Page 19 of Holding On

As she stands right in front of me in the moonlight, I’m struck by how beautiful she is. She’s just so slender—a slip of a woman. I want to feel her under me, shivering, writhing, gripping my arms, my mouth on hers. Every muscle, every thought, is telling me to go to her.

But then the wave of doubt rolls in, and all I can hear in my head is: she was your babysitter. She doesn’t want you.

Maya must feel some awkwardness between us as well, because she changes the subject.

“What do you remember about your parents’ accident? I mean, can you recall what happened afterward? Not the accident itself, but—”

She’s backtracking. I may not have gone to law school, but I took debate in college. She didn’t frame the question well, and now she’s rolling it back.

“The aftermath,” she tries to explain. “Do you remember what happened afterward?”

We’re standing next to the large slab of granite between the two buildings, and I flash to Claire sobbing. Right here. And it all floods back into my memory.

I was terrified. It was a cold, icy winter night. Claire had grabbed me and buried her face in my neck, her whole body racked with sobs. She clung to me, so hard it almost hurt. Devon appeared from nowhere to join us, and Laurel, standing a few feet away, wouldn’t stop screaming. Police cars flashed blue and red lights, and Geo’s face was an awful gray color. Chloe came flying off the porch and knelt, trying to put her arms around all of us. I was ten. The whole thing felt surreal. Like I was floating above myself, my sisters.

“I found out right here,” I say and kneel down and touch the granite shelf.

“Oh my God. I didn’t know.”

“We were all crying. There were lights. And Geo was . . .”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she says. “The last time I was here, it had happened that winter. You never talked about it, and I always wanted to talk to you about it. I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.” Her anguish is genuine, but it doesn’t matter.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s because when my mom died . . . I don’t know. I thought of you all, but I didn’t know how to reach out.”

“To answer your question”—I rise and clear my throat—“I don’t remember much. I remember Claire picking up the phone and then screaming. Then we were all out here. I think I was barefoot in the snow, and Geo came running from the clinic. There were police everywhere.”

Maya’s shaking her head. “No. I don’t mean that part.” She nearly wrings her hands. “I meant the legal aftermath of it. I meant the—you know, with the judge and the courtyard stuff. Did you go to any of the proceedings? Do you remember anything about that part?”

A warning light goes off in my head. “Why the questions?”

Her mouth opens sightly. “Because it was a horrible thing, and it affected my family even though we were three thousand miles away. It was one of the reasons Uncle Darius—George—stayed here. It’s the only reason he stayed here.”

“What?”

“He’d talked with your dad about leaving the practice to him and moving out to California because my mom was sick. There was a small practice in Saugus that was up for sale.”

Something in me flares. I’m no good when I’m angry with someone. It makes me sick to my stomach, all the tension. It doesn’t matter, though. I’m pissed, though not with her. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“I thought you knew. I thought he talked to you guys about this.”

“No. I don’t think any of us knew about this, and don’t ever tell my sisters, okay? They don’t need to be thinking about how they kept you from having an uncle when your mom died. That’s what you’re driving at, right?”

“Okay,” she says. “I mean, I won’t tell them. And, no, I’m not driving at anything.” She heads toward The Inn and then does a half-turn. “Okay. Good night. I’m sorry I brought this up.”

Her hands tremble again, and she puts her fingertips to her forehead. The movement instantly slays me, and I feel like an ass for losing it for no reason.

“No . . . I’m sorry,” I say. “We Russos are good at talking about a lot of stuff, but not about Mom and Dad. We don’t talk about the accident. We don’t talk about that night, either. Or the court trial. Maybe my sisters do, but they have always protected me, and trying to get info from them is impossible.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Well, your mom died of cancer. You’ve lost someone too.”

“But not both parents, and not like that. It must have torn everyone apart. But when I came six months later, none of you said a word.”

I shrug. “I don’t remember much. At one point, Claire decided to quit vet school and get into law school—that’s how angry she was about what happened. All I know is that a man walked, and it humiliated the memory of my parents.”