“Yes. Kaylee . . . you’re the first person besides my sister that I care so much about.”
I almost said Ditto but stopped myself. “That feeling’s mutual, Troy. I can’t wait to see you again.”
I had hoped that my call to him would cheer me up, but when I hung up, I felt a terrible and deep sadness for us both. We’ll dig out of it, I told myself. There’s nowhere else to go but up.
The best way to pause the flow of sadness was to help Irene care for Mother. We tried to get each other to eat some lunch. It was one of the longest days I could remember. Nothing I could do would make it go faster. Constantly looking at the clock didn’t move those hands quicker but only reinforced how stuck in the tension we all were. My father called a little after three o’clock to see how we were and to tell me what I already knew: he had heard nothing.
Darkness fell like a heavy rain. I was afraid to put on music or look at television. Irene rarely left Mother’s side. Mother dozed on and off, but every time she woke, she was desperate for news, and hearing there was none was like another lash of the whip for her. We got her to eat some dinner and settled her on the sofa with a blanket afterward. My father called again with the same questions and the same message.
Just before eight, Dr. Alexander called, this time not to follow up on her patient but sincerely to see how I was doing and how my mother was doing. I sensed an underlying stream of guilt beneath her words. She, after all, had approved Haylee’s temporary parole. I didn’t accuse her of anything and hoped my voice didn’t betray my belief that she was at fault. After all, what she had was hope; she wanted to succeed. It was simply that I, along with my father, believed Haylee was beyond redemption. Her problems were too deeply embedded in who she was.
Dr. Alexander ended our conversation by saying, “I’m sorry this has happened.”
“Me, too,” I said. “I didn’t want it to be this way.”
“I believe you, Kaylee. Don’t lose faith in yourself. You’re a twin, but you’re not a duplicate.”
I liked that, but right now, it seemed as if nothing anyone could say would bring any joy.
I told Irene who had called and that there was nothing new.
“Maybe we should all just go to sleep,” she suggested. I imagined she was truly tired.
Mother didn’t resist, and Irene remained with her in her room.
Before I went to mine, I looked in at Haylee’s redecorated bedroom. The pink cloud, I thought. How dark it had become.
Epilogue
Our English literature teacher, Mr. Edgewater, spent a great deal of time getting us all to understand the essence of classical tragedy. He stressed that the tragic character isn’t simply someone who has a terrible thing happen to him or her. He or she has to have hubris, too much pride, meaning ego. He or she therefore causes the tragedy to occur.
I will always wonder if Haylee thought she could do what the therapists couldn’t when it came to Cedar Thomas. Maybe she believed he was so in love with her that she could lead him from the dark, insane world to her world of constant pleasure and happiness. She might have even thought up the whole thing, not realizing that she had gone too far. Maybe she believed that if it didn’t work, no one would blame her. She would simply return to some form of treatment. There was no such thing as good or evil; there was simply a wrong turn.
The police detective informed us that they were confident the driver, Cedar Thomas, deliberately went through the guardrail and plunged the car a few thousand feet to the rocky place below. Miraculously, there was no fire, but neither the driver nor his passenger was wearing a seat belt. The medical examiner claimed that death was instantaneous.
Days later, Dr. Alexander invited us to meet at her home. Only my father and I could go. Mother was practically catatonic, under care and medication. My father almost refused the invitation, but after a second thought, he decided we should hear what Dr. Alexander had to say.
“I didn’t ask you here to listen to excuses,” she began after we sat in her modest living room. “I wanted to tell you what I believe happened.”
“It clearly looks like he committed suicide and took Haylee along for the ride,” my father said. The events had hardened him almost to the point of being unrecognizable. Once again, he was launched into a conflict between anger and sadness.
“As strange as it’s going to sound to you, that’s not what I think happened.”
“Why not?” my father asked.
“Cedar Thomas believed he could read auras around people. He was taught to believe this, and it became a device to service his own inner rage, his deep paranoia.”
“But he drove the car over a cliff deliberately,” my father said.
“Because at the time, he was convinced your daughter had a demon living in her.”
“Then why did he pick her up? Why did he want to be with her?”
“He thought he was doing good, destroying evil.”
“But he would die, too,” my father said, his face showing terrible pain.
“We would know that. We’re rational and logical. But he thought he would be rewarded in the hereafter. That’s my assessment.”