Cassie hadn’t reacted when I’d told her, but two days later, she’d flown into a rage over a book she thought I’d moved in her room, and I knew what it was about.
“Aunt Kaitlyn?” Henry says, coming into Cassie’s room. “She’s alive? But does that mean . . . Dad’s alive?”
“Oh no, I’m so sorry, honey. I don’t . . . No, Dad’s not alive.”
Henry starts shaking. “But if Aunt Kaitlyn is, then he has to be, too. Their offices were on the same floor. And I read this thing on the Internet about how it was all some big hoax anyway, because if it had been a gas leak, then the building wouldn’t have blown up that way and—”
“You’re so stupid, Henry!”
“Cassie!”
“But it’s true. Why do you even read that stuff?”
I put my arms around Henry. He feels cold, chilled. I rub my hands up and down his back, trying to warm him up. “Henry, Cassie, please. Not right now. I need to talk to Aunt Kaitlyn and find out what’s going on. I promise I’ll tell you as soon as I know, but it’s very, very important that we don’t tell anyone she’s alive or here or anything like that, okay?”
“You’ll tell us everything?” Cassie says. “Ha! Like you told us all about you and Dad fighting?”
“No, not like that. And this isn’t a good time for this.”
“You always say that. It’s never a good time.”
“Will you just give me this, Cassie? Please?”
“Why?”
That stops me. Why is it important to keep Kaitlyn’s secret? Do I need another to add to the pile? But there’s a reason she’s at my house and not her own. And then there’s what she just told me about Franny, which, if true, is a whole other problem, one I can’t even wrap my mind around.
“Because she hasn’t had a chance to talk to her family yet, and they can’t find out like this, that their mom’s not dead. Imagine if Dad were still alive and you read about it on the Internet.”
“But he is alive,” Henry says. “He has to be.”
“No, Henry. I’m so, so sorry, but he isn’t. Remember? We saw him at the funeral home.”
Henry’s whole body is trembling now, either from remembering the awful sight of his father in a casket or the new, new reality that his father’s still dead, maybe both. One of the “miracles” of October tenth—Tom’s body had been intact, and his parents had insisted on an open casket. I was too tired to fight with them, so I caved. But when we’d walked into that tamped-down room and seen his waxy form in the coffin they’d picked out, I’d felt sick to my stomach. Cassie had run from the room, and Henry went so white I thought he’d faint. When we passed Tom’s parents on the way out, I couldn’t help but glare at them. Was this how they wanted to remember their son? If they knew the truth about him, would they feel any differently? But I already knew I could never tell them the truth, that Tom’s secret was mine to keep now, even though death had parted us.
“But maybe . . . ,” Henry says, then hangs his head in defeat. “He’s really dead?”
“I’m afraid so.”
He pulls away from me and slumps onto the edge of Cassie’s bed. He curls into a fetal position. “This isn’t fair!”
“I know, sweetheart. It isn’t.”
“But how is Aunt Kaitlyn alive?” Cassie asks. “We went to her funeral, too.”
“I don’t know. Let me go down and find out, okay?”
“Can I come with you?”
“That’s not a good idea. Aunt Kaitlyn and I have some things we have to work out in private.”
“Okay.”
I sit down next to Henry and rub his back. He’s shaking, emitting hiccupping cries I know are the end of his crying cycle. “How about you download that new game you wanted and play that?”
“For real?”
“Just don’t kill too many bystanders, okay?”
“Seriously, Mom?” Cassie says. “That’s your solution?”
“What do I have to bribe you with?”
“I don’t have to be bribed. God, Mother.”
My heart cracks. She’s never called me “Mother” before. I feel an urgent need to call my own mother and apologize for every time I did that as a teenager.
“Just think of the girls. Kaitlyn’s girls. Imagine if you were them?”
“I kind of am them.”
“You’re right. But you also know what I meant.”
“Okay, okay. I already told you I wasn’t going to say anything.”
I stand and hug her quickly. “Thank you.”
She shrugs away and slinks off. I give Henry another hug and ask him if he’s going to be okay. When he says he will, I creep back down the stairs, passing our montage of family photographs. I purposively avoid looking at the one of all of us on vacation a few years ago. The person I’ve been thinking about since I got those texts has been hanging on my wall this whole time. She was in my house, right next to me, my confidante.
I hear a rushing sound in my ears. I sink to the stairs. I’ve had this feeling before, on the worst days, my own brand of panic attack. I place my head on my knees, wrap my arms around my head, and concentrate on breathing. I will not call Kaitlyn for help. I will not call Kaitlyn for help. I repeat those words to myself over and over until the feeling subsides. It takes only a few minutes, much less than it used to. In fact, it’s been a long time since I’ve had one of these at all. I stare at the wall and think
