“I guess they couldn’t leave their dad down there,” I said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told him about the jogger’s mouth.”
This was, after all, my fault. An icy dread passed over me. I’d forced them to choose between abandoning their father and abandoning their lives.
“Be kind to yourself,” Mom said. “Obviously knowing the truth mattered more to him than the house,
and it’s not like he’ll be thrown out onto the streets, Aza.”
I tried to listen to her, but the undeniable feeling had sprung up in me. For a moment I tried to resist, but only a moment.
I slipped off the Band-Aid and dug my nail into the callus of my finger, opening up a cut where the previous one had finally healed.
As I washed and rebandaged it in the bathroom, I stared at myself. I would always be like this, always have this within me.
There was no beating it. I would never slay the dragon, because the dragon was also me. My self and the disease were knotted together for life.
I was thinking about Davis’s journal, of that Frost quote, “In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life—it goes on.”
And you go on, too, when the current is with you and when it isn’t. Or at least that’s what I whispered wordlessly to myself.
Before I left the bathroom, I texted him again. Can we hang out sometime? I saw the... appear, but he never replied.
“We should get going,” Mom said. I opened the bathroom door, pulled a jacket and a knit hat from the coatrack, and entered our frigid garage.
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