“You might not,” I said. “We’re all trying to do the best we can. I know it doesn’t always seem perfect, and things haven’t gone how anyone thought they would, but we’re all trying, Mom.”
“You are more than anyone. I feel so guilty—”
“Don’t.”
“But I do. Everything that you’ve taken on, that you’ve had to deal with, it hasn’t been fair to you, and—”
“Mom, I’m not doing anything I don’t want to, okay? We’re a family, right? Remember you were always telling us that? That we’re a family, we’re all on the same team, and sometimes that means stepping up and doing things for the team. That’s just how it goes.”
“I just wonder sometimes how things might have been different if I hadn’t asked you to—” Abruptly, she stopped talking. My father must have come back into the room. “Thank you again for calling,” she said. “You know it means so much to me.”
“I love you, Mom,” I said. “I better get going; I’ve got another patient to see in a few minutes. I’ll see you guys on Sunday, okay?”
“Okay, sweetie,” she said. “I love you, too.”
I got off the phone and then leaned forward, putting my arms on my desk, then resting my forehead on top of my arms.
That evening, after Declan had a bath and I got him to bed, I went into my bedroom and opened the closet. It was a walk-in closet, with a shelf running along one of the walls, about eye level. Toward the back was a shoe box with things like my birth certificate, my passport, and a life insurance policy. I took the box down and opened it. Inside, underneath all my own personal belongings, was a folded piece of notebook paper. I took it out and unfolded it, the creases soft, the paper starting to yellow. My sister’s loopy handwriting in blue ink still seemed just as bright as it had been the day I’d found the note next to her already-cooling body.
I just don’t want to live anymore. I know that’s not the right thing
to say, the right way to feel, but it’s the truth. I’ve caused other
people so much pain, and I’m so tired. I hope you can forgive me
and not blame yourselves because there is nothing anyone could
say that would change my mind. All I ever wanted was to be happy,
but for some reason, despite all the privilege I was born into,
I am unable to feeling anything but this overwhelming sadness.
I forgive you, Cole, for what you did—
I stopped reading. The letter continued for several more lines, and sometimes I was able to make it to the end, sometimes I was only able to read the first couple of words.
I forgive you, Cole.
As if she knew I’d be the one to find her.
What she probably did not realize, though, was that I would take that letter and slip it into my pocket and never speak to anyone about it. Everything that had already been going on with Marissa had really taken its toll on my mother. Well, both my parents, but especially my mother. She had cultivated such a truly wonderful upbringing for the two of us, that something happening like this just would not be something she could cope with. Especially not my sister choosing to take her own life. My mother would take that personally.
Keeping such a secret was hard. The decision had been made; there was no walking it back now. There had been a window of time after I had found Marissa that I could have come forward with the note, could have let my parents know the truth about what had happened, but that window had closed, and now, this was just one more secret I had to keep.
I considered it a fair trade, though. I wasn’t supposed to know that my mother was on antidepressants—she had never told me—but my father had let me in on it. Yet, even the best antidepressants could not always keep the sadness at bay, and that was very much the case for my mother.
I put the letter away. Perhaps someday I would throw it away—was there really a point in keeping it?
I went downstairs and was standing at the sink, washing dishes, when I heard a knock at the door. I turned the water off and went to answer it, expecting it to be Ben. Allie stood there, a small bouquet of yellow and white flowers in her hands.
“Hey,” she said. “I know it’s late, but I wanted to drop these by.”
“Come on in,” I said, stepping back so she could come in.
She handed me the flowers. “These are for you. I know that today must be hard, and that flowers aren’t going to make it any easier, but... I guess I just wanted you to know that I’m thinking about you.”
“That’s really sweet of you,” I said. “Thank you.”