Sign Here(94)

But I learned something else that night, the night she died. There was someone else, someone she didn’t tell me about. The only person in the world I loved more than her, and I really mean that. My little brother, Silas. If I hadn’t gone for a walk that night (I couldn’t sleep; the AC was out in my room on the top floor—vicious), I would’ve never known. I also would’ve never wound up here.

But Sarah would still be dead.

That’s the thing I need to say; that’s why I’m writing you. I don’t want this information getting out, otherwise I would’ve told my lawyer. I just want you to know, because you were Sarah’s all-time favorite person. I know it has been rough with your parents, and I just can’t die knowing that you think I killed her. I just can’t.

I went for a walk that night to cool off. It was late—you already know that. I walked down to the woods, thinking maybe I would go for a quick swim. But when I got there, I heard Sarah’s voice. God—I would recognize that voice anywhere, like a favorite song. I almost burst straight through the trees, blown away by my good luck that she was still awake. She was the only reason I was even there that weekend. (Truthfully, she was the only person I liked from our whole school.) But I stopped myself from busting out at the last minute because I heard her talking to Silas.

I know if Sarah were alive, she would be pissed that I told you—her brother—about this stuff. She was so determined not to care what anyone else thought, anyone but you. But she’s not alive, and I won’t be for long either, and someone needs to know the truth. So I hope you can (both) forgive me.

Sarah was drunk, and she had that particular kind of slur she would get when she took pain pills. You know, like the ones from your mom’s nose job. Sarah would steal those pills and replace them with scraped-down aspirin. Don’t believe me? Check your mom’s medicine cabinet. You’ll see, all the pills in there have little scratches on them, to take the aspirin markings off. So whether it was hers or she got it from someone else, I could tell from her voice that she was out of it.

Up until that day, I had no idea they even knew each other. Not really, at least. That’s embarrassing to admit, since I considered them my two closest people. But somehow I missed it. Maybe I’m an idiot. But there they were, out on this float that my grandfather built when my brother and I were kids. I remember it was a full moon, bright as hell. The lake was still and they were pretty messed up, so they were loud and I could hear them perfectly. (It’s kind of amazing no one else could, but they were all passed out up in the house.)

I know it sounds super shady, but I froze. I should’ve walked away. Fuck, I wish I had run, or yelled—something. But I didn’t. Yeah, I was jealous. I was. And I was confused, dumbstruck. I think now, as I’m writing this, I understand why that word exists: I was struck dumb. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Couldn’t make a smart decision. All I could do was watch.

My brother talked first.

He said that he got some news from Lily. (You know Lily, his girlfriend. She testified. I can’t blame her, not really. She just said what she saw. But I’ll come back to that.) Lily got real drunk that night; I had to get Silas to put her to bed. And apparently, she told Silas she was pregnant. His baby. So Silas said he had had a lot of fun with Sarah, but he had to be responsible and he couldn’t leave Lily. He was dumping her.

Sarah . . . well, you know how she could get sometimes. Especially when she was fucked up. She got mad and started yelling at him. Silas couldn’t handle it; he has never been good at confrontation—he used to cry at anything, that kid—so he got defensive. They argued, loud and then soft and then loud again. I could hear their voices and splashes and one loud thud, but I couldn’t really see anything. Eventually, he just left. Sarah was real messed up then; the pills and fight were kicking in hard. But Silas dove into the water and swam back to the shore, ignoring her calling his name. Ignoring everything about her. I had to crouch so he didn’t see me when he grabbed his clothes and took off back toward the house. She was still screaming for him, begging for him to come back, to help her. But he didn’t look back once.

I waited. I thought maybe she would cry it out and pull herself together—Sarah could pull herself together like a champ. It was hard to listen to, but at that point, I couldn’t come out of my spot and be the perv brother who was just watching—she would be too creeped out or embarrassed to ever talk to me again. But I wasn’t going to go inside without making sure she was okay, so I waited.

It was late, you know? I leaned back for just a minute: I had this sunburn on my back, and the ground felt cool and good. I must’ve fallen asleep for a second. Maybe longer. Honestly, I don’t know. But I opened my eyes and sat up, and she wasn’t on the float anymore.

You can stop reading now if you want. Maybe you should.


The lake was so still, it looked like glass, and I didn’t even take off my sneakers; I just dove right in. I don’t know how long I had been asleep for, but it couldn’t have been for long. She could’ve swum back and just worn a towel, or borrowed something of Silas’s. I don’t know how to explain it, but I just knew she didn’t.

My fingers caught in her hair as I was swimming toward the float. I found her underwater, out by the float. I swam back to shore with her and carried her out and tried to make her breathe again. I sang the song that goes with CPR that they taught us in health class, the one about staying alive. I pressed; I pressed; I breathed into her mouth; I pressed. I tried. God, if you don’t believe anything else in this letter—in your whole memory of me—please, please, believe that I tried to save your sister’s life. They said in the trial that she had bruises on her chest, a cracked rib. That’s why. I just wanted her to wake up.