"T
ell me what?" my mother asked with a bright smile.
"You just want everyone to be as miserable as you, don't you, Quinn?" my father asked. "Ever since you were young, you did just as you pleased. Your sister was the one that knew how to take responsibility. She knew how to live up to expectations and be grateful for every opportunity she got."
"Tell her or I will!"
"Now, Barbara, why don't you sit down?" my father said in his best soothing voice. "There's some bad news about Sienna. I can hardly believe it myself. I didn't know how to tell you and I wanted to wait until you felt better."
"Sienna? Is she alright?" my mother shoved her empty glass onto the counter and hung on to the edge with both hands.
My father struggled to get his voice to work. "Sienna…Sienna committed suicide last night."
My mother sank to the floor as a keening wail rose from her lips. I jumped down from my stool and ran around the counter to sit with her on the floor. She bumped her head back against the cupboard, her eyes screwed shut tightly.
"I didn't believe it at first," my father said. "I still don't believe it. How could she do that? How could she throw away all her accomplishments, all her goals?"
"Oh, my sweet girl, oh, my sweet, sweet girl. I know. I know how it feels," my mother whispered to herself.
"Mommy?" I took her hand.
She yanked it away. "You don't understand, poor Quinn, you're like him. Sienna was always like me. She felt things the same way – felt the burning, felt the falling, felt the soaring."
"Can we talk about that?" I asked. "I think we need to talk about that."
My mother scrambled to her feet and flung herself at my father. "You promised she would be okay. You promised me she could handle it. Everything was fine, Sienna was always fine. Lies! Now, I know you lied. It's all my fault. My beautiful, sweet girl," my mother cried.
I stayed on the floor, cringing as my mother flailed her manicured fists at my father's chest.
"Barbara, you need to go lie down. You've had a shock."
"A shock? Why am I the only one that isn't shocked at all? You think people can just magically brush themselves off and be just fine. Well, that might work for you and maybe for Quinn, but not everyone's as heartless as you two," my mother said.
"Everyone grieves in their own way," my father said. He caught hold of my mother's wrists and pulled her towards the door. "It’s no use falling to pieces, its already done and we can't do anything to change it."
"She's not dead, she can't be. You're just a cruel man playing a cruel joke," my mother said. She yanked her wrists free and spun away from my father. Then, she grabbed her phone and marched out the other kitchen door.
I sat on the floor listening to my father's angry breathing as we heard my mother leave another voicemail on Sienna's phone.
"Are you happy?" he finally said to me. He slammed a fist on the counter and walked out.
By the time I managed to stand up, the house was silent. My mother was back in her bedroom suite, my father was in his office, and I was alone in the rest of the stretching square footage.
My mother was not shocked that Sienna had taken her own life. That idea blinked in my brain like the starting cursor of a video game. Was there some sign I had missed? Was there something I could have done?
My legs were heavy as I dragged myself up the stairs to Sienna's room. It had to be my fault. We weren't close, but we were sisters, and I should have known if she was feeling so desperate.
Her room was as neat and tidy as always. The Tiffany blue walls and white furniture glowed in the sunset light. Instead of an old-fashioned four-poster bed like mine, Sienna had a queen-size bed with a white satin tufted headboard. The comforter was an intricate swirl of pastel paisley. I sat on the edge of her bed, careful not to crease it.
I needed her there. Sienna never sat around helpless. I could see her marching into her room and scolding me. She would have gone straight to her computer and researched the reasons, both psychological and physical, behind suicide.
I wondered if she had researched it before she did it. I should have looked on her computer in her dorm room. Sienna probably looked up a dozen case studies the moment the thought of suicide crossed her mind.
And still, she did it. The thought made me dizzy, and I let myself slip to the floor.
I leaned back against her bed and felt the sharp edge of something stick me in the back. Reaching under her bed, I pulled out a photograph album she had made her senior year of high school. I opened it up, welcoming the sweet relief that happy memories brought.
The first picture was Sienna leading the cheerleader charge onto the football field. Except it was not her red-lipped smile or glowing golden hair that caught my attention. In the far background was a tall blond boy leaning on the fence next to a gangly girl with long wavy hair.