Death's Temporary Home For Lost Souls

Chapter Twenty Eight: Dead, Not Gone

    Stop it, my mind screams. The sooner I forget everything about Neverton, the easier it will be to move on.

    Much easier said than done.

    A minute later, my dad enters the kitchen with clean shoes and leans against the counter, regarding me as though I'm a ghost. The irony isn't lost on me. For a moment, we sit in awkward silence, neither of us knowing what to say. It's finally me who breaks the silence.

    "I'm sorry, Dad." My voice remains surprisingly steady. Maybe it helps that I've already endured the hardest conversation that I'll probably ever have just this morning. "I know that I've probably scared you to death, but I...I needed time alone. To figure some things out, you know? But now I'm ready to talk."

    "Cara, you don't have to apologize. I understand that you've been going through a lot, and I'm relieved you're okay. I just wish that you'd–"

    "Please, let me finish now. Or I won't be able to," I say. My father purses his lips and nods, sobering once he realizes how serious I am. Though fear continues to course through me, it feels easier to let the truth out than ever before, like exhaling for the first time in a year. I wonder if this is how it felt when Paul gave his presentation, or when Louis grew tired of reading.

It hits me then, like a freight train: I think this is my unfinished business.

Go on, Cara. You can tell him. It's Death's voice in my mind, but this time I don't push it away. Instead, I hold on tight, take a breath, and dive in.

    "A few months back, I was thinking about Mom and how she might have been able to receive treatment earlier if she'd gotten tested before she displayed any symptoms. So I made an appointment at the clinic where she was diagnosed, and I asked them to give me an exam. Just to rule anything out." A waiting room. A subway train. It's getting harder to breathe, but I forge ahead before I lose my nerve. My fingers tremble, and my father grasps my hand. "When I came back to hear about the results, they told me...They told me that there were already cancerous cells in my blood."

    Well. There it is. I wait for my father to recoil, to shrink away, but he just stands there and holds my hand, unmoving as a statue. I keep rambling, because that seems more desirable than the alternative. "The woman said it looked pretty severe, which was rare in someone my age, and that they may not have caught it in time. Then she told me that I needed to have more tests done to figure out exactly where I stood, to see if genetics were the cause, what treatments were available."

    The breath shudders out of my lungs, and suddenly the shaking spreads so that I can barely sit upright. "I didn't want to tell you," I choke out, and then I let go of the leash on my emotions. I crumple.

    "My precious girl," my dad says, folding his arms around me. My sobs come in short gasps, and I feel that original fear all over again, a living thing burrowing inside of me. My dad stays calm, though, and I realize with a pang of sorrow that he's had a lot of practice in these kinds of situations. "Why didn't you think you could tell me this?"

    "I saw what losing Mom did to you," I splutter. My dad's shirt smells like garlic and cheap soap. "I couldn't do that to you again. I thought–" I suck in a breath "–that I should handle it alone and not hurt anybody. I dropped out of college. I broke up with Eric. I postponed treatment. I did whatever I could to make it easier. I was going to tell you all of this, but then I saw you with..." That woman, I finish in my mind. My dad pulls back so he can look at me better. I've never seen him so sad, even after Mom passed. Tears gather in his eyes like small tides on a shore.

    "Oh, Cara. I never meant to hurt you."

    "Well, you did," I spit. The tears and snot running down my face put quite a damper on my fury. "If you can replace Mom so quickly, who's to say you can't replace me?" The air itself is emptied of sound following my accusation, like a vacuum. Even my Dad's breath leaves him in a whoosh.