Wing Jones(79)

“Marcus.”

“Go away,” he says without looking up. “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“I don’t care what you want.”

“Wing. Leave me alone.”

“You don’t get to be left alone right now,” I say. “You’re being a big baby! Mom planned this little welcome home celebration for you and you are being so ungrateful. Come on.”

“I already told you, there’s nothing to celebrate.”

“Um, what about the fact that you’re alive? What about that?”

He mumbles something under his breath.

“What?”

“I said, I don’t deserve to be alive. I wish I hadn’t woken up. My life is ruined. I’d rather be dead.”

His words take all my air.

“Don’t say that.” I’m so angry that my voice is shaking. “You know that two people are dead, right? That a little boy doesn’t have a mother anymore? And you’re going to sit here and tell me that you wish you hadn’t woken up?”

“What do you want me to do? Go to their house and apologize? What is that going to do?”

“That would be a start! You’re just being so selfish! Yours isn’t the only life that was ruined that night, Marcus!” I’m shouting at my brother. I haven’t shouted at him since we were little, fighting over toys. And even then, I always gave him what he wanted. “And you’re lucky” – I fling the word at him like a weapon – “lucky to have a life at all!” I take a deep breath. “You haven’t even thought about what these past few months have been like for the rest of us.”

How hard I’ve been training. How hard Mom and LaoLao have been working. How hard it’s been for all of us. How running has turned into something else because I have to, have to, have to win that contract because otherwise I don’t know what’s gonna happen to our family. And how it’s all for him. Because of him. His fault.

“Maybe if you stopped thinking about yourself for one goddamn second and looked around you, you’d realize that we’ve all been suffering, we’re all still suffering! Haven’t you seen how stressed-out Mom is when we visit? How tired LaoLao is? Do you have any idea how hard I’m working, how much I’m pushing myself to win this stupid Riveo thing? For you? Don’t you realize that everything everyone in this family is doing, everything we’ve given up, is for you? Because of what you did?” My shouting has gotten so loud I think it might blow the roof off our house.

“I’m sorry that my coma was such an inconvenience for you all,” he says, voice harsh and strange. “It sure as hell wasn’t easy for me either.”

“Well, it looked easy! It looked like you were just lying there doing nothing.” The sharp snap of my words makes us both flinch. We stare at each other, and I feel so far from him but closer than we’ve ever been. I feel like his equal. Like his sibling, not just his little sister. He breaks eye contact first, turning away from me to stare at the wall.

“I’m sorry,” he says to the wall. “Every second I’ve been awake I’ve spent wishing I could take it back. Wishing I could fix it. But I can’t, Wing. I can’t fix this. I’ll never fix it.”

I have no words of comfort. I have no lies to tell him. Instead, I put my hand on his shoulder, my anger giving way to sadness.

“I know,” I say.

His sobs are violent and silent, his whole body shaking, his tears flowing fat and fast. I squeeze his shoulder and he reaches up and puts his hand on my own, so his arm is across his chest, over his heart. Finally, he looks up at me, eyes swollen.

“I keep thinking, what if Monica had been in the car? Or Aaron? I keep thinking about what if it had been Mom in the other car? Or you? And I’m so glad it wasn’t, and I’m so ashamed of myself for being glad. You’re right, I’m so goddamn selfish. I’m so selfish.” His voice is splintering and I crouch down so we’re at eye level.

“Monica wasn’t in the car. Neither was Aaron. Or me. Or Mom. We’re all OK.” I pause, look hard at him. “You’re OK.” I take a deep breath. “And I’m selfish too. Because I’m glad, more than glad, there isn’t even a word for how glad I am, that we’re all OK. That you’re OK.”

“I’m scared, Wing.” I’ve never in my whole life heard Marcus admit to being scared. “I’m scared about going to jail. I know I’m going to. And … I should. I deserve to. I deserve worse, but even though I know I deserve it, I’m scared.”

“That’s all right,” I say. “It’s OK that you’re scared. And you’re gonna be OK, I promise.” I force a smile, fragile as chipped china. “Just stop being such an asshole, all right? It’s hard enough as it is.”

Marcus laughs, just a little, and it is wet and snotty and a shadow of what his laugh was, but hearing him laugh lights a little flame of hope deep inside my heart.

“I love you.” I hug him and hold him tight. “No matter what, OK?” Because even though what he did can never be forgiven, I still love him. Irrevocably. Selfishly.

“I love you too,” he says, his voice muffled in my hair.

The door opens and Monica steps in, her lips as tight as her jeans. “Hey,” she says, tugging on her braid. “Are you OK?”