Page 113 of Forbidden Forward

“I was annoyed. I couldn’t understand why Mom wouldn’t take Lins with her, and we argued. My desire to play won out, so I caved and agreed to bring Lindsey with me, but I was a real grump about it.

“Mom bundled her up before she left, which made me late getting out of the house. The pond was only a few blocks away, but it was still going to take a few minutes to get there. I got my gear and took off.”

My voice is flat, dead, reflecting how I feel inside. I barely feel Jackie’s encouraging squeeze.

“Lins was small and had a hard time keeping up. Short legs.” I chuff a bitter laugh at the memory of those little legs churning whenever she tried to catch me. “She kept begging me to stop. I did stop a few times, and I waited, told her to hurry up, but she was in this bulky snowsuit that slowed her down even more. She started crying, calling for me, and I got even more impatient. I could see the pond. See my friends waving. I could hear them yelling at me. They were about to start without me.”

I swallow. Hard.

Lindsey’s cries to slow down echo in my head. My irritation with her snaps to life, the memory so raw I can practically feel its coppery taste on my tongue. Withdrawing from Jackie’s touch, I drop my hands to my lap and rub them against my thighs to wipe away the clamminess.

“I was damn irritated that my little sister was slowing me down. Hadn’t wanted to be stuck with her that day anyway. Wanted to be with my friends without her hanging around and getting in the way. So I turned and ran, figuring she could handle the last block on her own. She followed like I knew she would. And then …”

Unexpected tears sting my eyes, and I cover my mouth to stifle a sob, hoping it sounds like a cough. Jackie’s light eyes find mine. They’re filled with something that’s neither hate nor pity. I wouldn’t be able to take either one right now.

She reaches her hand across the table again, palm up, welcoming me, and I take it like it’s a lifeline in a stormy sea. When she squeezes, I squeeze back and cling, for fear I’ll drown if I let go. She doesn’t say a word, but her touch and her soft expression tell me she’s here, that she’s not going anywhere.

I raise my gaze to the ceiling and pull myself together. By the time I’m able to fasten on to her face again, tears spill down my cheeks and into my beard.

“I’m running for my buddies,” I choke, “when suddenly I hear her scream. There’s a-a sickening thud. When I turn to see what happened …” I haul in a shaky breath.

“She was hit by a car,” Jackie says, her voice gentle and without judgment.

The floodgate of memories crashes open. The sounds tumble over one another in no particular order, reverberating in my brain. Lindsey screaming my name. The screech of brakes. The sound Lindsey’s small body makes when the car hits her. The anguished cry from the driver as he leaps from his vehicle. My mother’s wail when she arrives at the hospital. My father’s seething anger, his disgust as I give him every gut-wrenching detail he demands.

I physically feel the impact in my bones, see the blood on the pavement as I reach my little sister’s crumpled form and smell the burning rubber.

I fold in on myself.

Time passes—I have no idea how long—and when awareness returns to me, my forehead’s on the table, my face is wet, and I’m gripping Jackie’s hand so tight I’m probably crushing her fingers. I loosen my hold but don’t let go.

I lift my head, afraid to see the look on her face. But in Jackie’s beautiful pale green eyes, I only see understanding.

“Lindsey told me you’ve never forgiven yourself,” she says quietly, “even though she and your parents forgave you a long time ago.”

Swiping at my cheeks, I let out a defeated sigh. “They shouldn’t have. She’s in a wheelchair for the rest of her life.”

Jackie shakes her head, and her golden strands shift like a curtain around her. “They forgave you because children make mistakes, and they know that the eight-year-old little boy you were never intended for his sister to get hurt that day. They were in pain and probably carry their own guilt—your mom for leaving you in charge when you were too young, and your dad because he froze you out when you needed him most.”

“I never thought of it that way. But that was a damn big mistake—one Lindsey has to live with forever.”

Jackie tilts her head to one side, then to the other. “True, but you also live with it. If you could go back, would you change what you did that day?”

I straighten. “Of course I would!”

“Of course you would,” she echoes. “And that, right there, says everything about your true intention. About what was written in your heart. You didn’t wish for her to get hurt. It happened. Accidents happen.” Her other hand covers mine so it’s encased in her reassuring, warm hold. “You’re a good man, Colby. Through and through. Look at all you’ve done with your foundation.”

I snort. “Would I have done any of it if I weren’t responsible for my sister being in a wheelchair?”

“Does it matter? You did it. You are doing it. You’re having a huge impact on dozens and dozens of lives. And not just the children’s lives, but those of their parents. You’ve given them hope and something even more important: the belief that their disability doesn’t have to define them.” Her forehead wrinkles. “Isn’t it time you gave yourself a little slack?”

I shake my head, though I’m not sure at what. “My relationship with my parents was never the same after that,” I confess. “Mom looked at me like I had destroyed her most precious possession, which I had, and Dad … Well, my dad finally stopped scowling at me, but he’s been aloof ever since.” I marvel at how easily I tell her this. It’s something I’ve kept locked up for years. “It’s why we’re not close.”

“Is that really all on you, though? I mean, they’re part of the equation too. Shouldn’t they bear some of that responsibility?” Jackie poses.

For the first time I can recall, I don’t blame it all on myself. “I’m not sure,” I admit. “But I’m trying. I, uh, called Mom. I’m going to go see them.”

Jackie smiles, and I swear it lights something inside my chest. My heart spills over from simply being with her, and now it overflows the barriers I’ve erected around it. They crumble under the onslaught, freeing me. A thick, heavy chunk of guilt is carried away in the current. Because of this incredible woman sitting across from me.