Sweet Water(114)
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
“I’m so sorry that happened. I know you were trying to help, but now you know to come to me if anyone asks you for that kind of money, right?”
Finn nods and wipes his face. “I knew Grandpa got away with the accident, and I was just trying to help them.”
I understand why he did it. He is more Denning than Ellsworth.
He knows he messed up.
He won’t do it again.
How can I preach to Finn about living an honest life if I let this go, though? But what good will it do to reveal it now?
We can’t bring Yazmin back by this truth. It can only hurt Finn. No money was exchanged between the parties, but there was a promise of an exchange.
It reminds me of something Martin said to me on the car ride home from his parents’ house the night Yazmin died. “We do what we have to do to protect our family.”
I hate that his words resonate with me now. I thought Martin was a monster for saying them, but now his words echo in my head and squeeze my heart.
“I’m sorry. I love you,” he says, and it breaks me.
“I know. I love you too,” I say, and I do feel the right parties have paid. William and Cash are in jail, Alton is fired, Finn is on probation, Martin and I have criminal records. None of these things can bring back Yazmin, but this isn’t about bringing her back. It’s about remembering her as she should be remembered, her truth, and not the one we created for her. It’s also about learning from our mistakes so we don’t repeat them. And so future generations don’t repeat them either.
“I don’t need to know.” Dad looks at me with a half-cocked smile and throws some kindling onto the firepit. “Shall we?”
I nod and toss the last copied journal page on top of it. The one that incriminates Finn. The one that will help no one if the information is revealed. Dad hands me the matches.
I strike one and let it go. The dry page catches fast, one last memory I’ll color in black.
And all the sweet water in the world can’t put it out.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When I wrote this book, I wanted to create a setting that felt like a character and characters who felt like real people, with music that was symbolic of a time period that meant something to me. Thank you, book genies, for granting all my wishes, and thanks to the bands that I mentioned in this book for existing; I cherish you all.
To Ella Marie Shupe, my agent and my extra pair of eyes, thanks for keeping me in check (we did it!). To my editor, Liz Pearsons, who loved this story and gave me a shot, I’m forever grateful.
To my developmental editor, Tiffany Yates Martin, who took this book to the next level with her editorial magic, I can’t thank you enough. And to Sarah Shaw in marketing and the whole crew at Amazon Publishing, working with you on this project has been a wonderful experience.
In my own neighborhood, I’d like to thank Megan Bombick for helping to oversee the legal things on this project and Natalie Schirato, who read a messy first draft of this book. It’s a pleasure living next to you ladies. Thanks for helping with my book—and my children.
Other first readers include: Lisa Coulson, Virginia DiAlesandro, Vickie Reinard, Janice Sniezek, and the North Pittsburgh Critique Group: Dana Faletti, Nancy Hammer, Carolyn Menke, and Kim Pierson, your support means everything, and my words are better because you read them first.
A very special thanks to Robyn Carson Jones, longtime Sewickley resident and real estate agent. You live in a special place; thank you for sharing it with me and answering all my research questions, much appreciated.
And last, but certainly not least, thanks to my family and friends who’ve encouraged me along the way, and special props to my husband, Justin, for always supporting my writing endeavors and thoughtfully considering all my crazy plot questions. You’re better at fiction than you think, babe. And to my children, Jackson and Charlotte, who inspire me to be creative every single day—everything I do is for you.