Mom complies, and then Dad takes off down the road. We drive for several miles as Mom begs our father to let us go, and he argues he’s never letting us go.
“Greg,” Mom says, her tone eerily calm. “You need to slow down.”
When Dad doesn’t answer her, she begins to sob. “Greg, what are you doing? That bend is dangerous! Slow down.”
“I can’t let you leave me,” Dad says. “We agreed in our vows until death do us part. I’m sorry, Rachel, I know I messed up. I know I made bad deals. Please forgive me.”
“Okay,” Mom says, “I forgive you. Now slow down. We can run away together.”
“There’s no running from them.” Dad’s face turns toward Mom. “They won’t stop looking until they find me. This is the only way.”
“Greg… Greg, have you been drinking?” Mom cries. “Are you drunk?”
The tires squeal and the car jerks to the side, flipping several times. There are screams and cries and then everything goes black.
Dad was killed on impact, and Mom died on her way to the hospital. By some miracle, Sierra and I both lived. She had a broken arm and needed stitches on her forehead. I had three cracked ribs and a broken wrist. But we were alive. Without our parents.
Because our father’s death was determined a suicide by the life insurance company, and Mom didn’t have any life insurance, they refused to give us any of the money. Sierra and I didn’t care about the money. All we cared about was that our parents were both gone.
The day our parents died was the day Sierra flipped her switch. I was discharged first, so I went to her hospital room where she was waiting for her arm to be casted.
“Oh, S!” I cry, running into the room to give her a hug. “How are you?” When I realize she isn’t returning the hug, I pull back, eyeing her wearily. “S, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Sierra says, refusing to look at me.
“Is it your arm? They gave me pain meds. Does yours hurt?”
“No.”
“S, look at me,” I demand. When her eyes meet mine, they look dead inside. “What’s going on?”
“I already said nothing. Can you just back off? I need some time.”
A few hours later, we were on our way to our dad’s mom’s house, who grudgingly took us in. She refused to continue to pay for the private school we were attending, so we were switched to a public school. Every day, for the first couple months, I would ask Sierra if she was okay, but she wouldn’t speak to me. At first, I thought maybe she was mad at me. But a few months later, when our grandma died—of course, leaving us nothing as a way to stick it to our parents—and the CPS person came to place us, I learned Sierra wasn’t mad at me. She was afraid to love me.
“It looks like we’re going to have to separate you both,” Darlene, the CPS worker says. “We can’t find anyone who’s willing to take on two teenagers.”
“It’s okay,” Sierra says softly.
“What?” I shriek, hurt and confused. “I get you’re mad at me or whatever, but you’re okay with them placing us in different homes? We still have over a year until I turn eighteen, almost two until you do. What if we have to go to different schools? Or live in a different city?”
“We were bound to be separated eventually,” Sierra says, zero emotion in her tone. “Might as well get it over with now.”
“You don’t mean that!” I shout, and then it all clicks into place. Her not talking to me, pushing me away. We lost both of our parents, and we almost died. “You’re just afraid you’re going to lose me,” I accuse. Her eyes go wide for a split second, but she quickly schools her features. “I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her, dropping to my knees in front of her. “All we have is each other, S. Don’t push me away.”
“All Mom had was Dad and look where that got her.” Sierra stands and, without looking at me, says to Darlene, “I don’t care where you place me.” Then she walks out of the room without looking back.
Luckily, despite Sierra not caring, Darlene found Jordan, who agreed to take us both in.
I swat a tear that’s slipped out and down my cheek, clearing my throat. “Mom, I’m not sure if you can hear me, but I need you. Sierra needs you. I miss her so much, but she won’t let me in. In two months I’m going to be leaving for college and I’m afraid I’ll never see my sister again. If you’re up there and listening, I just need some kind of sign. Some sort of guidance. I don’t want to give up, Mom, but it’s been two years and I’m not sure if she’s ever going to come around.”