Thishadbeen my fault. My sister would have never gotten on that plane ifshe had done things her way, but I had convinced her. I had talked her intogoing against her own intuition, and for what?SoIcould live vicariously through her, while I was tied down in small townAmerica, fighting endlessly with a teenager. That was entirely on me, andtherefore, so was her death.
Andthen, there was my son and the zombie-like persona he had adopted since findingout about his AuntGiGi’spassing.
Itwas expected that’d he’d be upset and heartbroken. He and his aunt had beenthick as thieves since the day he was born. She adored him, always spoiling himmore than I would have liked, and in his eyes, even as a moody teenager, shecould do no wrong. I knew his heart had to be shattered beyond all recognition,I knew it happened the moment I got that call from my father, but it was howcatatonic he was now that had me especially concerned.
“Youhungry?” I asked him, as I glanced across the car. “Do you want to grabsomething on the way?”
“No,”he grumbled, not even bothering to lift his head from the car window.
“Areyou sure? I’d be willing to eat anything,” I tried to bribe him. “Even thatnasty hot dog place you like.”
“I’mnot hungry,” he insisted.
“Comeon, kiddo,” I said, reaching across the car to gently stroke the top of his hoodedhead. “You’ve hardly eaten in the past couple of days.”
“Whatthe hell do you care?” he fired at me, turning to stare at me with viledisgust.
“TJ,”I gasped, taken aback, “why would you say that? Of course, I—”
“Youkilled her!” he shouted at me, his face contorting with rage. “She didn’t evenwantto go, and you made her do it. It didn’t even matter to you that she didn’twant to fucking go. You forced her to do it, and now, it’s because of you thatshe’s dead!Youdid this!”
Strugglingto hold myself together, I shook my head profusely, reaching out for him withshaking hands. “N-no, TJ. Honey, please—”
“Don’tfucking touch me!”
Inodded and quickly pulled my hands away, as I stammered, “O-okay. But honey,I-I-I had nothing to do—”
“Justshut the fuck up,” he muttered, his voice suddenlyvoidof all emotion, as he swatted angrily at the tears staining his cheeks.
“Okay,”I replied, nodding, as the guilt ate quietly away at my soul. “But, but can Iask you a question?”
Itook his silence as permission, and asked, “Would you prefer to not go with me?D-don’t feel like youhave to. You can stay with yourdad, ifthis is too much for you. You—”
“I’mgoing,” he seemed to growl.
Lickingmy lips, I nodded. “O-okay. I just don’t want you to feel—”
“Iwant to come and bring her ashes home,” he replied in a stern, flat town. “Now,please, just please, shut the fuck up.” Then, with a quivering lip, hedismissed me, turning to stare out the window.
So,with an ache in my heart that was big enough to consume my ability to speak, Idid just that and drove us to the airport in silence.
***
Theseven-hour flight over the ocean was already destined to be long and tiresome,but my son’s willful lack of attention made it that much more awful. Everyattempt I made to have a conversation with him was thwarted by his headphonesor an irritating demand to let him sleep, even though he wouldn’t sleep at all,and in some ways, that hurt more than the reason why we wereactuallyonthe plane. Because there was nothing I could do now about my sisterbeing dead, but TJ was still here. No matter how desperately I wanted him tonot hate me, he did, and for once, I couldn’t say I blamed him for that.
Butby the time the plane landed, my patience with his attitude was on its lastlegs. Seven hours of teenaged hormones, while I was still so new to the shockof my sister being dead, was too much to take. When we finally got to our hotelroom, I stared incredulously at my angry, bitter son, as he threw himself ontoone of the two full-sized beds.
“Wehave to get to the police department,” I told him, still in my jacket while hekicked off his shoes.
“Okay.Have fun with that,” he muttered, pulling out his phone.
“Aren’tyou coming with me?”
TJbounced his bottom on the mattress, then shook his head. “This bed sucks.”
“TJ,please—”
“Makesure you put the hang-y thing on the doorknob. The, uh, the Do Not Disturbthing,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on the phone in his hands. “I don’t wanta maid walking in here when I’m sleeping.”
