I glance at my watch. “I really should get home. I’ve got to get up early and shine the silver for the bridal shower tomorrow afternoon.”
“No you don’t,” Aria says. “It’s my turn to prep the serving plates. Mom’s going to watch Felicity so I can take care of it first thing in the morning.”
“Sit,” Melody repeats. “Take a load off. It’s not so bad now that the sun is setting.”
I sigh and fiddle with the van keys. “Honestly, I’d rather head home. We’ve got a forty minute drive, and I don’t feel like—”
“Sit!” Melody and Aria say at the same time, sending a prickle of suspicion across my skin.
“I don’t want to Talk with a capital T,” I warn them.
“We don’t care,” Melody says pleasantly. “Sit your butt down. Now. I’m invoking emergency sister procedures.”
Grudgingly, I sink down to the sweet-smelling grass and sit cross-legged next to my sisters, watching the pink sunset light turn purple and the air begin to flash with sleepy-looking lightning bugs. Slowly, twilight transforms the garden into an even more romantic place than it is during the day.
I close my eyes against the beauty of the scene, only opening them when Melody puts a warm hand on my arm.
“This has gone on long enough,” she says gently. “We’re worried about you.”
“What’s gone on long enough?” I play innocent, though I have a good idea what my sister is talking about.
Melody is talking about the numbness, broken only by periods of intense sadness and bouts of prolonged crying I do my best to do in private, but can’t always, not when I spend up to twelve hours a day working with my sisters. Melody is talking about my inability to care the way I used to, and the way my smile has gone into mid-summer hibernation.
She’s talking about me mourning the loss of Mason.
“You know what I mean,” Melody insists, not letting me off the hook for a second. But then, I didn’t expect her to. “If you miss Mason that much, you should call him.”
“I can’t call him.” I roll my eyes. We’ve had this conversation half a dozen times already. It’s getting ridiculous. “And you know why. So give me a break, okay?”
“Then let us help you find someone to talk to. A counselor or something,” Melody says. “If you’re determined not to give that poor man another chance, at least give yourself one. You can’t live like this.”
“I’m fine.” I want to stand up and storm away, but I don’t have the energy.
That’s been happening a lot lately, too. I just…run out of steam, and can’t seem to get going again. It’s hard to believe I used to be one of those people who could go all day on three hours of sleep and a few cups of coffee.
It’s hard to believe I was ever the happy person in the picture on the side of the van.
“You’re not fine,” Aria says, chiming in. “Trust me, I know what depression looks like, Lark. I was there not so long ago, remember?”
I shrug. “Well, you snapped out of it. I will, too. Just give me some time.”
“No.” The heat in Melody’s tone surprises me. “You don’t get more time. Aria is dealing with an unrepentant asshole who’s too much of a jerk to send money to help support his own daughter, let alone come see his baby girl. You’re bringing this on yourself.”
My eyebrows snap together, anger stirring inside of me for the first time in weeks. “I am not bringing this on myself. You know what happened.”
I’m careful not to look at Aria. I went through a period where I blamed her for the misery cloud dumping rain all over my life, but I eventually came to realize that wasn’t fair. Aria might have stuck her nose where it didn’t belong, but Mason is to blame.
Only Mason, and that’s why I will never see him again.
Never.
Even if my soul shrivels up and dies while I’m trying—and failing—to get over him.
“This is what I know,” Melody says, holding up a finger and ticking it off. “I know Mason made a mistake four years ago that he promised never to repeat again. I know he went to counseling and said it changed him for the better. I know he loves you and treated you very well when he—”
“For five days!” I take a deep breath and continue in a softer voice, “Five days doesn’t prove anything.”
“What about the letters?” Melody presses. “I know he’s been sending you one every week since you told him to leave town. Have you even been reading them?”
I bristle. “How do you know about the letters?” I ask, refusing to answer the question.
I haven’t been reading them, but that’s none of my sister’s business.
“Mason called me and asked if you’d been getting them so I…checked your mailbox a few times,” Melody says, sitting up straighter.