Page 135 of The Design of Goodbye
“He shot at me,” he said, voice small. I inhaled audibly because the article hadn’t mentionedthat. “My mom shielded me. She got hit.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I had to watch her while she...”
I leaned over the center console. It dug into my side, but I didn’t care. I hugged him the best I could.
“It was bad,” he finished.
“I know.” I didn’t really, but I wasn’t sure what else to say to comfort him.
“There was so much—” He pressed a fist against his mouth.
“I’m sorry.” I was barely holding it together, but I had to be the strong one. Ihadto. “I’msosorry.”
I wished I’d known him before so I could’ve been there for him.
I wished he hadn’t lost his mom.
I wished there wasn’t so much evil in the world.
“She told me she was going to be okay.” His words were difficult to understand as he struggled not to cry. “She promised.” I handed him a tissue, but he crumpled it in his fist. “I begged her not to leave me. She said she wouldn’t. But shelied.”
I imagined how it’d happened: a mom knowing her fate but lying to save her son from the pain for a little longer.
He focused on something over my shoulder. “A tiny window was in the room he locked us in. I watched two blue jays until the police came. I remember how free they looked.” He shifted. “I’ve been chasing that freedom ever since, but I feel like I’m still stuck in that room. I don’t know why. Maybe because it’s my fault and—”
“You didnothingwrong.” If he believed only one thing I said, I wanted it to be this.
“I wanted those watercolors. I was the one who couldn’t stop coughing. It should’ve been me. I should’ve been the one who died.”
Liam had almost died.
Died.
Died.
If his mom hadn’t saved him, he wouldn’t be here.
With me.
I could hardly breathe.
“Some days,” he continued, “I feel like the guilt might kill me.”
After everything, this is what started his tears. They were silent as they slid down his cheeks—completely different than his breakdown at the grocery store.
I felt like the worst girlfriend. How had I not seen he was suffering so much? I’d known he was sad, but nothing likethis. He’d been drowning in guilt since I’d met him, and I’d never noticed.
“Your mom made the choice to save you,” I said, hoping my words comforted him. “Shechosefor you to live because she loved you. Because she couldn’t imagine living her life without you.”
“But I can’t imagine living the rest of my life without her.” He wiped his cheeks with the cuff of his jacket. “And my dad? I think her dying broke him. In his own way, he loved her. He had to make sense of it all, so he blames me. But he—” He shook his head, as if the memories were too strong, and he was trying to rid himself of them.
I squeezed his hand to remind him I was there, then softly asked, “What does he do?”
“He treats me like I was the one with the gun. He can’t stand to look at me. I don’t blame him. She died because of me.” He sniffed, but the tissues stayed balled in his hand. “I could’ve chosen a different birthday present. I should’ve waited until I wasn’t sick. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”
“I think,” I started slowly, “we have to accept we don’t always get to make the choices that change our lives. The only thing we can really do is learn to move on.”
“Moving on sounds impossible,” he whispered.
“I know,” I said. “But I’m here to help you.”
