wore to her secretarial job, because the nurse had called to report I was running a fever. I see my father standing in the backyard, bending his arm as he teaches me how to throw a football with a perfect spiral. I see Becky tickling the bottoms of my feet as we lay head to toe on opposite ends of the couch.
I hold on to the visions of the only people I love in this world until my breathing has finally slowed. By then, I know what I have to do.
I stand up and reach for my cell phone. My family called earlier this morning and left a message wishing me a Merry Christmas. I couldn’t answer; I knew they’d hear the strain in my voice.
But now I can’t put off revealing any longer what I’ve kept hidden for fifteen years. I might not ever get another chance to tell my parents what they deserve to know.
I dial my mother with trembling fingers.
She answers immediately: “Honey! Merry Christmas!”
My throat is so tight it’s hard to speak. There’s no easy way to do this—I have to plunge right in. “Can you put Dad on, too? But not Becky. I need to talk to you two alone.”
I’m gripping the phone so hard my fingers hurt.
“Hold on, sweetie, he’s right here.” I can tell from my mother’s tone that she knows something is very wrong.
Whenever I’d imagined this conversation before, I could never get past the opening sentence: I have to tell you the truth about what happened to Becky.
Now I hear my dad’s deep, gravelly voice: “Jessie? Mom and I are both on.” And I can’t even say that one line.
My throat is so tight; it’s like the nightmare where you can’t make a single sound. I’m so dizzy I feel like I’m going to pass out.
“Jess? What is it?”
The fear in my mom’s voice finally releases my words.
“I wasn’t there when Becky fell. I left her alone in the house,” I choke out. “I locked her in the bedroom.”
There’s utter silence.
It feels as if I am being broken apart; as if my secret has kept me glued together all these years and now it’s shattering.
I wonder if they are picturing Becky’s limp body being loaded onto the ambulance stretcher, like I am.
“I’m sorry,” I say through sobs that wrack my body. “I shouldn’t—”
“Jessie,” my father says firmly. “No. It was my fault.”
My head jerks up in surprise. His words don’t make sense; he must have misunderstood me.
But he continues: “That window screen, it had been broken for months. I kept meaning to replace it. If I had, Becky wouldn’t have been able to unlock it.”
I collapse onto my bed, my head swimming. Everything has been turned upside down.
My father blamed himself, too?
“But I was supposed to watch her!” I cry out. You trusted me!”
“Oh, Jess,” my mother says. Her voice sounds oddly broken. “It was too much to leave you alone with Becky all summer. I should have found another way.”
I expected their anger, or worse. Never did I imagine my parents were carrying around as much pain and guilt as me.
My mom continues: “Honey, it wasn’t any one thing that caused Becky to get hurt. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just a terrible accident.”
I listen to her gentle words wash over me. I wish more than anything I could be there to squeeze in between them, like I did when I was a little girl, so they could envelop me in a hug. I feel closer to my parents than I have in years.
And yet there’s an emptiness inside of me in the space that once held my secret.
I may have found my family only in time to lose them again.
“I should have told you sooner,” I say. My cheeks are damp, but my tears are coming more slowly now.
“I wish you had, Jessie girl,” my dad says.
Then I hear the low rumble of Leo’s growl. He’s staring at my door.
I’m on my feet again instantly, my senses on high alert. Even after I hear the familiar voices of the couple who live at the end of the hall, my posture remains rigid.
My mother is still talking about the need to forgive ourselves. I can picture my dad nodding and rubbing her back. There’s so much more to say to them. And yet no matter how desperately I want to, I can’t stay on the phone even a minute longer. Dr. Shields is expecting me soon, and I still