Chapter 35

The cemetery where our parents and grandmother were buried was located on a wide, open field. It was old but well-kept, and rows upon rows of gravestones ran like dominoes toward a line of trees. The sky was so white you could barely see the snowflakes falling, the thick clouds hinting that the white blanket would only grow thicker with the coming night.

For a while, all we heard was the sound of crunching ice under our boots as we trudged to the graves. My brother had even exchanged his expensive slacks for more winterproof trousers and sported a big, red wool hat. Light brown hair stuck out under it on all sides. He really needed a haircut, I noticed absentmindedly.

"You've always liked snow," he commented.

"And you've always hated it."

"Yeah, but I didn't really hate it until I was stuck in the Alps when the accident happened."

That's right. He arrived too late to say goodbye to Mum.

A surge of guilt made me avert my eyes.

We trekked on through the snow in silence until he sighed. "There's something else I've been meaning to tell you, just didn't seem like the right time. Paul accepted a plea deal. Might not sound like much, but he'll spend the next twelve years in prison. McKenzie is not gonna have to worry about him again anytime soon. Nor will you."

"That's good. Thanks for letting me know."

I was glad for McKenzie, but my head was far away. All that stuff with Paul felt like it had happened in another lifetime. My life might look the same as it did six months ago, but something was fundamentally different.

Me.

When we found the right place, Charlie went to my mother's gravestone and lightly put his hand on top. While we looked down at the names, I remembered the happy times. The punching of piano keys, the laughter, the familiar smells.

I blew on my hands to keep them warm. "I still know exactly how her perfume smelled, did I ever tell you that?"

"No, but I'm not surprised you would remember that. You were always good at remembering the positive things."

I frowned at the undertone. "What do you mean?"

Charlie shook his head. "It's just, you never really allowed yourself to see Mum the way she was."

"She was a great mum," I said tightly.

"She was weak, Sam. Too weak to leave him, and I know it's easy to judge someone else's choices when you're not caught in the same situation, but, well, even though I was heartbroken over her death, I was also angry at her for a long time for failing to protect you. She would feel terrible about how much you blame yourself."

"That's not … That's, I mean…" I walked some steps away, then turned around. "It wasn't her fault that we crashed. I saw him put stuff in his coffee and I didn't tell … and then in the hospital." I sucked in a painful breath. "That infection … I ripped off my face mask inside her room one night after having a panic attack. It was me. It was all my fault…"

"The hell it was!" Charlie ground out. "It was bad, very bad, with Dad, and she knew that but still didn't do anything. Grandma and Grandpa would have helped her. She only needed to ask. She was well-liked, had so many friends, I'm sure one of them could have helped, too. But she wanted so badly to hold on to him that she let him drive you around while completely drunk. And I know it's unfair to put everything on her because she was a victim, too. She had to suffer his abuse, too, and it must have been really, really hard on her. But Sam, she was our mum, and her first job was to protect us."

"But I didn't tell her…"

"You don't think that she knew? Of course, she knew! Jesus, Sam, wake up! She wasn't stupid or blind. And while she did her best in some ways, she wasn't the perfect mother you make her out to be. She let us fend for ourselves under his heavy disapproval, and I know what it did to me! At least I got out, but you…" Scowling, he kicked a pile of snow. "You ended up in that damned car with them."

My hands were shaking, and thoughts tumbled through my head in a jumbled mess. Had she really known about the whiskey in his coffee? About all the snide comments? Maybe even about his plan to drag me to that stupid piano concert when I was only six years old, despite all the arguing I thought I'd heard?

I shook my head. "But she didn't deserve this. It's not her fault."

"Of course, it's not. But it's not yours either. Fifty percent of her body was burned, Sam. Burned. Her immune system was completely in the crapper. Anything could have killed her. It's impossible to determine where that infection came from. Ultimately, it was Dad who put her in that hospital. The rest … the rest was just really bad luck." Reflectively, he stared at our mother's tombstone. "You're allowed to be mad at her, you know. For leaving you, for not being around to help you figure stuff out."

"How can you even be angry at a dead person?" I sniffled.

"Oh, you can." A bitter laugh rang out. "You can. In fact, I was so angry for such a long time, but not just at her, at myself, too. Once I was old enough, I could have done something about it—anything to keep that from happening. But I didn't even know how bad it had got because I was too busy staying away. If I had known, maybe…" He swallowed. "I … After it happened, the pain and the guilt were so strong I couldn't manage to be there for you, and I always regretted that. I should have told you that this wasn't your fault as often as you needed to hear it. Until you believed it, too. But, well, I think it's safe to say that I'm not perfect either."

He let out a bone-deep sigh. I stared at him. I would have never thought that Charlie blamed himself for how things had turned out, or that he didn't blame me, not even a little bit. I'd also never considered, or maybe never wanted to consider, our mother's role in this whole tragedy. Her influence on what had transpired. She'd always just been a victim in my mind, but Charlie was right. She hadn't fought back, not for us and not for herself. And if my brother spoke the truth about this, then maybe it was also true that I wasn't really at fault for her death either.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I'm sorry for all of it. It shouldn't have happened, and I should have been there for you."

"You're here now," I said and stepped close to carefully lean my forehead against his shoulder. "You're here now, and I think you just managed to keep me from completely unravelling. Thanks, Charlie."

"I guess it doesn't help dredging this up again right now. This girl has really screwed you up. You loved her, didn't you?"

"Yes, I loved her."

For a moment, I was surprised at how easy it was to come out to him. He nodded while running his fingers through my hair. "I thought so. That sketch in your sketchbook … It was like a love letter."

"She said she can't be with me and be in Paris," I mumbled. "So, whatever you saw, it wasn't enough."

"No, I guess it wasn't. But at least now you know. If something like distance manages to keep you apart, then it isn't meant to be. But you know … I think I'm still a little grateful to her, despite the pain you're in." I lifted my head, furrowing my brows, but he just smiled sadly and laid his arm around my shoulder. "You've always cut yourself off from the world, so seeing you care about someone so much? Dad did his part in turning you into a shy introvert and the accident did the rest, but at least this girl managed to get you out of your shell. I'm glad. Despite everything, I'm glad about that. Becoming a teacher, even sharing your art? When the old man told me about that, I could hardly believe it. That's something I would've never thought you'd do."

"That … didn't really have anything to do with Emmanuelle…"

"Didn't it?"

I opened my mouth, and then closed it. "Maybe she was a part of it."

Yes, maybe she had been the catalyst for changing, helped along by Harry and my friends. The day I met her, my whole world had started shifting. And I couldn't go back. Because it wasn't the things around me that had changed—I had.

The old man and Martha welcomed us home with a freshly cut fir tree that was waiting to be decorated. With the TV droning on in the background, Charlie and I started arguing about the perfect Christmas decorations, and I teased him about forgetting to cut his hair again. When I called him a cowboy attorney with a laugh, all the faces around me shined with relief.

I could survive this if I just keep trying,I thought. Time would help. I might not ever get all of my pieces back, I might never be able to forget Emmanuelle, but I could get back enough to be okay.

Then my phone rang. I frowned at seeing Remi's number on my screen, and my heart was suddenly beating a mile an hour.

"Hello?" I said through a dry throat.

Remi's voice was hoarse and sounded like he'd been crying. He said a bunch of stuff that didn't really penetrate. I felt almost as if I was in a trance as I walked past my grandfather and sat down on the couch.

"She was pushed down the stairs in her apartment?" I asked. "She's in critical condition?"

He said more things, and I still struggled to process. Frank sat down next to me and laid a hand on my thigh.

She wasn't even in Paris yet, still busy cancelling the lease on her loft in New York and finding a new tenant. The thought alone blew my mind. All these days without her, and she hadn't even been that far away.

I could live with her being happy and okay somewhere. I couldn't live with knowing she was gone, that I would never see or speak to her again. I was beginning to accept that I'd miss her for the rest of my life. That no day would pass where the colours of the sunset would not make me think of her. But knowing we would never be sharing the same sky again … that was a pain I could not bear.

"Sam," Remi said haltingly. "I know you two are broken up, but she needs you. The few minutes she was conscious, she asked for you. They're waiting for her to stabilize enough to get her into surgery, but if you could just get here … I promise I'll take care of everything. Just please."

I was grabbed by pure, unadulterated panic. Seeing her again so soon? In the hospital, when she could die?

"I know it isn't fair of me to ask you this, but it's really bad." His words ended in a strangled sound. "Please, Sam. If there's any chance that your presence could help her, you need to come."

"Please don't ask this of me," I begged, my voice shaking.

An image of Emmanuelle throwing her dark curls over her shoulder and giving me a playful wink flashed in my head. I remembered the way she smelled of jasmine, and how soft her lips felt when I touched my finger to the corner of her mouth. That look in her sea-green eyes that laid me bare, unravelling me like no other person had ever managed.

Gone.

She would be gone.

My whole body began to tremble.

My grandfather gently took the phone from my hand. "She'll get back to you in a bit. Just give us a few minutes," he said to Remi, then he hung up.

Martha and my brother exchanged a glance with Frank before leaving the room. It looked like they had heard pretty much the entire conversation. I crawled further up the couch, getting one of the big pillows and hugging it for dear life.

Frank just looked at me before opening his arms. "Come here, dear."

I abandoned the pillow and nestled against his chest instead. It helped a little.

"When your parents died," he began gently, "it was very hard on all of us. I know it was hardest on you because you witnessed it, but it was hard on us, too. That your mother survived only to be taken away days later was a cruel thing to bear for any person, least of all a fifteen-year-old kid." His arms tightened. "But Sam, if there'd been any way to help your mother feel better in those last few moments, you would have taken it."

I knew he was right, and I did want to do what I could, but going there?

"I know you think that I have no idea what you're going through." At that, my head lifted. My grandfather's gaze was kind. "But I lost your grandmother, the love of my life, and even though I like Martha a lot, she's never going to be able to fill the space your grandma left behind."

He paused, and I let myself sink against his frame. "I knew when I met your grandmother that she would be it for me, you know? I knew it like feeling a thunderstorm coming before it's there. She was always such a whirlwind, electrifying and passionate, and so charismatic that she could almost pluck you from the ground with the sheer force of her will. She was beautiful, Sam, so very beautiful in everything she did."

I could see my grandma take shape with his words. The way she'd loved to cook, always leaving a myriad of coloured spices around the pans. The way she'd danced with Frank in the rain, unbothered by her lack of rhythm or the mud on her clothes. Even the way she'd done her art, wholeheartedly and unapologetic, unable to be anyone but herself while shaping her marble. All those memories were so very precious. My grandparents had found what some people spent their whole life searching for.

"Was it worth it? Having to endure all that pain when she died?"

"I had a full life with her, Sam, a great life. Sure, there were some bumps and also some tragedies but, all in all, I wouldn't exchange the years I spent with her for anything. Anything. And I've learned to live with the fact that she went before me. But that doesn't mean that it didn't hurt when she did."

His arm tightened around my shoulder. When I looked up, an amused smile played around his lips. "I knew you loved that woman the day she came to our gardens, kid. I knew it because I've never seen you look at someone the way you look at her. The way I looked at your grandma. That you let her go so she could find herself and follow her dreams was the right thing to do. We can't always hold on to those we love. Sometimes we need to let them find their own paths, even if it hurts. But she needs you now, needs you to fight. Are you prepared to live with the consequences if you don't go to her? Knowing that, at the very least, you could have fulfilled the last wish she ever had?"

He'd always been my rock, like one of the lighthouses that he loved so much. A light that guided my ship through storms. And he was right. Even though the thought of going hurt, the thought of her dying without me there hurt more.

"I'll go," I finally croaked.