Page 97 of Shelter
Now she was staring at me with sharp, all-seeing eyes. They zeroed in on the phone in my hands before going wide.
“You called Elise,” she declared.
I looked down at my phone and back at her. How the hell…?
“What did she say?” Ava said, dropping her purse on the floor, springing to the couch, and landing on her knees. She sat back on her heels and patted the cushion beside her. “Sit. Tell me everything.”
“I…” I shook my head. “…I didn’t call her.”
She peered closer at me. “Were you about to call her?” Ava straightened up. “Because I could go to my room if you need privacy.”
Her excitement would have been funny if it hadn’t been so misplaced. I let myself crash on the couch beside her. “I texted her.”
Ava’s brow rose, and she acknowledged this information with a slow nod of her head. “I see.” Her eyes went to my phone. “And did she text back?”
I nodded and then rubbed my thumb over my bottom lip, lost in a memory. “I think she’s upset with me.”
Ava blinked, her chin notching back. “Upset with you? Why?”
I brought my gaze to hers. “Because I ignored her.”
She let out a gust of breath. “I feel like I’m pulling teeth here.” Ava leaned back and nudged my knee with the toe of her shoe. “Spit it out.”
I was so used to being invisible to her. And now she was staring at me. No, glaring. Waiting for a response. I brought a hand to the back of my head and rubbed my neck. Scrutiny was the last thing I’d expected from her sobriety.
“A while back, Elise sent me a letter, asking to reconnect,” I admitted, hearing the regret in my own voice. “I didn’t answer her.”
Ava blinked. “You never told me that.”
I snorted. I couldn’t help it. I hadn’t told Ava so many things over the years, there was no way to keep count. But Elise was different. She’d always been different.
“Why didn’t you write her back?” Ava’s voice softened. “I know you missed her.”
She’d known. Even though we’d never talked about it. Maybe because we’d never talked about it.
I met her eyes and gave her as vague an answer as I could. “When I got her letter, things were crazy.” I remembered the day with a clarity that was almost cruel. Ava would remember it, too, and the memory would hurt her. “I put her letter away and told myself to forget about it.”
Something flashed in Ava’s eyes. “Did you forget about it?”
Frustration squeezed my throat, pushing my exhale through my nostrils. “I just said I forgot about it.”
Ava squinted at me and watched me silently for what felt like a whole minute. “You know, at Hazelden, we did group therapy for three hours a day.” She crossed her arms over her chest and studied at me like I was a fascinating jigsaw puzzle. “Agnes, one of our counselors, said the words people choose tell you everything. You just said youtoldyourself to forget about the letter.”
I drew my brows together and gave Ava my“I’m worried about you”look. “Yeah. That’s what I said.”
A patient, patronizing smile broke over my sister’s face. I’d never seen the likes of it before. What the hell?
“Telling yourself to forget about it and forgetting about it are two completely different things, Cole.”
She said this as though it were news to me. As though I hadn’t lived with that truth my whole life. Under her unfamiliar gaze, my heart knocked against my ribs.
“So, are you going to tell me?” Her voice and face softened again.
I flattened out my expression. “About what?”
Ava rolled her eyes. “Did you forget about her letter?”
“No.” The word tore from my throat. I had no say in its release.
