Michael lowered himself to a chair.
“I should have kept a closer eye on her,” Shanty said.
“I should have checked on her more often.”
“Maybe it’s not her.” Shanty said the words forcefully, willing us to believe it. “Maybe one of her classes ran late, and the professor doesn’t allow phones.”
“Maybe she forgot we were meeting.”
“Maybe her battery is dead too.”
Michael stood and took a step toward the windows.
We followed his gaze to see Nina—quiet, timid, weak little Nina—walking slowly toward the door while she read a book on her Kindle. She paused with her hand on the door handle, finishing a paragraph, then opened the door and came in. Even then her gaze remained on the book, and she didn’t look up until she almost bumped into us.
Michael slipped away, moved behind the counter, and slumped against the side wall.
“Thank God you’re here.” Shanty gripped Nina by the shoulders, engulfing her in a hug.
I wrapped my arms around both of them, burying my head in Nina’s hair. “Where were you? What took you so long?”
When we pulled away from her, Nina looked stunned. “You said meet at nine thirty, right?”
“No, I said nine.”
“Oh . . .” She looked back and forth between us, clearly confused by our reactions. “I’m sorry.”
“Why didn’t you answer my text?” I wiped my eyes.
“I had my phone turned off while I was reading.” She frowned. “What’s going on?”
I motioned to the television, and as we watched the news story unfold, we moved closer together, linking our arms around each other, in disbelief at what was happening so near us at the canyon, and so relieved that we were separated from it. The channel had been repeatedly showing the same footage, but now they cut back to the reporter. She still stood by the state park sign, but there was a flurry of activity around her.
“This is Brandi Villarreal, reporting live from the Palo Duro Canyon State Park, where just this evening a hiker fell to her death. It has not yet been determined if there was foul play involved, but we’ve just received word on the victim, a long-time resident of Canyon—”
She went on to state the woman’s name and background information, but I was no longer listening. A photograph—which looked to be an old high school yearbook picture—filled the entire screen. It was of a beautiful blond teenager.
It was Mirinda.
Chapter Forty-Eight
We stood arm in arm in front of the television until one of the baristas nudged us to a table in the back corner. She brought each of us a cup of coffee, then stood silently by our table for a few minutes. The other employee had gone with Michael, driving him to the canyon, or the hospital, or the morgue—I could only imagine—and this barista was left alone in the shop, clearly dazed. “Y’all let me know if you need anything else.”
“Will do, hon,” said Shanty.
I didn’t take my eyes off the lid of my cup. Why were coffee lids shaped like that? All hard and bulky on the edges? Why couldn’t they be smooth?
“Life is so complicated,” I said.
“Why did she do it?” Nina’s eyes were wet.
Shanty’s weren’t. I got the feeling that in the past week Shanty had cried all the tears her body could generate. “For the same reason we’ve all considered it at one time or other.” She shrugged. “To stop the pain.”
“But she had everything.” Nina frowned.
“Apparently not,” Shanty said.
I fiddled with the lid of my cup. “Even though I was married to her brother, I don’t think I ever really saw her as a real person with feelings. I thought of her as a Barbie doll, and I was jealous of her. I should’ve been more kind.”
“Considering the circumstances, you weren’t unkind,” said Shanty.
“I could have helped her.”
Shanty shook her head. “Just because she’s dead doesn’t mean you need to go painting her as a saint. She was snarky to you because of Brett, or maybe because of Michael, but you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“My thoughts were wrong,” I said quickly.
“But she didn’t know your thoughts.” Shanty’s gaze bore into me. “You were way too close to her as it is.”
“What does that mean?”
“You were emotionally connected because of your history. The two of you were both so prickly, you couldn’t get close enough to help each other.”
Nina’s eyes grew wide. “Are you saying you and I should have reached out to her? I could have, but I didn’t.”
“No, sweetie, I’m not saying that either. Sure, we could all beat ourselves up right now with the what-ifs, but we mustn’t take on the responsibility for what happened. We did not do this to Mirinda. She did it to herself. Even if we can see things clearly now, that doesn’t make it our responsibility.”
“But we could have made a difference,” I said.
“Maybe,” she said, “but we don’t know that.”
Nina shuddered. “You sound so heartless.”
Shanty’s posture melted. “I’m not heartless. I’m feeling all the things you’re feeling right now, but I’ve been down this road before, and I know it doesn’t help anyone if I blame myself.”
“You’ve been through this?”
Nina interrupted before Shanty could answer. “But she had everything.”
“What do you mean by everything?” Shanty’s voice was calm.
“Well, in the first place, she’s gorgeous—” Nina’s face went pale as she realized what she’d said. Then her voice softened. “She was. And she had an amazing boyfriend who was famous and wealthy, and he was obviously crazy about her. She even had a fun job . . . not that she would need it after she married Michael Divins.”
I thought back to my own marriage and the way Brett had hurt me in ways nobody else could see. “Shanty’s saying things aren’t always as they seem.”
We fell silent then, each lost in our own thoughts, and the mood in the entire shop felt quiet and subdued. The barista stood at the cash register, as if there were a line of customers, but there were none.
I moved my chair to the piano but didn’t play. Instead, my palms merely rested on the keys, maybe absorbing strength from their potential, maybe releasing my pain into them. Trying to feel their serenity. I imagined Mirinda standing on the side of the canyon. Probably her emotions had desensitized her until she couldn’t recognize her own fear.
I had been there before, anesthetized to the point I couldn’t feel anything but the pain. Fear would have paled in comparison. Once, after Mom died, I had stood on the edge of the canyon, looking down at the drop, and I had considered doing exactly what Mirinda had done, but it seemed too messy, too complicated, too public. Even after Ava died, I wouldn’t have done it that way. I would have taken pills. Or started my car in the garage with the door down. Or—and I hated to admit this, even to myself—I might have killed myself with a shard of glass, or a knife, or some other object during one of my darker periods.
In front of a mirror, no doubt.
Had Mirinda had a mirror with her? I bet she didn’t have the same obsession. Surely she liked the reflection she saw when she peered into the glass. But no. I had already forgotten what I’d said to Nina not ten minutes earlier. Things are not always as they seem. Mirinda hadn’t thought she was good enough, but that didn’t mean her pain had anything to do with her appearance. I wondered if she simply hadn’t been able to find herself beneath all that beauty. What was it Graham had said? Every woman is beautiful in a different way. What had blinded Mirinda to that truth?
Nina had a point. “It does seem like she had everything,” I said as I turned away from the piano to look at my friends.
“Yet it wasn’t enough,” Nina said.
Shanty was looking away from us, and she didn’t comment.
“Once Graham told me I need to look at myself for what I am,” I said, “not for
what I’m not.”
“He told all of us that.” Shanty seemed a little angry.
“I haven’t been doing a good job of allowing myself to be me.”
“What do you mean?” asked Nina.
“I still put too much emphasis on my looks.” I sighed, then gritted my teeth. “But looks aren’t the only valuable characteristic I have. I also have a knack for music, and I’m a good friend and daughter. There’s more to me, and I need to think of myself in those terms.”
Nina’s eyes grew wide, then she nodded as I continued.
“Instead of thinking positive thoughts about my appearance—I’m a pretty person. I like myself—I need to give myself permission to be me, and then believe it’s important. I’m worth something because of who I am, not who I am not.” I shook my head, wondering why it had taken me so long to figure this out. “I need to be thinking, I’m talented and kind. I’m worth something because of who I am.”
Shanty didn’t lift her eyes from the table. “It’s not about us anyway. There’s always a higher power that’s way more important.”
“Yes.” I laughed lightly. “It’s not about us at all.” It seemed so clear now. As though I had just figured out the solution to world peace. I wanted to stand on the chair or on top of the piano and shout it to everyone in hearing distance, but I could already feel my smile slipping. These were the same words everyone had been telling me for over a year. Graham, Dad, Shanty, my counselor in California. Even Brett . . . way back . . . though he clearly hadn’t believed his own words. All those people had told me, and still, I had to get to this point on my own.
It took Mirinda killing herself for me to feel the truth.
“I’m a nice person.” Nina seemed to be staring at nothing. I wasn’t sure she even knew she was speaking out loud. “And I’m good at literature analysis. I think I might even be a writer someday.” She blinked and looked at me, startled. “I’d be a good writer. Everyone says so.”
I nodded.
“And some people say I have a knack for art.” Her gaze bounced to Shanty.
She was getting it too. Somehow Mirinda’s tragedy had pushed us out of our self-pity and into a healthier place. Maybe because we were afraid that we’d end up like her.
Shanty sighed. “Lately, I tell myself all the good things I have going for me, but it doesn’t seem to be enough.”
Just then there was a clamor at the front of the shop, and Al rushed through the door. He was carrying one of the kids, and the other three trailed behind him. When he saw Shanty, his face crumpled. “I heard about Mirinda. I’m so sorry, baby.”
They looked at each other for a long time. Was Al sorry for Mirinda’s death? Was he sorry for what he had done to his wife? Was he sorry Shanty had lost a sort-of friend? He seemed to be apologizing for all of it.
When Shanty wilted, Al took four large steps and dropped to his knees by the table. He hugged her, smashing the toddler between them while the other kids looked on. They seemed awkwardly conscious that their parents were making a display in a public place, but at the same time, their half smiles held a tinge of relief. Things were returning to normal.
“It’s all right, Al.” Shanty pulled away. “The girls and me? We’ve decided to stop wallowing.”
Her words caused the habitual swell of defensiveness inside me, but then I turned back around on the chair. I rested my fingertips on the piano keys, caressed them for a few seconds, then began playing Brahms. Sweet. Soft. Gentle. I was almost to the end of the piece when I realized what I was doing.
My soul was apologizing to Mirinda.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Group text from Shanty to Cecily and Nina: Al and I had a long talk when we got home. Healing happened. *sigh* We’ve got an uphill journey ahead of us, but I think we’re gonna make it.
It was late when I left Midnight Oil, but I didn’t want to go home. Shanty had left an hour earlier with Al and the kids, and Nina and I had sat in the back booth, talking, staring, scratching our heads. It seemed impossible. Mirinda couldn’t have killed herself. Even though I’d made peace with my own problems, it would take a while for me to get my head around hers. Maybe I would never understand.
I unlocked my car but didn’t get in. Instead, I watched Nina as she drove past the old courthouse, and I remembered the night I had sat there with Graham. The bench near the sidewalk pulled at me as if a tether had been strapped around my waist, because the last time I sat on that bench, I had been happy and my thoughts had been balanced.
The bench seemed harder tonight. The paint was clumped and bumpy from being painted and repainted over the years, and I hadn’t noticed that before. Things were certainly not always as they seemed. I took a deep breath.
In the past few hours, the shadows had lifted from my mind, and I was left feeling refreshed. I didn’t want to hurt myself anymore, or allow others to hurt me. I finally accepted the fact that I was worth more than the unrealistic expectations I placed on myself.
My life was worth living, and I was the only one who could live it.
A shiver went up my spine as I thought of Mirinda, but my next thought sent a wave of ice water through my veins.
I could have been her.
I had been her—so consumed with myself that I couldn’t see what was happening around me. I couldn’t see the good in my world. In my life. Graham had helped pull me out of that funk.
My hands slowly covered my face as I thought about my last few conversations with him. Clearly he had been trying to help Mirinda work through her problems. He was her therapist! And I had thought of nothing but myself and accused him of lusting after her. How self-absorbed could I possibly be?
My heart settled as peace washed over me. Graham had been telling me the truth about Mirinda all along, which meant he had been telling me the truth about myself all along. I smiled. Graham and I would still be friends.
As I settled back on the bench, my hands fell to my lap, sending a dull pain across my thighs. Graham had been so loving when he saw my scars. He had encouraged me and comforted me, even praised me for my progress. He had made me feel better about myself.
He was extremely gifted at his job. Probably because he couldn’t rest until he figured out how to help someone. He almost cared to a fault.
A quiver of dread inched into my thoughts. What was it? My emotions had dipped, but I couldn’t think why. Maybe it was just another cognitive distortion, but it didn’t feel the same. It was something about Graham.
My spine straightened as it came to me. Oh, my goodness.
Would I ever overcome my selfishness? Even as I sat on that stupid bench, working through my problems and reveling in my emotional success—even then . . . I was still thinking about myself.
I could have been Mirinda.
I was becoming more emotionally healthy.
I would be able to smooth things over with Graham.
But what about Graham? He cared just as much about Mirinda’s emotional health as he did about any of his other clients. He had been texting her, spending extra time with her for additional counseling sessions, even putting his personal life on hold while he helped her grapple with suicidal thoughts.
My heart shattered when I thought about what he must be feeling.
Slowly, I stood and walked to my car, but as thoughts of Graham spiraled through my mind, I increased my speed, taking a few quick steps before breaking into a trot. Then I started running.
Chapter Fifty
I found Graham at his office, swiveling slowly in his desk chair as he stared at the wall.
I wanted to tell him I was sorry, that I had been a silly fool, that I understood now. But none of that mattered anymore. For the first time in a long, long time, I could truly say, This is not about me. Sure, I had been involved, but right now, in this office, Graham was the one hurting.
As I moved to stand next to him, he looked up, and the exhaustion in his eyes saddened me. One of his ankles was crossed over a knee, and when he shifted
it to the floor, his biking shoe brushed my leg. He had on shorts, and dust and bits of grass clung to his leg hairs. He wore a T-shirt, and his hair was messy with a ridge around his head that had been left by his bike helmet. He looked haggard and worn-out.
Oh, dear God. “You were there,” I whispered. He had seen her jump.
He closed his eyes.
“Graham, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right.” He sounded defeated. “I wasn’t with her. Not exactly.” Graham shuddered but then seemed to steel himself against whatever emotions were coursing through his mind. He sat up a little straighter. “I had been trying to help her. And Michael. I tried to help both of them. And so did your dad.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He wasn’t making sense, and I leaned toward him, wanting to comfort him, to hold him, to take away some of his pain, but he raised his palm.
“There are things you don’t know.” His eyes were focused on the desktop. “I can talk about it now.”
“No, Graham, later.”
“You need to know.” The urgency in his voice convinced me that he needed to talk about it as much as I needed to hear it.
“Okay.” I settled on the edge of the desk, our knees brushing.
Instinct told me to touch him, to massage his shoulders and ease the tension, but he sat on the edge of the chair as though he might explode.
“Michael Divins is addicted to pornography,” Graham said, “but he’s beating it. Your dad’s recovery group is helping him get control of his life, but he still has so much guilt. He wanted to come clean with Mirinda, and I—I encouraged him to tell her the truth, so the burden would be lifted from his shoulders.”
I felt nauseated until I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. No, Cecily. Not all men are the same. I reached down and squeezed Graham’s hand, surprised by its iciness, but then a chill went across my shoulders that had nothing to do with Graham’s body temperature and everything to do with Mirinda. Michael had told her about his addiction, and I knew firsthand how she might have felt. Insufficient, unwanted, ugly. I had been there before.
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