Rapid Falls(69)

“I forgot how beautiful it is,” Anna says with a wistfulness in her voice.

“Yeah,” I reply. She frowns like I just disagreed with her. We sit down on the warm ground, scooting back to rest on the trees behind us. I wish I had a drink. The afternoon beer with my dad is starting to wear off, and I feel nervous not knowing when I’ll have another. I wonder if Anna really believes that she will never have a drink again. She grabs a stick and draws in the dirt, nudging rocks down into the groove she’s made. She pushes one too hard and it rolls toward the edge. I watch it fall.

“You know, when we were growing up . . . I thought you were perfect.” She is staring at the falls. “Everything you did. I was so jealous of you. You were always Mom and Dad’s favorite.”

My mouth is dry. “You thought I was their favorite?”

“I didn’t have to think it. It was true. Look at where we are now. Mom won’t even talk to me. I was always second in their eyes. I wanted to be like you so badly.”

My gaze is drawn to the arc of water plummeting its way to the ground. The waterfall is relentless. It pounds through granite, eroding the strength of the rocks, drop by drop.

“I know you did.” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice.

“I came back here today because of that feeling. I need to work through . . . what happened. Dr. Hinkley thought it would help.” Her mouth twitches lightly, like she’s embarrassed. “I haven’t come back to Rapid Falls since the accident. Dad invited me back here so many times, but I just couldn’t bear it. I thought it would tear me apart, to be reminded of . . . everything. Now I realize that staying away was worse. There was so much left unsaid.”

“What do you want to say?” I force myself not to ask her about the invitations from our father, the secret conversations that she kept from me. I dig what’s left of my nails into my palms instead.

Anna is working up to something. What had she been looking for in the attic? What had she found? The divers never recovered my backpack. I always wondered how I’d explain it when the police brought it to me with questions. But they never did.

Anna takes a breath and screws up her eyes, rubbing them deeply as if trying to pull something out of her mind. “Therapy is complicated.” She pauses. “At least for me. There’s so much I don’t remember. I’m trying to work through the twelve steps. I got through the first four while I was in rehab. This time, I want to do it right. I want this to be my last time, you know? No more secrets.” She winces and then turns to me, finally looking me in the face. “No more secrets, right, Cara?” There is a threat in Anna’s eyes. I nod, though adrenaline prickles my hands. “I got hung up on the fifth step, and I couldn’t figure out why. It was only a few days ago that I realized what the problem was. I needed you.” She pulls a folded piece of paper from her back pocket. “Number five is that I have to admit to God, to myself, and to another human being the exact nature of my wrongs.”

I do my best to meet her gaze, but she stops, seeing something in my face.

“Why are you smiling? Is this stupid to you?” Her voice is flat, but there is anger.

I realize I am smirking and force my face into an expression of concern. Relief has caught me off guard. I was worried that Anna was going to do something real, but she just needs me to go through the same old rehabilitation ritual. She has started and stopped the twelve steps more times that I can count.

“No, no,” I lie. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

“I know. It’s a lot.” Anna sighs. I convinced her. “Dad has been so helpful. I thought it would be easier with you. But it’s never easy with you.”

“What do you mean?” I feel a flicker of anger. “I gave you so much.”

Anna shakes her head slowly. “You have given me more than you know.” She pauses and looks down. “Oh my God. This is so hard.” She looks at the falls again, as if trying to gather strength. It seems to work. When she turns back to me, her gaze doesn’t waver. “You know what a mess I am, what a disaster I’ve made of my life. I’ve stolen, Cara. I took fifty dollars from your wallet when you weren’t looking a few months ago. Your husband hates me; he thinks I’m disgusting. Your daughter is scared of me . . . She told me the last time I saw her that I smell weird.” She stops and stands up, like she can’t bear to admit the next thing while she’s sitting so close to me. Her back is to me, and her feet are less than a handbreadth from the edge of the cliff. The implication is clear. She would rather put herself in danger than sit beside me.

“I took Jesse away from you.”

My hands flare like they’ve been submerged in freezing water again.

“The night of the accident, I only had one wine cooler, maybe two. I know that. But I took that painkiller from you. And I was so tired.” She pauses. “I will never forgive myself for what happened on the bridge. For what I did to you. And to him.”

The words of forgiveness I am supposed to say catch in my throat. They feel so sharp that it hurts.

“But that’s not the whole story. I took him away from you a long time before that.”

My stomach feels frozen solid. I meet her eyes without a word.

“I loved Jesse,” she says.

I say nothing. I feel the churning of the falls as if it were driving the blood inside my body.