The Return(93)

I watched her, trying to picture how hard the last year must have been for her. “I was in Georgia this morning,” I finally said.

She turned toward me, wary. “So?”

“I know who you are.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Your name is Karen Johnson, and you’re sixteen years old. You ran away from your home in Decatur, Georgia, last May, when you were fifteen. Your parents are named Curtis and Louise, and you have twin sisters named Heather and Tammy.”

After the shock passed, her eyes narrowed. “I suppose you’ve already called my parents? And they’re on their way?”

“No,” I said. “I didn’t. Not yet, anyway.”

“Why not? Because you plan to have me arrested?”

“No. Because I’d like you to contact your parents before the police do.”

“I don’t want to talk to them,” she said, her voice rising. “I’ve already told you that.”

“You told me a lot of things,” I continued, remaining calm. “But you’re a minor and technically a missing person. The police will contact your parents no later than tomorrow, so all of this is over no matter what you decide. They’ll find out where you are and I’m sure they’ll come to see you. I just think it would be better if they heard everything from you first. I’m sure they’ve been really worried about you and they miss you.”

“You don’t know anything!”

“What don’t I know?”

“They hate me.” Her voice was half sob, half cry of rage.

I stared at her, thinking about the news clipping I’d read. “Because of what happened to Roger?”

She flinched at the name and I knew I’d unleashed a tidal wave of painful emotions. Instead of answering, she drew her legs up, her knees to her chest, and began to rock. I wished that I could somehow help her, but I knew from experience that guilt is an individual battle, always waged alone. I watched as she began to cry before swiping angrily at her tears with the back of her hand.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.

“Why? It won’t change what happened.”

“You’re right,” I admitted. “But talking about sadness or guilt can help let out some of the pain, and sometimes, that leaves more room in your heart to remember what you loved about someone.”

After a long silence, she finally spoke, her voice ragged. “It’s my fault that he died. I was supposed to be watching him.”

“What happened to Roger was a terrible, terrible accident. I’m sure you loved your little brother very much.”

She rested her chin on her knees, looking absolutely drained. I waited in silence, allowing her to make her own decision. I’d learned in my own therapy how powerful silence can be; it gives people time to figure out how they want to tell the story, or whether they want to tell it at all. When she finally began, she almost sounded as though she were talking to herself.

“We all loved Roger. My parents always wanted a son, but after Heather and Tammy were born, my mom had trouble getting pregnant again. So when Roger finally came along, it was like a miracle. When he was a baby, me and Tammy and Heather treated him like a doll. We’d change his outfits and take pictures of each one. He was always so happy, one of those babies that always smiled, and as soon as he could walk, he would follow us everywhere. It never bothered me when I had to watch him. My parents didn’t go out all that much, but that night it was their anniversary. Tammy and Heather were staying over at a friend’s house, so it was just me and Rog. We were playing with his Thomas the Tank Engine set and when he got hungry, I brought him to the kitchen to make him a hot dog. They were his favorite. He ate them all the time and I cut it into small pieces, so when my friend Maddie called, I thought it would be okay to talk to her on the porch outside. She was upset because her boyfriend had just broken up with her. I didn’t think we talked that long, but when I came inside again, Roger was on the floor and his lips were blue and I didn’t know what to do…” She trailed off, as if caught up in the paralyzing moment all over again. When she continued, her expression was dazed. “He was only four years old…I started screaming and eventually one of the neighbors heard me and came over. She called 911 and then my parents and the ambulance came, but by then…”

She took a long, uneven breath.

“At the funeral, he wore a blue suit that my parents had to buy for him. We each got to put a toy in the casket with him, and I picked Thomas. But…it was like this horrible dream. He didn’t even look like Rog. His hair was parted on the wrong side and I can remember thinking that if his hair had been parted the right way, then I would wake up and everything would be back to normal again. But of course everything was different after that. It was like this blackness settled over us. My mom cried and my dad spent all his time in the garage and Heather and Tammy fought all the time. No one was allowed in Roger’s room and it stayed exactly the same as when I’d been playing Thomas the Tank Engine with him. I had to walk by that room every time I went to my room, or to the bathroom, and all I could think was that if we’d stayed in the room a few minutes longer, then Maddie wouldn’t have called while he was eating and nothing bad would have happened. And my mom and dad…they could barely look at me because they blamed me for what happened. And it happened on their anniversary, so I killed that, too.”