t saying it because I was biased, the greatest father in the world. He’d jumped into fatherhood with the same amount of dedication and determination that he applied to everything else in his life.

I loved watching my two men together, laughing over menial everyday things. I felt absolute joy radiating from my heart into my very bones at the sight of them giggling and chatting. Maybe it was time to consider adding another Nelson to the mix…

I was happier than I ever thought possible, as I always was when I was with my guys. So another one, or maybe even a little girl to help me balance out the men in the house, might really have been a great idea.

I couldn’t wait to see the look on Pacey’s face when I told him that I finally thought it was time to start trying for another character to add to the story of our very own happily ever after.

That’s the end of the SEAL’s Technique. Below I included 4 of my previous books to read as a free bonus.

 

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By Claire Adams

 

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

 

Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams

 

 

Chapter One

Quinn

 

His face on the magazine cover kept eclipsing my textbook. I recognized him from high school, junior high school actually, and the thrill of seeing him again was more exciting than gross anatomy. I tried to tell myself it was the magazine that was grabbing my attention. I had obsessed over the new hit multiplayer online game Dark Flag since it came out. Owen Redd was rising to dominance as the game's first clan leader. He was a star in the gamer community.

And my sister's boyfriend, I reminded myself.

I never understood how he put up with Sienna. She had wanted to change him from the moment they met. My perfect sister, with her stellar GPA. and her driving ambition to be a surgeon, wanted her boyfriend to be more than a gamer. I always suspected she started dating him as a challenge. Sienna was always trying to improve, perfect, and control the world around her. Owen struck me as another project she took on – change the school's most popular rebel into the prom king. She kept a framed picture of their prom court on the desk in her dorm. Owen's crown was crooked, but he and Sienna were still together.

I wondered if she knew he was on the cover of a magazine. Sienna would not be impressed, but it really was a big deal. I reached for my phone.

"The studying going well?" my roommate asked.

"Can you believe the professor gives us a quiz at the start of every class? Seems cruel," I said.

Darla shook her head and laughed. "I heard he charts the quiz scores on a board."

I groaned. My sister's name was on the top of that board and I could not help but look at it every time I sat down to struggle through another quiz.

Darla gave my long hair a sympathetic tug. "Have you ever considered changing your major? I know nursing is a noble profession, but as far as I can see, you don't like anything about it."

"I like it," I said. "It’s just a lot of memorizing and papers and sitting around studying new research. There's not a lot of, I don't know, action to it."

"Well, if you're looking for action, I heard there's a Dark Flag party over in the basement of the Mathematics lab," Darla said.

My roommate was the opposite of me in many ways – an art major with a concentration in textiles – but she was also a gamer. I stood up to lead the way out the door.

"Wait, you forgot your phone," Darla stopped me. "Ugh, I think your advisor is calling."

I looked at the caller ID and bit my lip. Alice Bonton had a sixth sense about when I was going to do something fun instead of study. There was no reason I couldn’t let the call go to voicemail, except my father's nagging motto: never put off for tomorrow what you can deal with right now.

"Ms. Alice, how is your evening?" I asked. Darla shrugged her shoulders and left without me.

"Quinn, I'm glad I caught you. I mean, I'm not glad, I'm just grateful you answered your phone," my advisor said.

"If this is about skipping class last week, its sounds much worse than it was. I was actually volunteering my time down at the blood drive. I just forgot to get a volunteer form signed," I said.

"Skipping class again? That's the fourth time this month. That's once a week. Quinn, I'm concerned. I know this isn't the time to discuss it, but–" her voice cracked. "I'm not sure how to do this."

"I can make up all the work, I promise. I'm studying right now. Literally, the book is open in front of me. I love nursing, I really do. I've just been distracted lately." I stopped myself before I started talking about the new game. My college advisor would not be impressed to hear how dedicated I was to a new online game.

"When was the last time you went home? Spent any time with your family?"

"I don't know, fall break? So, well, I guess about a month," I said. "But I'm going home for Thanksgiving. Sienna wants to stay on campus, but I agreed to go home. I'm in charge of making the gravy. Sienna makes the best stuffing, but she's only staying on campus to get a head start on studying for finals. She's pre-med and wants to be a surgeon."

There was silence on the other end of the line. Finally, when I had held my breath long enough to see a few stars creeping around the edges of my vision, my advisor said, "I know you look up to your sister, but I hope you have considered finding your own path."

I could feel dread hanging over the conversation. Ms. Alice's words were heavy and she struggled to speak. The same weight settled over me. "Am I getting kicked out of the nursing program?"

"What?" my advisor asked. "No. I mean, I don't know, the skipping class is getting out of hand. I just think now is a good time for you to consider what you really want to do. You shouldn't stick with a major just because of family expectations. Instead of following in your sister's footsteps–"

"Ms. Alice, are you alright? Maybe I should make an appointment during your office hours," I said. "I'm going online right now to put in the request. I don't want to take up any more of your time this evening."

"Wait, Quinn, I'm calling late for a reason," my advisor said. She cleared her throat and paused again.

"Oh, no! You're right. I didn't know how late it was! I promised a friend I would cover his shift at the front desk of our dorm. I gotta go, Ms. Alice. I'm sorry. Thanks for your concern. We'll talk soon!" I hung up the phone and put it down as if it burned my hand.

I was never rude and I never lied, but I had been both to Ms. Alice for no discernible reason. Something in her heavy tone and her pauses made me nervous. I looked at the clock. It was past 10 o'clock on a weeknight. My stomach twisted. Why would my college advisor be calling so late?

I stood up and brushed my hair back, doing my best impression of my sister's hair flip. Sienna never let other people bother her. My sister would have cut the strange phone call short 20 seconds after it started. On the other hand, I was wracked with guilt. I felt as if Ms. Alice was trying to tell me something and I had not done a good job of helping her spit it out.

Despite the guilt, I brushed my hair and got ready to join Darla at the gamer party. I moved quickly and was out the door before I could even shut my abandoned textbook.

"Oh, sorry. Excuse me," I said.

The taller of the campus security guards held up both hands. "Whoa, slow down. Are you Quinn Thomas?"

My stomach turned sour. "Yes?"

"Your advisor is Alice Bonton?" he asked.

"Yes. Wait, what's going on?" I asked.

His rotund partner shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled. "Your advisor needs you to meet her at Alton Tower. We're here to give you a lift. That's all we know."

"Please come with us, Ms. Thomas." The taller guard stepped aside and ushered me past.

I took a step before I saw the sharp look pass between the two men. "What is this all about? Has something happened?"

Neither said a single word more. I fought the urge to run, and instead walked downstairs and out the front doors. The fat guard waved a thick hand towards the campus vehicle. My feet froze and an angry buzzing started in my ears. The taller guard stepped around me and opened the passenger side door, relegating his partner to the back seat.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

The lanky man folded himself into the driver's seat. Instead of answering, he turned the key in the ignition. I tried to close my eyes and take a calming breath, but an incessant flashing of lights stopped me. An ambulance drove past and joined the whirling lights of a police car not far away.

Alton Tower. That's where the guard said my advisor was waiting. I knew it because it was my sister's dorm.

The campus vehicle bucked the curb and drove right onto the lawn outside Alton Tower. Another campus security Jeep, the police car, and the ambulance blocked the front door of the dorm. I sat in the car, not sure where I was supposed to go.

Ms. Alice appeared, skittering around the front of the police car. She ran up to my door, and I could see she was talking before she opened it. "Quinn, I'm so sorry, but I was afraid you wouldn't answer if I called back."

"What is going on?" I asked. I gripped the side of the passenger seat and refused to get out.

"There's been a…um, well, an accident," my advisor said. She reached for my hand.

"My sister? Is Sienna alright?" I slapped away Ms. Alice's hand and vaulted from the security vehicle. The rotund security guard tried to stop me, but he was too slow getting out of the back seat.

"Wait, Quinn, stop. Let me tell you what happened," Ms. Alice said.

The raw agony in her voice made me stop, but I could not turn around. She slipped around to stand in front of me and held out her hands. I crossed my arms tightly and waited for my advisor to speak.

"Sienna committed suicide tonight."

I laughed. The sound fired out of me. The two security guards backed off, as if I brandished a gun. "That can't be right. Sienna would never do that."

"Quinn, I'm so sorry. Her roommate came back from the library and found her in the bathtub–"

"She slit her wrists?" I asked. The world was spinning away and getting smaller. It felt as if everything around me was shrinking onto a television screen and some terrible afterschool special was on.

"Please, Quinn, come sit down," my advisor begged.

I yanked my arm away from her reaching hands. Before my thoughts returned to my body, I had started running. I dodged around the ambulance before the fat guard could catch up. His lanky partner tried to cut me off on the front steps, but I spun out of his reach. The guards keeping the front hall clear were too shocked to move. I slammed into the stairwell and ran up two steps at a time.

Sienna lived on the second floor at the end of the hall.

"Quinn, no! That's her sister," Sienna's roommate cried as I ran past where she sat wrapped in a blanket in the stairwell. The EMTs in the doorway called out, but I could not stop.

A detective in a gray suit looked up as I barreled through the door of Sienna's dorm room. His bright badge and ashen face stopped me.

"Is it true?" I asked.

"You're the sister?" he asked. His gray eyes swept towards the bathroom door. "I wouldn't."

He made no move to stop me, seeming to understand that I had to see for myself. I lurched towards the bathroom and stopped two feet short of the threshold. A wet puddle of bath water mixed with dark blood inched towards the door.

Sienna was gone. My perfect sister with her flawless beauty and driving ambition was gone.

I sank to the floor, unsure gravity could keep me from spinning away. I clung to the rug with both hands – Sienna's outrageously-priced woven rug she had begged our parents for last Christmas. I gritted my teeth and swallowed hard. Sienna would never forgive me if I threw up on her rug.

#

Sienna's dorm room was not more than a small box. The forensic photographer worked around me while two police officers joined the detective. They spoke at a regular volume, fully aware that shock had rendered me deaf to their words. I could not understand what they were saying.

"Everything seems to line up: high-pressure major, friends say she was very focused, her schedule is intense. There's no major event, no tipping point so far," one of the uniformed officers said.

"Pretty typical," the detective agreed.

I gripped the rug so hard I felt my knuckles creak. The tears were building, a hard pressure pounding in my head, but they would not come. Only ragged breaths escaped, and each one hurt my throat. I wanted to cry. I had no idea what else to do, but I could not.

Sienna always knew what to do next. I always joked she would have made an excellent cruise director. At home, she had all of us scheduled down to the next five minutes during the holidays. I needed her to tell me what to do now.

I gasped for air. The detective stepped to the door of the dorm room and waved an arm down the hallway. In a moment, one of the EMTs sat on the floor next to me.

"Here," he said. "Take this. It’s a low dose anti-anxiety pill. It'll help calm you down."

It was something to do, some small action to get me off the rug and standing on shaking legs. I took the pill and let the EMT help me up. He stood firmly between me and the bathroom and held out his arms to usher me out of the dorm room. Two men and a black stretcher waited in the hallway.

They were going to take Sienna's body away.

"Can I go with? I want to go with," I asked the EMT.

He shook his head. "Stop talking like that or you'll be overnight in the psych ward. You're going back to your dorm room to call your family."

A warm numbness spread through my body as the EMT escorted me downstairs to the campus security guards. Everything seemed far away and soft. I imagined my life becoming a video game, the origin story of some dark superhero. The flashing lights of the police cars, the open doors of the ambulance, the arrival of the coroner's van, they were all on a screen. I was safe on the couch in my dorm room, dozing as I watched the introduction.

If only it had all been a bad dream.

And then, I was on my dorm room couch. My roommate paced the floor in front of me. Her long, delicate fingers weaving together and squeezing with nervous energy. She spoke to me, occasionally sat next to me and tried to talk, but I could not hear anything she said.

"It's all over campus by now. I'm not sure you should stay here. People are going to be coming by and now's not the time. Right? Quinn?" she asked.

Darla kept going to the door. She never opened it, just called through, but the knocks kept coming at regular intervals. I could feel Darla's nervousness growing. She wrung her hands and stood exhausted in the middle of our small room. In my hazy mind, she became the gatekeeper. Was I a prisoner or the hidden princess?

Sienna had been the princess. My father called her Princess all the time. There was no way she would be sitting in a fog during a crisis like this one. She would have had everything organized by now.

I felt like I could not even blink without a colossal effort.

The next knock on the door was a rapid, insistent rap. Darla leapt to answer it and this time she pulled the door open. Alice Bonton slipped in our dorm room and locked the door behind her.

"She hasn't called her parents yet. She hasn't even moved," Darla told Alice.

"Quinn, honey, we need to call your parents. Let's do it now so they can come here and get you," my advisor said.

I shook my head. Somehow this was all my advisor's fault. If I had not answered the phone call from her, none of this ever would have happened. Sienna would still be alive and studying her night away. And, I would be slipping into the world of Dark Flag with Darla at the gamer party.

"I'm going to dial the phone and hand it to you, alright?" Ms. Alice asked.

"What I am supposed to say?" I croaked. "They are never going to believe me."

"Believe you?" she and Darla both asked at the same time.

"Sienna would never do something like that," I said. The images came back to me and the room in front of me faded away to darkness. Every time I tried to think of why, how Sienna could do that to herself, a giant chasm opened in my mind.

"Do you want me to tell them?" my advisor asked.

The phone was ringing and my mouth went dry. I nodded just as I heard my father's voice.

"Hello, Mr. Thomas? I'm sorry to be calling so late. This is Alice Bonton from UCLA. I'm your daughter Quinn's advisor. What? No, she hasn't done anything. Quinn is fine. I'm actually calling about Sienna."

There was a long pause on our end. I assumed my father had launched into a righteous lecture about the rudeness of the late night phone call. He was a busy man, probably due in court early the next morning, and he did not put up with such thoughtlessness from people.

If I had called, the lecture would have been the same.

"Yes, I did say I was calling about Sienna," Ms. Alice said.

And that was the difference. When it registered the phone call was about my sister, my father changed completely. I could almost hear him politely giving my advisor leave to speak, even though she stood a few feet away from me.

"There is no easy way to tell you this, but there has been an accident and Sienna Thomas is dead," Ms. Alice said. She looked as if she had fumbled a live hand grenade. "No, you're right, I should be more specific. Your daughter was found in her dorm room bathtub. She had cut her wrists. She was pronounced dead at the scene."

My father was a lawyer and must have switched into default mode because Ms. Alice spent the next 10 minutes giving short, factual answers to his questions.

Finally, she cleared her throat. "Sir, I have your other daughter here. Wouldn't you like to speak with her?" Ms. Alice did not wait, she just handed me the phone with a barely disguised expression of relief.

He was still talking when I took the phone. "I'm going to need the name of the detective and the uniformed officers. I have her roommate's contact information somewhere."

"Daddy?" I asked.

"I'm going to have to lie to your mother until this is all cleared up. She can't handle news like this. We'll tell her Sienna was hurt in a car accident. I'll be there in the morning, Quinn, at 8 am sharp in your lobby," he said.

The line went dead. I dropped the phone on the floor and lay down on the couch. Darla pulled my comforter off my bed and laid it over me as I curled up in a ball.

Somehow, my body woke up at 7:30 am. On autopilot, I showered and dressed and walked downstairs to meet my father.

He was early and impatiently waiting. "Did you talk to her roommate last night?"

"No."

"But you went to her room? The detective said you were there," my father asked.

"Yes. I saw, I saw…" I stopped and clung to the mailboxes in the foyer.

My father pulled open the front door. He then grabbed my elbow and escorted me out in front of him. "We're going to the coroner's. Didn't you tell me you went there with your class? That's my girl, never flinching when there's something useful to learn."

"That was Sienna," I said.

My father scowled as he opened the car’s passenger side door for me. He scowled all the way to the county coroner's office. He wiped it away when the coroner met us at the door. The two men shook hands.

"Has the death certificate been finished?" my father asked.

"Yes, sir. My findings corroborate with the detective's conclusion. Her death has been ruled a suicide," the coroner said.

For once, all the air seemed to be sucked from my father. I noticed how he had lost weight. There was more gray in his hair. The normal command he had over any room was gone, and he followed the coroner without another word.

We stood in front of a plated glass window and stared aimlessly into a small room. White tiles reached halfway up the wall before giving over to an institutional gray color. Two orderlies pushed a gurney into the room. On the coroner's signal, one lifted back the white sheet.

There was Sienna, gray against the bleached white of the sheet. Her golden hair was combed back from her face and still damp from the medical examiner's administrations.

"Sir?" the coroner called as I swayed.

My father clamped onto my arm to steady me. "She was going to be a surgeon. She never flinched, never fainted." His eyes never left Sienna's face. "Her sister was going to follow in her footsteps, but no one could catch up to her."

"You've had a terrible shock," the coroner said to me. "Would you like to sit down?"

"You're not going to faint, are you? Surgeons don't faint," my father said.

"I'm in the nursing program."

He snorted. "Sienna was going to be a surgeon."

I wrenched my arm free from my father's grip and sat on the bench the coroner had shown me. Anger burned in my chest, and I rubbed at the pain. My father had decided when we were still toddlers that his daughters would be doctors. Sienna had thrived under the challenge, basking in my father's approval as she excelled.

I had always felt constricted, the square peg in a round hole. There was the pressure of his imperial expectations, the way he discussed it with everyone as if it was a foregone conclusion and not a hard achievement.

Had the pressure finally been too much for Sienna? I wondered.

My older sister had her ups and downs. Black rages and immobilizing bouts of depression. Sunny cheerfulness that lit up entire worlds and an infectious joy in her work. My father said it was a sign of a brilliant and passionate mind. Sienna worked hard, then needed to recover. Then, her love of the medical field would pull her back up.

It had always been strange to me that Sienna never recognized her own symptoms. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I pushed it away. There were certain topics that were never touched in our house.

"Did you tell Mother?" I asked.

My father finally turned away from the window. "No. She was not feeling well this morning. I told her you needed my help and that I would be back this afternoon."

My mother would never have believed it was Sienna that needed help.

The orderlies pulled the curtains on the small room. The coroner led my father to a counter to fill out the remaining paperwork. I sat on the bench and stared at the box of tissues left on the opposite end. It had barely been touched.

Did they replace it often or were most people that sat here like me? I wondered. The tears still would not come; they couldn't fight past the numbness. Somehow this was a joke, a prank. Sienna was not dead. She was going to burst through the door at any moment and make me admit I hated my major.

After all, nurses don't faint at the sight of dead bodies.

#

We did not say a word the nearly four-hour drive home. My parents lived about 15 minutes away from the Las Vegas Strip in an affluent neighborhood called Summerlin. I felt the weight of exhaustion and grief the entire drive, but I could not take my eyes off the arid and flat landscape.

My father pulled into the driveway of our six-bedroom house. The Juliet balcony overlooked the driveway and behind the window, I saw the shadow of my mother. She disappeared back into her bedroom suite. I knew she would not meet us at the door, full of concern. If she was not feeling well it might be 24 hours before she appeared downstairs.

Once inside, I headed straight for my bedroom and curled up in the middle of my four-poster bed. For a moment, I felt like the time in high school when I got sick at camp and had to get picked up early. Sienna was still there having fun, and I was stuck in our thick-carpeted, quiet house by myself. I clung to that bittersweet memory, the idea that Sienna would be home soon with fun summer stories to tell.

When I woke up, the light was a hot glow, but I could tell by the shadows that it was late afternoon. I lay still and wished the nightmare would end. Now, awake felt like the bad dream and asleep was my only relief.

I could not hide out forever, so I brushed my hair, tied it back in a loose ponytail, and headed downstairs. I reached the last step and heard my mother call from the kitchen.

"Darling, have you seen the Bloody Mary mix? Oh, never mind, I found it," she trilled.

I walked into the kitchen to find her dancing around the kitchen island, mixing a dark red Bloody Mary and filling it with an array of vegetables. "A light snack?" I asked.

"Oh, Quinn, dear, Daddy said you were home. He told me you've been skipping classes lately," my mother said. 

I poured a hefty shot of vodka into a tall glass and mixed my own Bloody Mary. My mother stabbed radishes onto toothpicks and affixed them to a celery stalk, a makeshift rose garnish. She hesitated as she handed me one, forgetting for the moment that I was of drinking age.

"It’s your sister that doesn't like these," my mother said.

"She's not, I mean, she was not a big drinker," I observed. I held the glass to my lips, unable to drink for the lump in my throat.

"And yet she's forever going to parties. How does she manage it?" my mother asked. "I still don't understand how that girl can balance her surgical studies, a busy social life, and that boyfriend of hers."

"Maybe she couldn’t handle it," I said, my voice wavering. "Maybe it was too much for her and someone should have told her to slow down, take it easy, and not put so much pressure on herself."

"Please, I know you don't spend a lot of time with your sister, but you know what Sienna's like. She can handle anything." My mother brushed back her blonde hair and took a long, satisfied sip.

"Daddy said you weren't feeling well," I said.

Her eyes went dim, deflecting the question. "Oh, you know, I just felt a little out of sorts, but now I'm fine."

I eyed the drink in her hand. "Did you take something?"

"Quinn, please, what kind of question is that? I didn't need to take anything. I just feel better. Now, enough talk about me. When are you going to find yourself a boyfriend? I'm sure your sister's boyfriend knows lots of eligible guys," my mother said.

"It’s not like we can go on double dates," I said. The drink was suddenly too heavy. I set it down on the counter and slumped into one of the swiveling bar stools next to the kitchen island.

"Why not? I know Sienna's busy, but she can make time to set you up. You need someone. I'll give her a call," my mother said.

As she reached for her phone, the realization crashed over me: my father had not yet told her. I was so frozen with dread that I sat dumbfounded as she called Sienna's number.

"Hello, dear, I know you're busy, but take just a minute to listen to a message from your mommy. I've got Quinn here and she is moping around. Honestly, she looks as if someone's died. I'm hoping you have time for one of your wonderful sister makeovers. Maybe Owen could find her a date for this weekend? You could double for dinner and then split up? Think about it, darling. You know how she depends on you. Love! Kisses!"

I still could not move when my father walked into the kitchen. He was just as shocked as I was when my mother bounced over and kissed him on the cheek. "Barbara, I thought you were still upstairs. You're feeling better? Did you take something?"

"Why does everyone ask me that? So I slept in a little this morning and wasn't a ray of sunshine. I'm fine."

"Daddy?" I asked. The rest of the words stuck in my throat.

My father turned to me with a hard look. "Your mother's right, she's fine. Let her enjoy her drink."

"You can't, you can't make me be the one that does it," I said. "You have to tell her now."

"Tell me what?" my mother asked with a bright smile.

"You just want everyone to be as miserable as you, don't you, Quinn?" my father asked. "Ever since you were young, you did just as you pleased. Your sister was the one that knew how to take responsibility. She knew how to live up to expectations and be grateful for every opportunity she got."

"Tell her or I will!"

"Now, Barbara, why don't you sit down?" my father said in his best soothing voice. "There's some bad news about Sienna. I can hardly believe it myself. I didn't know how to tell you and I wanted to wait until you felt better."

"Sienna? Is she alright?" my mother shoved her empty glass onto the counter and hung on to the edge with both hands.

My father struggled to get his voice to work. "Sienna…Sienna committed suicide last night."

My mother sank to the floor as a keening wail rose from her lips. I jumped down from my stool and ran around the counter to sit with her on the floor. She bumped her head back against the cupboard, her eyes screwed shut tightly.

"I didn't believe it at first," my father said. "I still don't believe it. How could she do that? How could she throw away all her accomplishments, all her goals?"

"Oh, my sweet girl, oh, my sweet, sweet girl. I know. I know how it feels," my mother whispered to herself.

"Mommy?" I took her hand.

She yanked it away. "You don't understand, poor Quinn, you're like him. Sienna was always like me. She felt things the same way – felt the burning, felt the falling, felt the soaring."

"Can we talk about that?" I asked. "I think we need to talk about that."

My mother scrambled to her feet and flung herself at my father. "You promised she would be okay. You promised me she could handle it. Everything was fine, Sienna was always fine. Lies! Now, I know you lied. It's all my fault. My beautiful, sweet girl," my mother cried.

I stayed on the floor, cringing as my mother flailed her manicured fists at my father's chest.

"Barbara, you need to go lie down. You've had a shock."

"A shock? Why am I the only one that isn't shocked at all? You think people can just magically brush themselves off and be just fine. Well, that might work for you and maybe for Quinn, but not everyone's as heartless as you two," my mother said.

"Everyone grieves in their own way," my father said. He caught hold of my mother's wrists and pulled her towards the door. "It’s no use falling to pieces, its already done and we can't do anything to change it."

"She's not dead, she can't be. You're just a cruel man playing a cruel joke," my mother said. She yanked her wrists free and spun away from my father. Then, she grabbed her phone and marched out the other kitchen door.

I sat on the floor listening to my father's angry breathing as we heard my mother leave another voicemail on Sienna's phone.

"Are you happy?" he finally said to me. He slammed a fist on the counter and walked out.

By the time I managed to stand up, the house was silent. My mother was back in her bedroom suite, my father was in his office, and I was alone in the rest of the stretching square footage.

My mother was not shocked that Sienna had taken her own life. That idea blinked in my brain like the starting cursor of a video game. Was there some sign I had missed? Was there something I could have done?

My legs were heavy as I dragged myself up the stairs to Sienna's room. It had to be my fault. We weren't close, but we were sisters, and I should have known if she was feeling so desperate.

Her room was as neat and tidy as always. The Tiffany blue walls and white furniture glowed in the sunset light. Instead of an old-fashioned four-poster bed like mine, Sienna had a queen-size bed with a white satin tufted headboard. The comforter was an intricate swirl of pastel paisley. I sat on the edge of her bed, careful not to crease it.

I needed her there. Sienna never sat around helpless. I could see her marching into her room and scolding me. She would have gone straight to her computer and researched the reasons, both psychological and physical, behind suicide.

I wondered if she had researched it before she did it. I should have looked on her computer in her dorm room. Sienna probably looked up a dozen case studies the moment the thought of suicide crossed her mind.

And still, she did it. The thought made me dizzy, and I let myself slip to the floor.

I leaned back against her bed and felt the sharp edge of something stick me in the back. Reaching under her bed, I pulled out a photograph album she had made her senior year of high school. I opened it up, welcoming the sweet relief that happy memories brought.

The first picture was Sienna leading the cheerleader charge onto the football field. Except it was not her red-lipped smile or glowing golden hair that caught my attention. In the far background was a tall blond boy leaning on the fence next to a gangly girl with long wavy hair.

Owen Redd liked to watch the football games from the sidelines instead of the stands. He liked chatting with people more than yelling silly epithets at the field. One time, Sienna had begged me to bring her a different pair of shoes, and I had bumped into Owen at the fence.

Instead of football scores and finals, we talked about Halo and Assassin's Creed. He didn't laugh when I asked questions about strategy. Instead, he explained in detail the successful maneuvers he had done.

Sienna laughed when she found us. "Aren't you two the perfect pair? Too bad Redd looks better on me."

She knew. Sienna knew that night at the football game that I had the most helpless crush on Owen. I could still feel the thrill of his hand accidentally brushing mine as he described good sequences.

I never understood why they were together. Sienna was more annoyed than enamored by most things that Owen loved. He mocked her cheerleading. And I remembered when she got him voted prom king, he was so irritated that he brought her home and left without saying goodbye.

At the thought of goodbye, I slammed the photograph album shut. How could I say goodbye to my sister?

#

It was easy to pretend I was still in high school. The house was quiet when I emerged from Sienna's room. It could have been any one of hundreds of nights when our mother had retreated to her room, my father had shut himself in his office, and Sienna was out. She was always busy, always doing something.

The only one that was ever around was our cook. I found her in the kitchen looking the same as she had for decades: a white shirt, black pants, and a red apron. Her riotous black curly hair was secured in a prim bun, and her blue eyes sparkled as she sang.

"No one told you," I said, the weight pushing me back onto a stool.

"I sing when I'm sad, too," the cook told me. "It helps. Wanna try?"

"You know I can't carry a tune. Sienna is – was the singer."

The cook put down her red spatula and propped her fists on her hips. "You know you never have to refer to her in the past tense, don't you? Sienna’s memory is just as alive as anyone else outside this room if we talk about her."

"I don't feel like talking, Charlotte," I said.

"And you don't feel like singing. How about baking?" Charlotte asked.

I smiled. I loved to bake. It did not hurt that it was the one thing I did better than Sienna.

Sienna had come home from a cheerleading meeting one year and announced an impressive list of things she was going to personally bake for their fundraiser. After two minutes of baking, in which flour got in her hair, she crushed a raw egg in her hands, and the top fell off the ground cinnamon, she declared that baking was a waste of time.

That night, Charlotte taught me to bake the easiest, silkiest, and best buttery sugar cookies. We decorated them with a light lemon frosting and glittery sprinkles. Of course, Sienna took all the credit and they sold out in minutes.

"We're going to need a good dessert table for the, ah, for the guests," Charlotte said.

I nodded, my voice gone again. She meant we needed desserts for the reception that would invariably follow the funeral. Still, Charlotte's practicality was comforting as I settled into the regular routine of the sugar cookie recipe.

"It doesn't feel real. She should come in the door at any moment," I said as the first batch of cookies went in the oven.

"You'll look for her for a long time. Nothing wrong with that."

Her calm acceptance of my feelings made it possible for me to think outside of the warm and comforting kitchen. It registered that I had seen the door to my father's office standing open and I wondered where he went. I had 10 minutes before the first batch was done.

"Have you seen my father?" I asked.

Charlotte shook her head. "He asked for chicken dumpling soup when I came in and then he disappeared."

I went to peer in the door of his office. The lights were off, but I could see his outline propped in a chair. He stared out the window, a glass of whiskey suspended in the air halfway to his mouth.

"Daddy?" I asked.

He jumped as if a gunshot had reported in the wood-paneled confines of his office. "Quinn, Jesus Christ, you scared me. What are you doing creeping around?"

"You're the one sitting in the dark."

He grumbled and turned on the lamp next to him. His eyes were red and puffy but dry as he scowled at me. "How's your mother?"

"I don't know, she's still upstairs," I said. "How are you?"

"Probably a good idea. She needs to rest. I'm tired. Exhausted. You might not think it’s a big deal to drive from Vegas to L.A. all the time for school, but it takes a toll," he said. Finally, he noticed the glass of whiskey and took a long sip.

"Speaking of L.A., I should call school," I said.

"Your advisor spoke to all your professors. The funeral is in two days. You can stay with us until it’s over," my father said.

"The funeral?" I asked. A sour taste filled my mouth at the word.

"Yes, I have a friend at the Walton's Funeral Home, he's the director. Making all the arrangements. Viewing, service, reception, it will all be here. Cook knows the rest."

"It just seems so, I don't know, so fast," I said.

My father snorted. "What did you expect, Quinn? Decisions had to be made. Not everyone can go through life wavering like you do."

"Sienna was decisive. She kinda proved quick decisions aren't always the best, didn't she?" I could not take the angry words back.

He shifted in his leather chair and refused to look at me again. "Check on your mother before dinner," he said and turned the light off.

I retreated back to the kitchen, and Charlotte took one look at my face and folded me into a tight hug. "He's just grieving. Anything that comes out of his mouth the next few months is pure rubbish."

"I, I accused her of being rash. I actually joked about where her quick decision-making got her. It was awful," I said.

"No one can know what went through her head. Sienna always had her mind made up and wouldn't let anyone change it. A trait I'm happy you did not inherit from your mother."

Charlotte and my mother had a long-standing habit of arguing over recipes. Though my mother did not cook, she clung fast to a few beliefs of how things should be done and would not hear reason.

"Everyone always says Sienna is just like my mother."

"It never bothered you before," Charlotte said.

"What bothers me now are the ways they are the same. The big mood swings and the perfectionism. It’s just not that healthy," I said. My voice was low; they were words that felt dangerous to say out loud.

"What's wrong with perfectionism?" my father asked from the doorway. "Do I smell something burning?"

I ran for the oven and pulled the sugar cookies out just before the edges burned. "Nothing is ever perfect, and people who strive for it end up stressing themselves out over something they can never achieve."

"Your sister achieved plenty," my father said too loudly.

I could not take anymore. "And what about the mood swings? Are you going to tell me it’s perfectly healthy to be so depressed you stay in bed behind blackout curtains for a whole day only to emerge ready to go out for cocktails?"

"And now, we're talking about your mother," my father said. "Your arguments always segue, like your entire life is full of segues. Next you'll be telling me that you want to quit nursing and join the circus, right?"

"Sienna is – was, just like Mother. She would refuse to come out of her dorm room for days. I used to have to bring her food. Then suddenly, I would run into her at the cafeteria. She would be bright and smiley and act as if nothing at all had ever been wrong. That's not right."

"They are passionate, they know what they want, and they strive to make it perfect. I don't see anything wrong with that. Sure, they both take disappointments hard, but it just shows how much they care," my father said.

"Just once, I want to hear you admit it is not normal," I said. "And don't even use your lawyer arguments on me. Normal is not postponing Christmas because Mother has locked herself in the closet. Normal is not you breaking down the closet door with a metal baseball bat because she hasn't said anything through the door for two hours. Normal is not a smart, popular college girl at the top of her pre-med class suddenly slitting her wrists and bleeding to death in a bathtub!"

I looked across the kitchen island at Charlotte. We had stood here and had the exact same conversation over and over again. Friends had offered contact information for doctors and psychologists, given my father books, and invited my mother to meetings. My parents always insisted she was fine.

Now, Sienna would never be fine again, and my father still could not face the facts. "Something must have happened to make Sienna do what she did. When I found out who made her feel that way, there will be hell to pay. I bet it was that boyfriend of hers, Owen. She was always complaining that he refused to get a real job or do anything with himself."

I thought of Owen on the front cover of the gaming magazine. My father would never understand. "Speaking of Owen, have you called him?"

"Why would I call him?"

"Daddy, he needs to know! He doesn't go to UCLA. What if no one on campus had his contact information? What if they didn't think to get a hold of him? He might not even know Sienna is dead," I said.

"Maybe he's the one that drove her to it."

Charlotte sucked in air between her teeth, a sharp sound of disapproval. Even my father had to admit that was too harsh.

He shrugged in deference to Charlotte. "I never liked him for Sienna. They were not a good match. He was going nowhere and trying to hold her back."

"That doesn't mean he doesn't deserve to know," I argued. "Sienna loved him."

"Sienna didn't love him," my father countered. "She thought he looked good in pictures. I never heard one conversation where they ever agreed. They argued before every date."

"Only because they always did what Sienna wanted," I said.

"Right, exactly. A man needs to have a little bit more of a backbone, don't you think?" my father said.

"Enough backbone to make a phone call," I said.

Charlotte bit her lip to stop a bubbling laugh. My father scowled, but a short sparkle of admiration lit his eyes. I had no idea where the sharp backtalk was coming from, but I hoped it could yield results.

"I raised two daughters. I wouldn't know the first thing about having a man-to-man chat with your sister's boyfriend. What if he cries?" my father said. He went to the side cupboard and poured himself another glass of whiskey. "How about you call him and I won't ground you for sass?"

"You can't ground college students."

My father shrugged again and walked out without another word.

"Don't worry," Charlotte said. "I'll finish the sugar cookies. You have a phone call to make."

I went up to my room and paced around, turning on every light. Sienna had once told me the secret to phone interviews was to talk while you looked in the mirror. She said it made you sound more natural, more relaxed, like it was a normal conversation with another human instead of disembodied voices.

I brushed my hair, pinched a little pink into my cheeks, and put on a light layer of lipstick. I couldn't talk to Owen looking like a grief-stricken zombie urchin – if I could manage to talk to him at all.

We used to talk on the phone in high school, quick chats before I handed the phone to Sienna, but later, calls about video games. Sometimes, Owen called to ask my opinion about certain games or to talk through a new strategy. The calls kept up through college, so I had his number in my phone.

The last call had been about a week ago. It started off about Dark Flag and his magazine interview. Then Owen had asked me about classes. We had talked for over two hours about me leaving UCLA.

"Come to Vegas and we'll chat more," he had said.

Well, I thought, I’m back in Vegas. This conversation was just going to be far different than anything I had dreamed.