“Karissa, listen—”
“Why do you blame yourself for what happened to Madison?”
I blurted the question automatically, without even thinking. It had been on the tip of my tongue for two weeks. Something I’d desperately wanted to know, but couldn’t bring myself to ask Bryce, or Camden.
No. I had to hear it directly from Roderick himself.
“What are you talking about?”
“Maddy,” I said, using the pet name he did. “Your wife. You said the accident was your fault, but from what I heard so far you weren’t even there.”
Roderick took a step or two backwards. He eventually found the wall and leaned against it, but without looking like he was leaning against it.
“Listen, if you don’t want to talk about it that’s fine,” I said. “But I’ve opened up to you guys now. I’ve told you things I never discussed with anyone else, and I’ve laid myself out for—”
“Ice cream.”
The phrase stopped me dead, in the middle of my sentence. For a few long seconds, there was only silence.
“Ice cream?”
“Yes,” Roderick said, his voice going thick again. “Maddy wanted ice cream, the night she died.”
I didn’t comprehend. Even if I did, I couldn’t say anything. Just from the look in his eyes, I was already crying.
“Or rather she wanted us to go out for ice cream, she and I. Camden was away. Bryce wasn’t home yet.” He blinked back tears before continuing. “She wanted us to go for a ride. But I was… I was…”
Roderick let out a shuddering sigh, then regained some measure of control. I took his hand and he looked at me without seeing me.
“I was just too tired.”
Forty-Six
KARISSA
Roderick stood in silence for a long moment, his mouth pursed, his lips stuck together. I handed him the rest of my water. He drank it down in two big gulps.
“I could’ve gone with her,” he said softly. “I should’ve gone.”
“No,” I protested. “Honey, no.”
“I would’ve been driving,” he said. “She wouldn’t have crashed.” He blinked a few times, his eyes still unseeing. “Or we both would’ve crashed. And maybe then I could’ve helped her, and—”
“Roderick,” I said, pulling his face my way. “Listen to me. This wasn’t your fault.”
“It could’ve been another car that cut her off,” he went on. “Or maybe an animal leapt out from the woods.” Slowly, he shook his head. “But there weren’t even any skidmarks. We don’t even know what happened.”
I hugged him as hard as I could, squeezing him tightly against my body. Eventually his arms went around me. Eventually, he came back.
“That’s the worst part of it,” he said miserably. “The not knowing. Our lives were changed forever in the blink of an eye, and we’ll never know why.”
“Life’s cruel like that,” I admitted. “It doesn’t always give reasons.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Roderick agreed. He sniffed angrily. “But this was all over nothing, too. All over some dumb fucking ice cream…”
I felt his body stiffen with a surge of self-loathing. It only made me squeeze him tighter.
“You already know I lost my brother,” I said. “I lost Reese and I did see it coming. Think that was any better?”
He didn’t have an answer. There really wasn’t one.
“It sucked, watching the person I was closest to in the whole world slowly kill himself. It filled me with rage. Made me feel utterly powerless.”
I held him in the silence, the two of us clutching each other, breathing in unison.
“It’s the same impotent rage you’re feeling now,” I told him. “But you can’t blame yourself. Yes, it could’ve been anything, but in the end it doesn’t matter what it was. Knowing won’t help you — you think it will, but it won’t. And knowing won’t bring her back.”
Everything slowed. Everything silenced.
For a moment, it was like time stopped.
“It’s… it’s just…”
“It’s just that you miss her,” I said softly, stroking his hair. “And that’s okay. You should miss her. Miss and remember her, the way you’ve been remembering.”
I pulled back just far enough to look him right in the eyes.
“But don’t ever take blame,” I told him. “Every last ounce of that misplaced guilt only serves to demean her memory.”
Little by little, he lowered his chin to his chest. I saw his shoulders slump in acknowledgment.
“I didn’t know Maddy,” I sighed softly. “But from everything I’ve heard of her, she would’ve never wanted that.”
Roderick shook his head. “No,” he agreed. “She wouldn’t.”
“Then the three of you should honor her the way you have been,” I told him, “by remembering the good. By opening your hearts, so it can live on forever.”
Something sparked inside him. I could see the change happen, even before a smile stole over his face.
“You’re pretty good at this stuff,” he told me. “Know that?”
“Oh, I know.”
“Down at the precinct they should’ve let you be the negotiator or something,” he said with the hint of an oncoming smile.
“That job was already taken.”
“Oh.”
“They gave me the role of smarmy badass instead,” I smiled. “Plus I got to be the belligerent asshole in all those good cop bad cop scenarios.”
“What’s that pay?”
“Not nearly as much as you’d think.”
He laughed. “Too bad.”
“Did you ever see my old lakeside apartment?”
“Once, remember?” he answered. “When your car broke down and we picked you up.”
“Well I moved in there with my savings.”
“Yikes.”
“I know right?” I quipped. “Probably should’ve gotten an investment manager, but I blew that whole budget on coffee filters.”
We laughed together, and the laughter felt good. It was still early in the day. Too early for lunch, too late for breakfast. It was going to be a beautiful day though. The sun had been shining on my face throughout my run back to the manor.
“Hey, wanna go to the beach?” Camden asked, poking his head into the room.
Roderick scratched at his beard for a moment. “Actually, yeah.”
“Good! We haven’t been to the beach since—”
“Wait,” I interrupted with an outstretched finger. “Which beach
