Moment of Truth - Kasie West Page 0,43

having a one-track mind. Only thinking about something related to swimming. I’d made the choice to be here; now I needed to be all here.

I refocused my energy up front, where a speaker was now talking about how important donations were and where the money from these donations went.

After the ceremony our table was bombarded with people. My mom was somewhat famous in this little community. People loved her. Last year she had gotten some award for how much money she had helped raise for the cause over the years.

A hand grabbed mine and shook it. I met the eyes of a kind older gentleman. “You must be so proud of your mother,” he said.

“Always.” And that was true.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

It took me too long to realize he was talking about my brother. “Right. Thank you,” I replied.

“What’s going on with you tonight?” Mom whispered when he walked away.

“I don’t know. A lot on my mind, I guess.”

She put her arm around my shoulders. “Can you be present tonight? It’s important. Today’s Eric’s day.”

Every day seemed to be Eric’s day. “I’m trying.”

“Thank you.”

“We can get Froyo after this, right?” Dad asked, coming up behind us.

“Don’t call it that,” Mom and I said at the same time.

He laughed. “It’s so much easier, though.”

When my mom turned to greet more people, Dad nudged my shoulder with his. “You okay, kid?”

“Yes, I think. Tired. You?”

“Hungry. That chicken was dry. I think I’m going to suggest a different menu for next year. I have some pull with one of the organizers.” He winked at me.

“Next year . . .” A future of endless charity events stretched out before me. If I couldn’t get out of it this year with a legitimate excuse, it was hopeless.

I was tired when I got home, so I shouldn’t have turned on my laptop. I should’ve just gone to sleep. But curiosity got the better of me and I clicked on pictures from the Heath Hall event we’d missed tonight—a night trek through some orchard. My eyes drifted to the envelope icon in the corner. It showed eight notifications. I clicked on it. There were a couple from Amelia, but I went straight to the ones from Heath Hall. The first one thanked me for being at the bungee jumping night. I rolled my eyes. He didn’t seem to care at all when I was there.

The next few asked how I was. Finally, the last one asked where I’d been. So he did notice when I wasn’t around.

I sent him a message. Has that stupid mask ever failed you?

After I hit Send, I realized the question came off a bit cranky. I wasn’t in the best mood. I probably shouldn’t have been sending him messages at all when I felt this way toward him, toward my parents.

How so? he responded.

I could’ve just dropped it, but I really did want to know. Have you ever set out to face a fear or reveal a truth or whatever it is you do and failed? Has your fear ever beat you?

Yes.

That was all he said. He didn’t expand or explain. But even just that simple confession calmed me a bit. I felt like I’d failed tonight. I wanted to tell my parents a truth and I let the truth be buried with their expectations.

What about you?

Every time. My finger hovered over the Send button, and I almost didn’t push it but realized how ironic that would be if, once again, I couldn’t admit a truth because of fear. So I hit Send and waited.

A few moments later this message came back. You just have to put shoes on and step on them.

What kind of unhelpful metaphor was that? I stared at the words, feeling stupid I had confided in him if that was his advice, when another message popped up.

Spiders, right? That’s what you said you were afraid of.

I laughed. That’s right. I had told him the only fear I had was of spiders and now he was calling me on my BS. You’re right. How come I didn’t think of that all this time? I just need bigger shoes. Thanks.

You’re welcome. Some call me the master advice giver.

Really? Who calls you that?

My dog, mostly. Well, he would if he could talk. We have this mental-telepathy thing going on. I know what he thinks.

Wow. You have mental conversations with dogs. I’m not sure that’s something you should admit to.

Hey, I’ve told you before. I can admit anything I want behind