Left Drowning(57)

And then we have a shitty conversation, James and I.

To be fair, it is what I thought I wanted—an honest exchange.

And it f*cking hurts, and it f*cking sucks.

Yet it’s necessary.

James is sitting in the corner of the sectional in the living room watching television, and he interrupts my reading. “Blythe?”

“One sec.” I hold up a finger. I’m totally involved in this book, and he probably wants a ride somewhere.

“Blythe,” he says more insistently.

I look up and see that James’s eyes are red and watery.

Oh my God. My heart sinks. He’s miserable. I thought that we were doing well and that I’d set up this break to be as easy as possible, but I can see suddenly that I’ve failed.

He begins talking, dumping onto me the truths that, so far, he has never shared. “It’s so hard to be here. In this house, especially like this with the damn holidays and all, and not have them here. It’s just that … everything feels so fresh since this is our first time back, and it’s too much. It’s too much. I feel like they just died yesterday.” My brother bursts into tears, and I’m completely taken aback. I don’t know if I should go sit next to him and comfort him or not. “I want them back,” he says.

“I know. Me, too.”

“I want them back so much that, Blythe, I’d make the worst deal possible.”

He’s made a huge confession. I know exactly what he is thinking, and I don’t want him to have to say it. I’ve had the same unbearable thought myself, and I know how it feeds self-hatred. I don’t want that for my brother, so I say out loud what must burden him to the core. “You’d trade me to have one of them back.”

He completely breaks down. This is new because I’ve always been the one in pieces, and James has been the calm, collected, smart one. Now I have to step up.

“James, it’s all right. I will not let you feel bad for wanting them back. If I could give you that, I would. No matter what the cost.”

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he says, fully crying now.

“I know that you blame me for that night. For why we were there, for how I …” I have to compose myself to continue. “For how I hurt you.”

“No, you don’t understand.”

My brother has tears flowing down his cheeks. I hate this. “I can take it, James. I blame myself, too. The sound of your screaming will haunt me forever. Do you know how often I’ve gone over that night in my head and envisioned how I would do it differently? How I would have woken up at the first hint of smoke? Or that I would have checked to make sure that I’d knocked out every shard of glass from that window? I go back even further, to when I picked that rental house. I should have let you pick the house. Everything. I would change everything. But no matter what you want to throw at me, I’m not leaving you, James. Ever. So you be as mad at me as you need to, and I will still never leave you, and I’ll never stop loving you. You are my brother forever.”

James is too upset to speak, so I continue.

“I understand. This is … part of what we have to go through. What’s happening right now. I believe that this is going to get better. I know that I’ve been out of it and useless for so long, but I’m back. And I’m not Mom. I know that. You should have a mom and dad, and you were unfairly robbed of that. It’s not easy for anyone to lose a parent, but you lost both when you were still a kid. I can’t make that shit go away, but I am going to be here to help if you’ll let me.”

He’s rubbing his eyes and sniffling, and I get up from my seat and sit next to him. I start to put my arm around him, but he collapses into my lap.

“I did something bad, Blythe,” he says through his crying. “You’re not going to want to be around me if I tell you.” James is like a little kid right now, bawling and clinging to me.

I can’t imagine what he’s talking about, but he clearly needs to get something off his chest. As I rub his back, I think how foreign it is for us to touch each other, but I’m glad that he’s letting me comfort him. “There’s nothing you can say that would do that.”

He can’t even look at me as his garbled words come out. “I could have played soccer. I wasn’t hurt the way you thought.”

I freeze. “What … what do you mean?”

He keeps hiding his face. “I told everyone that my leg was too damaged for me to play anymore because I didn’t want to. I couldn’t. Soccer didn’t mean shit to me after, but everyone wanted me to be this big soccer star. I just didn’t care. Except for the scar, my leg is fine.”

My brother’s leg is fine. The ramifications of what he is telling me hit me. I have spent four years blaming myself, hating myself, for taking away a huge piece of James’s future. Soccer was something that I believed could have been a salvation for him in a horrible time, and now I find out he didn’t even want it. Yet he let me take responsibility for destroying what little he had left.

I keep my voice level because I don’t want him to know how furious I am. “Why didn’t you tell anyone that you could play? That you were pretending?”

“Because … because everyone expected me to want to … I don’t know … prove how tough I was in the face of such shit. What a great story, right? Local boy goes on to triumph in the face of tragedy? And I didn’t have the heart to do it.”