Fractured Freedom(9)

Let’s see how it goes, but you can always come visit.

You know my number.

I breathed and counted to seven. Still miss you, Lilah





Two Months Later


From: Dante Reid <[email protected]>

To: Delilah Hardy <[email protected]> I only got a second, Lilah.

Damn it’s been a long time. I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to write. I hope moving to UCLA went well.

You always had a piece of me, Lilah. You were my lamb, always will be. I’m sorry I can’t write more, but you got all of me now.

Don’t forget it.

Seven to heaven, baby.

Dante





From: Delilah Hardy <[email protected]> To: Dante Reid <[email protected]>

Moving in was great. UCLA is beautiful. I know you’re probably so busy. Don’t worry about it. I’ve been busy too, and it’s hard to get a moment to email. Let’s just catch up when you get back. Hope you’re well, Lilah





From: Dante Reid <[email protected]>

To: Delilah Hardy <[email protected]> Lilah,

That email was short. And so sweet that it wasn’t sweet at all. You’re mad or hurt, and it’s probably because this damn place and the fact that I can’t write to you. I gotta figure out something when I get back. It’s been a shit deployment.

I’ll make it up to you when I’m home.





However Many Months Later


Voicemail from Dante: I’m home. You didn’t answer my call or my last emails. Guess that means we’re done before we even got started. I have half a mind to go to UCLA and drag you out of that dorm room to ask you what’s wrong. Your mom said you’re fine though. So I hope UCLA is good to you. Seven to heaven, baby.





3





Get Arrested





Delilah





“Don’t say anything. I’m sorry, okay? Just don’t say anything. I’ll take the blame. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault,” Izzy whispered.

When you see your own face mirrored back at you in complete fear, it’s devastating. The hazel eyes that looked so much like mine were swimming with tears. My sister’s dark wavy hair framed the frown on her heart shaped face and then my heart dropped as they separated my twin sister from me. Tears sprang to my own eyes when she turned away.

We were on our own now and my brain wasn’t processing what the TSA officer was saying. I saw his mouth moving, the way he took a breath and the gold badge on his shirt rose with his chest, and how he continued talking like he didn’t really want an answer from me.

He’d made up his mind. I think I remember them telling us in Psych class that eight times out of ten if someone comes to a conclusion or opinion about something, they’ll find a way to justify it even when they know they’re wrong.

This must have been how my sister felt every time she admitted she’d been to juvie. Or that she was a recovering addict.

My blood boiled for her. And then it felt like it stopped moving through my veins all together when my eyes darted around the room. Whatever she’d done, it was bad.

If she was going to jail, it wouldn’t be like juvie. This would be worse.

This was real crime. At an airport, nonetheless.

I couldn’t have her go alone. This was different than before. I saw her fear, I saw my baby sister try to take all the blame as they steered her away from me.

I glared over at the TSA officer. I made a decision right then and there. “Yes, it’s my suitcase. And my sister doesn’t know anything. I packed all of it.”

If we both took the blame, maybe our sentences would be cut in half, right?

A better officer would have asked how many kilos, what drugs did you pack, and who asked you to do this. Right? They would have investigated further.

Did I know what it was that I packed? No. I knew my sister had a track record in our family of getting into trouble. She’d supposedly cleaned up. I’d backed her over and over again, even when my mom called and said she didn’t think it was a good idea for Izzy to visit me in Puerto Rico.

“Too many temptations and freedom when she’s not home, Delilah.” My mother’s accent still carried through the phone after all these years. She’d slip back into Greek sometimes, and my father would chuckle because we all only understood about a third of what she was saying. We just knew we were in trouble when her native language flew out. “Haven’t I taught you anything? You graduate from that university and you immediately keep disobeying me. You should be in medical school, not traveling around nursing. You could be a doctor.”

Reassuring my mother that I knew how to deal with my twin sister would have fallen on deaf ears. I finally cut her off and told her this was my life. Plus I missed Izzy, and she was coming.

And now me taking the blame may have been my way of avoiding the truth, that mom was right and that my twin sister really did just screw us over.

She’d come for a weekend to visit me at my new nursing job. I’d only been there for two months, but I was trying my best to acclimate to a bilingual workplace and had just written up my ultimate bucket list. All on my own.