When the Heart Falls(157)

“I knew I’d find you here. Everyone’s asking about you.”

I look up at the voice. Leslie, wearing a dark sundress that’s too short to be proper for the memorial at this house, leans against the fence.

I shrug. “Let them ask.”

“What do you have there?”

The paper feels thin, insubstantial in my hands. "It's a letter.”

Leslie sits next to me on the log, but doesn’t touch me, for which I’m grateful. My thoughts spiral to Winter, and I wonder if some guy is cozying up to her right now. The thought makes my fists curl around the paper in my hand.

"Who's it from?" Leslie pulls me out of my dangerous thoughts.

And plunges me back into even more dangerous thoughts. "My brother.”

She frowns. Great. Soon she’ll say she’s so sorry about Stevie, just like everyone else. Sorry, sorry, sorry, as if the word makes things better.

But she surprises me by nudging my shoulder. "Then open it, you dolt."

My body turns rigid. "I can't."

She reaches for the letter. "I can open it for you."

I yank it away and stand to put distance between us. "It's personal."

She rolls her eyes. "I won't read it."

I stare at the paper. "But I might.”

"What’re you so afraid of?"

I stare out at the fields where the cows are grazing. "That I might be wrong."

"About what?"

"About something I did.”

She’s relentless in her questions. "What'd you do?"

"Something horrible."

Leslie scrunches up her face, like she's confused. "And this letter might prove you didn't do that something horrible?"

I shrug. "It might."

"Then read it already."

My heart skips a beat. "No.”

"Doesn't it hurt? Blaming yourself?"

"I deserve the pain.” It’s my penance for my sins. What was it the pastor said once about sins? That there are sins of commission, where we actively do something bad, and sins of omission, where we sin by not doing something we should. I am guilty of the sin of omission. Every time I let our dad abuse Pete I committed that sin.

"But maybe you don't," she says. "Maybe that letter says you don't."

"Then it's wrong."

She throws up her hands in exasperation. "Then let it be wrong. But read it, just in case it's right."

I sigh. "A friend once told me we have to accept things as they are."

"A very wise friend," Leslie says. "You should listen to her."

"How'd you know it's a woman?"

She smiles. "Because we're smarter."

That pulls a half chuckle from me. "It's good to see you again, Leslie."

"You too, Cade. How was Paris?"

"Better than I imagined."

"Then why'd you come back?" She blows a bubble out of her mouth and pops it.

"Besides the obvious?” I gesture to the cars filling our property to mourn the death of Stevie.

“Yeah, besides that.”

My shoulders drop, all snark gone. “I had something to do."

She nods. "Maybe it's reading that letter."

"Maybe. How about you? How have you been?"

"Waiting tables all summer.” She stands and pets Biscuit, who enjoys the attention. “I've been saving up. Next year, I'm going to film school. Mama and Papa aren't too happy, but who cares, right?"

"You gonna play a Disney Princess?"

"Nah. But I'll write about one. Make a film about her, too."

"Your dream."

"What about it?" she asks, looking over at me.

"It's coming true."

"Of course it is. Just like yours, right? After I heard you left for Paris to study architecture, I knew I had to follow my dreams too."

"Following my dreams brought me here. Nothing's coming true. I’m back where I started.” Except I’m not, because I’m different now.

"Because you're not done yet. You said it yourself, you have something to do. Something you couldn’t have done if you hadn’t left and come back."

I glance at the letter in my hand. "Thanks Leslie."

"You're welcome." She gets up. "Call me up if you get into set building."

"Will do."

She smiles and walks away. Once she's gone, and the world is quiet, I flip over the envelope and run my finger along the edge.

I take my hat off, Pete’s old hat, and place it on my knee. Taking a deep breath, inch by inch I peel open the letter that will reveal my brother’s final words before he took his life.





CADE SAVAGE





CHAPTER 33





HIS WORDS ARE scrawled over the whole page, and my eyes go blurry. He feels so close right now. I can hear his voice saying the words, hear his sobs where the tears spilled onto the page, smudging the ink.



Dearest Dad,



You win. I'm done. I know you never wanted me as a son. I know you've been waiting for this, that it would be better if I were dead than a fag. I hope this makes you happy, because it's not easy. Even though there's nothing left to live for, it's not easy. Some kindness from you, some understanding would have made a difference, but it's too late. All you ever cared about was having a perfect son who did everything you wanted perfectly. A son who wasn't me.