Sister Pact (20 page)

“What?” I sit down on the couch and put my head in my hands to stop the world from spinning around me. I know we talked about it, but I never thought she'd really do it, and I kind of thought she was doing it for me, like it was a sister thing. A bond or a promise, not a threat. How did I not know Leah was that sick?

“She begged us not to tell you.”

“Why?” I mumble through my fingers.

“Why what?”

“Why did she try to do it?”

Mom sits beside me and slides her arm around me in a hug. “Leah was depressed. She wouldn't take her medication. And breaks were hard for her. It was like the minute she stopped dancing or working or studying, she got incredibly sad. Like, the minute she stopped moving, it took her over.”

I lift my head. “I didn't have to go with Emery. I could have stayed home.”

“Were you going to be her bodyguard her whole life? Leah didn't want that. Neither did we.”

And once again, my whole world feels like it's crumbling. I didn't know. They didn't tell me. Leah lied to me. “How did she do it?”

“She took one of my bottles of Xanax. Took all the pills. We found her in time.”

Anger covers me in a suit of armor. “So let me get this straight: my sister tries to kill herself, and nobody thinks I deserve to know about it?”

“You're right. We should have told you. But Leah insisted. And we thought it was a good idea.”

“Because suicide is contagious?”

Mom looks at me. “No. Of course not.”

“And you kept the medication around after that? After all that?”

“No. I got a safe for it. I kept it locked up. And Dad bought drug test kits for her. For a while we made her take them.”

I think about how stressed Mom and Dad were when I got back from the ski trip with Emery's family. I remember thinking Mom and Dad were stressed because of their marriage, but it was really about Leah. She was the one who told me Dad was making Mom take drug tests. When she was angry at Dad, it was because he saved her and was making her take drug tests rather than punishing him for what he did to Mom. Leah lied again. Why am I surprised? I need some truth to balance out the lies. My head needs a due north. So does my heart.

“How did Leah get the drugs this time? I saw the bottle. They were yours.”

Mom sighs. “She picked them up at the pharmacy that night. Walgreens called and left a message on our machine that day. Maybe she heard it. Maybe she knew I'd seen my therapist the day before. I don't know. It was at the twenty-four-hour one. She picked them up that night. I never thought she'd do that. Went through the drive-through. They should've asked for her license to confirm it was me, but the guy working was new and didn't do that.”

Leah always had a plan. She did. Our battle plan may have been bogus, but hers was always solid. Those pills plus the alcohol equals suicide.

“There is nothing you could have done to stop her,” Mom says.

I stare at the painting on the coffee table. Mom's painting. She's right. I know she is, but the lies haven't helped either. I think of the biggest lie I told Leah and then Mom and Dad, and all of a sudden, I feel like a big fraud.

“I was never going to do it,” I tell her.

“I know, honey.”

“No. I mean, it was just something we talked about sometimes. I mean, I know you know about it, but I only went along with it because I never thought she would either. I would have stopped her if I'd thought she was serious. And my ‘attempt' wasn't that. I messed up. I was trying to stop the hurt, but I never wanted to kill myself.”

We both sit there with the knowledge of all we wished we'd done and didn't, knowing none of it makes a difference now. None of that would bring Leah back. I need a change of conversation. We all do.

“Did you ever get stuck? You know, when you were painting?”

“Of course. Everyone does. When you first start, it's so easy. You find what you need almost like magic. But as you get better, it gets harder.”

I nod. That's exactly it.

“And you're going through a very hard year…”

I blink back tears. She's right. But that doesn't help.

“You know what I used to do when I was stuck?”

I shrug, not trusting my voice.

“Sometimes the canvas seemed too confining. So I'd paint on other surfaces.”

I think about my room. Leah's ring. Maybe that's what I was doing. Trying to become unstuck.

“I drove my mother crazy. I painted on everything and anything—clothes, my wall, the bathroom counter.”

“I can't imagine Grandma being okay with that.”

“She was actually. She knew I had to get whatever I was working out out of me. You do too. Especially after Leah…”

“So I can paint on every surface in the house?”

“Everything but the dog.”

“Won't that piss off Dad?”

She reaches in her pocket, pulls out a shiny new key, and puts it on the table. At first I don't believe what I'm seeing. She waits for her bombshell to register and then says, “He doesn't have a say in how we live our lives in this house. I'm going to make dinner. It'll be ready in an hour.”

She leaves the room, and I'm almost tempted to clap, except I'm totally floored—in a good way. How I always felt after watching Leah dance. I want to stand and yell
brava
! But she's already gone. Cue the curtain. Karen Blackmore has left the stage.

The key looks like a magical object, as if it will open a doorway to another life, and it kind of will. If Mom can stand up to Dad, maybe I can stand to do something equally spectacular.

I go upstairs, my hand gripped around the key, feeling good. When I open the door, the replica of the ring I painted lights up with the sun sitting low on the horizon, just as it did the first time Leah came to me. I blink and rub my eyes. I know she's not coming. She never actually did. But that doesn't mean I can't tell our story. We were sisters with secrets, that's true, but we were sisters first and foremost.

I turn on my music and start to paint—small, big, and medium-sized flowers. All the same simple shape. Some I just outline and others I fill in. I try my best to match the colors of my memories of us together. I mix my palette to match the colors of Leah's favorite nail polishes, the ones I always borrowed. I'm a Pisa Work red for when we went to see
Scream 4
. Shatter Me for the time she and I went shopping for New Year's outfits. Hyacinth blue, my favorite Cape Cod color. When I'm finished with my creation, I stand back and look at what I've done. I'm happy with my new work in progress.

I'm just finishing up one of the flowers when my phone vibrates.

Hey.
John Strickland.
Can you meet me? I have something for you.

Why would he want to meet with me? Is meeting him really a good idea? But it's not like I can turn him down. He knew Leah even better than I did. If he wants to meet, I'm there.

Yes. Where?

I'm at the end of your street.

I race down the stairs. “Mom?”

She looks up from her cutting board. “Yeah?”

“I'll just be a few. Need to get some homework from a friend.”

She pauses her chopping. “You want me to drive you?”

I give her a kiss on the cheek. “Nah. I'm good.”

I walk down my street to his waiting Jeep. The beginnings of a cold drizzle are starting to fall. I pull my hood up and my jacket closed.

He puts his hand out the window and waves me over.

“Hey, Allie.”

I walk over and lean in his window.

“Get in?” He nods to the passenger-side door. I almost hesitate. Who am I to get in a car alone with John Strickland? When I climb in next to him and shut the door, he says, “I want to give you something.”

I put my hands up. “I'm not really doing that anymore…”

“I'm not talking pills, Allie. I'm never going to give you pills again. Seriously, don't ask. Not for you.”

“So what…”

He reaches under the seat of his Jeep and hands me a small wooden box. It's red with blue-and-pink flowers carved into it. It seems familiar. Like I saw it a really long time ago. But I can't place it.

“It was hers. Leah's.”

I'm suddenly transported back in time. My mind reaches for the memory, and it comes slowly, like pieces of a puzzle fitting together. She got it at one of the souvenir shops on the Cape when we were really little. It used to sit above her bed. One time when I was seven, I tried to look in it. And Leah grabbed it from me, protectively.

“Don't ever touch this. Ever.”

“But what's in it?”

“My heart.”

I pulled back.

“I could show you, but it's all bloody and still beating. Wanna see?” She chased me all over the house with it. I remember screaming the whole time. I didn't really believe her heart was in there. Not really. But now maybe I do.

My hands close around it.

“It's all I have left of her.” He doesn't let go yet.

“I can't—”

“No. You should have it. Just, when you're done with it, if there's anything you don't want, can you give those things back?”

“You sure?”

“You answered something for me the other day—something that's been bothering me since she died. I needed to know if she took my pills. I'm glad she didn't.” He leans forward and kisses me on the cheek. “Thank you,” he whispers in my ear. I feel his stubble, rough and scratchy against my face. He releases the box and then leans back in his seat, pressing the heel of his hand into his eye. “I knew she was unhappy. I thought I was enough to help her.”

I put my hand on his arm. “It's not your fault.”

He brushes the hair off his face. “She gave me her phone.” His voice is now choked up. “It's in the box.”

“What?”

“Her phone. She gave it to me. Said I needed to keep it safe for her. That she didn't want to be tempted to answer Brittney or Sean's calls. She said she'd be back to get it the next day. But then…”

“I don't understand…”

“I should have known. She would have never given up her phone. I should have seen through what she was planning.”

I look at him; his jaw is braced, misery on his face.

“It wasn't you. I…I was right next door. One room away… And…and I heard her. I heard her up but didn't do anything…”

He reaches out for me and holds me. “I wanted us to be together. I didn't want to be without her. I was better when she was with me.”

I know exactly how he feels.

“We have to stop.” I wipe my face. “We can't keep doing this. Leah did this. Not you. Not me.”

“I know. I just miss her.”

“Yeah.”

We drive the three blocks to my house in silence. He parks out front.

“You're a sweetheart. I want you to know that,” he says.

“Thanks for this.” I show him the box. “Really.”

“Some of it might be hard for you to see. I almost didn't give it to you because of that. But you have a right to know.”

I reach forward and kiss him on the cheek, then rush out of the car to my front door. I turn and wave to him again. I want to be nice to him. He didn't have to give this to me. I know I should be grateful. Truthfully, I am. But more than that, I'm skating between scared to know and dying to find out.

• • •

Mom's on the phone when I come inside. I wonder to whom. She gives me a nod, then goes into her bedroom and shuts the door. I pick up Sophie and race up the stairs.

“Come here, girl. I could use a little company.”

Once in my room, I lock the door and put on my music. Medium loud. Don't want Mom to come in to ask me to turn it down but loud enough that the rest of the house fades away. My hands shake.

I hold my breath and open the box and empty its contents till I'm covered in Leah's secrets. In addition to her cell, there are piles of pictures. And sticky notes and cards. The sticky notes are all different colors and sizes. One has a picture of a hand with the middle finger extended on it with the words
haha
written on it. Another says
Sorry I made you mad
. His writing.
You make me smile.
Hers.
Breaking up with U
with a tiny heart drawn next to it. Little bits of my sister and John Strickland. I pore over each one, trying to reconstruct the ghost of their relationship, one I didn't even know existed until after they were no longer a couple. I open the first card. It has two tiny hearts on the front.

You and Me
written in her scrawly handwriting.
Xoxo, Leah
.

Another has a picture of a moose on the front. Inside, the card read,
Moose be love
. And he wrote under it.
You know I do. Xoxo, 5gradecrush.
Glimpses of this boy who held my sister's heart are caught in these. I wonder if John Strickland put these in here to prove that Leah did love him. That he didn't make it up.

I leaf through the pictures. One of her posing in his bedroom. Sitting on his bed. Smiling. A totally free and easy and happy smile.

A picture of her from her fifth-grade class trip. She was standing in a group of girls. John on the sideline, looking over. On the back he wrote,
I've been into you for a long time.
Another one from that same trip. Leah on a tire swing. Posing for him.

There are a bunch of pressed and dried red and purple flowers, with leaves falling off them. A mate to the silver hoop earring he wears. A picture of Leah pointing to the silver ring on her finger and smiling broadly. The one she always wore. Was that ring from John?

He said he was her in-between guy. But looking at this, he was much more. I could see she felt safe with him. And I'm pretty sure that was not a feeling my sister experienced often.