Page 42 of Letting Go

Tears immediately sting. "Because I left. I left you all. It was wrong."

"But we don’t know why," says Laurel. You've always been this mythical figure to me, Chloe. You know, the girl that taught me about dragon's teeth," she waves her hand to explain, "icicles. You made fairy houses, out of mud and bark and lichen and then stories to go with them. You helped me find cobalt blue sea glass, of which I still have."

"We have," Travis corrects her and reaches into his front jeans pocket, pulling out a key fob. Dangling is a clear plastic little bottle filled with cobalt blue sea glass.

"You've been this magical person in our lives," says Laurel.

Travis clears his throat and leans his elbows on knees. "I carried you all these years in this little bottle and then I put you on my keys. I knew you were coming back." He sits back, immensely satisfied—as if my return is the result of a waved wand and a sprinkle of fairy dust.

Then Devon starts in again. "You could make any story come alive. You could make any magical creature appear." She shakes her head. "Speaking for myself, I know you feel like you ruined my childhood, but in a way, you became one of your stories."

"I agree with Laurel. As one the youngest two, you made our childhood magical. And then you came back to us. That makes you magic now." Travis grins, leans forward, and pats my arm. His shoulders are broad and when he twists to wink at Claire, I can see the "V" of his back. I realized with a deep ache, how much I've missed that little boy, and I can feel my eyes, hot with tears.

"Hey, don't cry," he says and starts to rise, but a glance from Claire makes him stay put. "I want you to feel better, not worse."

"Okay Travis," says Devon, setting down her beer bottle on the small wooden table, "you're out of practice. A crying sister? You can handle that. You should be so well trained by now. It's clear we did not raise you correctly."

"We just want to know what you did, Chloe. Where you went. We need to catch up a little bit, to feel like we know you." Claire's voice is calm. Direct. To the point. "That's why Travis and Geo came too. So you could talk to all of us."

Because last night didn't work? The fiasco on the front porch. Where you tried to back me into a corner.

I wipe my face and Geo, always the gentleman, leans over with a tissue from a fresh pack. He's the seasoned parent of a bunch of girls.

Claire continues. "But we also respect your privacy. So don’t say anything you don’t want to. We just love you Chloe, and we want to understand you."

The "understand you" part of the sentence rings of judgment, and anger flares again. Is she judging me? But isn't that my pittance?

Wiping my hands on my pants I glance at them all. They are so innocent, so kind. I don’t deserve any of this. I don’t deserve their care.

"I was planning on talking with you anyway. I know I've been elusive."

"Clam-like," says Travis, and Laurel mock-glares at him. He folds his arms. "Grow some frontal lobes," she says dipping a chip into salsa.

"Children," cautions Geo, patting Travis's shoulder.

"Sorry," she says, and kisses Travis quickly on the shoulder.

The faux fight makes the knot in my stomach release.

"It's not all that secret—" I start. My heart turns over in my chest, and I wipe my hands again. This is my chance to come clean. To just confess it all.

But I can't. I feel so stupid. I was taken in by a shyster. And then I stayed.

I clear my throat. "You're going to think I'm an idiot."

Devon touches my leg. "You're not an idiot."

"You might feel differently when I'm done," I say, wiping my nose for what I hope is the last time this evening.

"Just tell them the way you told me in your letters," said Devon. To my horror, she stands and slips one out of her hip pocket and hands it to me. "To get you started."

I open the letter. There, in my printing are my first attempts to make sense of what I did. These words were so hard to write eighteen months ago. To say them out loud would prove harder. Glancing around the deck at all the people who love me, I swallow hard, pushing that hot lump in the back of my throat down.

Devon points at the letter. "Just start at the second paragraph."

My voice quivers. I swallow and start again. "'When Mom and Dad were killed. I was lost, as you all were, but my way of being lost was to run.'"

Claire starts to open her mouth, stops, and places a hand on a knee. She wants to know what happened. This is the older sister role she'd been anointed with in my absence. It would be easier to tell them why I left college just two months from graduating.