People Like Us(71)

“Actually, yes,” Mom admits, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed. “But it’s very early, and at my age a lot of things can go wrong, so we’re not telling anyone, even Aunt Tracy. We weren’t even going to tell you until Christmas, but . . . well, here you are.”

I study her. Is this a replacement baby? Then it dawns on me that there are certain expected reactions in these situations, and I give her a big hug and say, “That’s amazing!”

“You don’t have to pretend you’re not shocked,” Dad says, and I swear I see the first smile crack across his face since Todd died. “We realize how ancient you think we are.”

“I wouldn’t say ancient,” I protest. Well, not to their faces.

“The house is empty without you, Katie. We just felt ready.” Mom squeezes my shoulder and I force myself to smile. I manage to freeze my face into that idiotic grin until the rest of the potatoes are diced, and then I walk as casually as I can to the stairs and up to my loft before collapsing onto my mattress and sobbing into my pillow. They made me go to Bates. It was the solution to all of their problems. Those were her exact words. That’s why the goddamn house is empty. Todd’s death and my exile.

Mom calls up after a little while to ask if I’m all right and I use my standby excuse, cramps. Then I tiptoe into Todd’s room to find a new comfort item to replace the coat Nola hurled into the sea, something new I can cry into, but to my shock, the room that had been preserved into a museum exhibit for four years is empty. No furniture, no trophies, no posters or photos on the walls, no cardboard boxes of his things, even. The closet is empty, and the walls have been scrubbed and painted a creamy white. The hardwood floor has been covered with a thick fuzzy carpet, and the window blinds have been removed in favor of gauzy yellow drapes. I close the door and walk back downstairs.

“What happened to Todd’s room?”

Dad casts me another warning look. “It’s going to be the baby’s room.”

“What about all his things?”

“We needed to let them go,” Mom says in a calm, measured tone, as if repeating something told to her, something that had to be said over and over until it finally made sense.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it wasn’t up to you,” Dad says, dumping the contents of his cutting board into a bowl.

“It should be. I’m part of the family, too.”

“Not the part that makes decisions,” he says, handing the bowl to Mom and retreating into the family room, where a football game is blaring.

Mom holds the bowl helplessly. “Brad,” she calls after him. “Katie, what would you have wanted us to tell you? You have enough to worry about with your grades and your soccer.”

I laugh. I almost tell her right there about the things I actually have to worry about. But the fallout just wouldn’t be worth it. “What if I wanted to keep something to remember Todd?”

Mom starts crying.

Dad bounds back into the room. “This is why you can’t be here, Katie. You won’t let the past go. Hasn’t your mother gone through enough?”

“It’s not her fault, Brad.”

“What exactly did I do?” I can’t keep my voice from trembling, but I stand my ground. “Apart from not saving Todd, what did I do to get kicked out of the house?”

Mom reaches for me, but I yank myself out of her grasp. “You were never kicked out of the house.”

“Yes, I was, and now you’re making a new person to live in it. What did I do?”

“Katie, no one blames you.” Mom takes my hand tentatively and strokes it. “Bates was never a punishment. Being here was painful for all of us. You were miserable. Those kids were awful to you. All the things they wrote on your locker, the names they called you. The girls that followed you around and made your life a living hell? After everything that happened, we wanted to get you out because you deserved better.” She chokes up and that makes me start crying. “We’re trying so hard, Katie. We’re not going to let everything that’s happened break us. We’re looking at a fresh start. You have four years of a premier school behind you, and four years of a college education in front of you.”

I look to my father. “Dad?”

“No one blames you for anything.” His voice is a perfect echo of my mother’s.

I don’t believe him. I can’t. I’ve been pushing myself too hard for too long, past the limits of what I can reasonably accomplish to make up for Todd’s loss so they can forgive me for letting him die.

But Mom refuses to see this and goes on. “You have your soccer, your friends, Brie and Spencer. We’re so proud of you. We just don’t want you to slip away from us.” She tries again to hug me and I let her. “We love you, Katie.”

I wrap my arms around her tightly. I wish there was some way to rewind, to go back to the place where I had a choice about slipping away. I miss my mother. I miss my whole family. But there’s no way to explain everything. It’s just too much. “What would you do if something bad happened to me?” I ask.

She squeezes me harder. “Please talk to us. Whatever it is.”

“That came out wrong. I’m just afraid I’m going to let you down.” I straighten up and look at both of them. “I might not be cut out to be a soccer star. I might not get a scholarship. I might fail at school and life and everything. Spencer and I broke up. Brie and I aren’t even talking.”