Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Hey, kid, wait for me!” Donovan laughed as he hurried to catch up to Mila, who was about to disappear around a corner on the trail ahead of him.
“Hurry up, old man!” she teased over her shoulder.
He was amazed. Of course, she’d traveled this same path hundreds of times before, as evidenced by the way she trotted along the trail, hopping nimbly around every rock and other obstacle in the path, seemingly without even needing to watch out for them. It was like her feet were reading a map that had been burned into her brain by repetition.
He couldn’t help but be amazed, yet again, by how capable and strong a young woman she’d grown into while he’d been away. He’d missed so much.
They rounded yet another bend in the trail and Donovan’s eyes widened as the world opened up before them. The trees that had densely surrounded them during the entire trip so far fell abruptly away at the border of a small meadow.
A few more steps across the meadow reminded him exactly where they were—atop a bluff that sat high above ocean waves that crashed onto the rocks below. This spot had been a favorite of his when he’d been growing up here but he hadn’t made the climb since he’d graduated high school.
“Did I tell you I knew the best place for a picnic or what?” Mila enthused.
He looked down at her face, so open and happy and waiting for his approval, and he had to grin back at her and ruffle her hair. “You did. And you were right. This is an awesome spot.”
She dropped to her knees as she took off her backpack and pulled out a scruffy flannel blanket. He bent to help her spread it over the ground.
“We’d better hurry and eat before the weather turns,” she said, her tone wise beyond her years. “It’s never this dry in February. And it totally sucks to have to hike down that trail while it’s raining.”
He opened his mouth to agree with her and tell her about a time that he’d fallen flat on his butt when doing that very thing, but snapped it shut just in time, and instead said, “Yeah, I bet.”
Her thrill of showing him the place, of being the one who knew something awesome and had the privilege of showing it off to her big brother, was too precious to ruin. He didn’t want to see the way her face might fall if she found out that this spot was already on his radar.
She pulled out the picnic items that she’d so carefully packed that morning and set them out on the blanket one by one. He was interested to see what she’d brought. When he’d asked that morning she’d sternly informed him that it was a surprise.
He saw two sandwiches, carefully wrapped in wax paper, clear plastic containers of what looked like potato salad and cole slaw, a sleeve of Ritz crackers, and a selection of fruit. “Wow. This is one impressive picnic,” he said truthfully. “It looks delicious. Let’s dig in.”
Again, Mila beamed with pride at his approval, and his heart squeezed a little. The responsibility he carried when it came to his sister weighed on his shoulders, clear to him in that moment in a way it hadn’t been before.
All week, he’d been so focused on his responsibility to protect the most powerful person in the world, equating that power with importance. But what about Mila? She was important, too. Important to him.
As they ate, she talked about the people she went to school with, her friends, books she liked, and music she was into. Donovan couldn’t get enough of her stream of consciousness chatter. In the space of one lunch, he’d learned about a hundred new facts about his sister that he never would’ve known if he’d been on the East Coast. The kinds of random little tidbits that would never seem important enough to include in an email or post about on social media, but when taken together, made up the texture and color of a person’s life. Those little facts…they were what made her Mila. And he hadn’t had a clue about any of them until today.
As the lunch wound down to a close and they munched on the pieces of fruit she’d packed for dessert, Mila said, “Donovan…can I ask you something?”
The hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He recognized the shift in energy between them. Her tone of voice was quieter, more serious. She didn’t meet his eye when she spoke, but instead looked out over the ocean.
Whatever she was about to ask him, it wasn’t minutia. Not like what had led up to it. Everything she’d said up to now had been a test of sorts, he realized. She was gauging his reaction, seeing if he was a trustworthy person to tell whatever it was she was about to confide.
Everything within him wanted to tense up, to grab her by the arms and assure her that she could say anything to him. But he knew that was the worst possible thing he could do. That would have her clamming up and running for the hills.
So, he used every ounce of discipline his training had instilled in him and responded instead with a casual yeah, whatever kind of shrug and said, “Sure. Go for it.”
Carefully, her eyes still glued to the horizon, she said, “Do you think it’s my fault Mom and Dad died? Is that why you never came home again?”
Her words hit him like a punch in the gut. All pretense of being cool and casual left him. His voice was a pale, hoarse imitation of itself when he croaked, “What? God, no! Why the hell would you think that?”
Her shoulders slumped and she seemed to shrink before his eyes, so he took a deep breath, redoubled his efforts to stay calm, and tried again. “Mila. No. I don’t think it’s your fault at all. Why would you think that I do?”
She shrugged, and he saw a shudder run down her back. “Because…I don’t know. I mean…I kind of do.”
Tears filled his eyes and he worked to keep them out of his voice. “Why would you think that? You were just a kid.”
She shrugged again. “It doesn’t make sense. I just…every time they had to leave me with a babysitter, they would come in and kiss me goodnight before they left. And Dad would say this little poem. ‘Kisses at night, safe till first light.’ I know it seems corny, but it really did make me fall asleep feeling safe. But on that night…it was late when they left, and I’d had soccer practice that day. I feel asleep before they came in. It was the only time—”
Her words trailed off as tears choked her throat, and she leaned forward against her knees as she hastily wiped her face. Donovan reached out and squeezed her shoulder. She rushed to explain, “I know it sounds dumb.”
“It doesn’t sound dumb. Not at all,” he assured her. “It’s also not true, but it’s not dumb to feel that way. People hang onto all kinds of crazy theories when their brains are trying to make sense of something that makes no sense.”
Theories like…you’re the only qualified person who can protect the President of the United States?
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah. You wouldn’t believe what some people make themselves believe,” he said wryly.
“I can’t tell Troy,” she blurted. “Don’t say anything, Okay?”
“Your secret is safe with me. Promise.”
She turned to face him, a small smile on her tear-streaked face. It was the first time she’d looked at him since she’d made her admission. “We’d better go. The sky’s still clear, but that can change fast.”
He nodded and helped her pack the picnic remnants and flannel blanket back into her pack.
It should’ve made him feel good that she’d felt comfortable confiding such a deep secret to him when she couldn’t even tell Troy, the brother she lived with and deeply loved. The person who took care of her every single day. But it didn’t.
He had no illusions about why that was. He’d heard it said once that the closer you are to someone, the more you love and trust them, the more you can reveal to them. Up to a point, anyway. But when it comes to your deepest, darkest truths, it’s easier to reveal them to a perfect stranger than even the closest friend. He’d found that to be true over and over again. After all, wasn’t that the very foundation that programs like AA were based on? When it came to baring your soul, the truly dark parts of your soul, you needed a stranger.
And that, he realized with a slowly-settling sinking sensation in his gut, was essentially what he was. To his own sister.
Damn. Maybe time to start thinking about changing that.