Theirs to Keep

“Maddy,” I said, using the pet name he did. “Your wife. You said the accident was your fault, but from what I heard so far you weren’t even there.”

Roderick took a step or two backwards. He eventually found the wall and leaned against it, but without looking like he was leaning against it.

“Listen, if you don’t want to talk about it that’s fine,” I said. “But I’ve opened up to you guys now. I’ve told you things I never discussed with anyone else, and I’ve laid myself out for—”

“Ice cream.”

The phrase stopped me dead, in the middle of my sentence. For a few long seconds, there was only silence.

“Ice cream?”

“Yes,” Roderick said, his voice going thick again. “Maddy wanted ice cream, the night she died.”

I didn’t comprehend. Even if I did, I couldn’t say anything. Just from the look in his eyes, I was already crying.

“Or rather she wanted us to go out for ice cream, she and I. Camden was away. Bryce wasn’t home yet.” He blinked back tears before continuing. “She wanted us to go for a ride. But I was… I was…”

Roderick let out a shuddering sigh, then regained some measure of control. I took his hand and he looked at me without seeing me.

“I was just too tired.”

Forty-Six

KARISSA

Roderick stood in silence for a long moment, his mouth pursed, his lips stuck together. I handed him the rest of my water. He drank it down in two big gulps.

“I could’ve gone with her,” he said softly. “I should’ve gone.”

“No,” I protested. “Honey, no.”

“I would’ve been driving,” he said. “She wouldn’t have crashed.” He blinked a few times, his eyes still unseeing. “Or we both would’ve crashed. And maybe then I could’ve helped her, and—”

“Roderick,” I said, pulling his face my way. “Listen to me. This wasn’t your fault.”

“It could’ve been another car that cut her off,” he went on. “Or maybe an animal leapt out from the woods.” Slowly, he shook his head. “But there weren’t even any skidmarks. We don’t even know what happened.”

I hugged him as hard as I could, squeezing him tightly against my body. Eventually his arms went around me. Eventually, he came back.

“That’s the worst part of it,” he said miserably. “The not knowing. Our lives were changed forever in the blink of an eye, and we’ll never know why.”

“Life’s cruel like that,” I admitted. “It doesn’t always give reasons.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Roderick agreed. He sniffed angrily. “But this was all over nothing, too. All over some dumb fucking ice cream…”

I felt his body stiffen with a surge of self-loathing. It only made me squeeze him tighter.

“You already know I lost my brother,” I said. “I lost Reese and I did see it coming. Think that was any better?”

He didn’t have an answer. There really wasn’t one.

“It sucked, watching the person I was closest to in the whole world slowly kill himself. It filled me with rage. Made me feel utterly powerless.”

I held him in the silence, the two of us clutching each other, breathing in unison.

“It’s the same impotent rage you’re feeling now,” I told him. “But you can’t blame yourself. Yes, it could’ve been anything, but in the end it doesn’t matter what it was. Knowing won’t help you — you think it will, but it won’t. And knowing won’t bring her back.”

Everything slowed. Everything silenced.