13

Amy

Warm sun kissed my cheeks. The wind raked through my hair, my curls bouncing up and down. Soft grass crumpled underneath my sneakers as I ran ahead of my companion.

"Amy!" He yelled. "Amy, wait up! You're going too fast!"

I giggled. "Then, hurry up, slow poke!"

My favorite red slide came into view as I finally reached the top of the hill. We were almost there. We just had to run a little bit longer - maybe a little bit faster.

Within the next minute, we could be climbing up the tall ladder into the pyramid-capped tower. Together, we could pretend we were the reigning princess and knight of an imaginary kingdom. We could battle invisible monsters with sticks as our swords and trees as our shields. Then, after a few hours of conquering fictional beasts, we could lay on our backs in the grass and watch fluffy white clouds cruise across the cerulean sky. It could all be so simple.

A hand wrapped around my wrist, the new weight slowing my pace.

I looked behind me, expecting the kind set of green eyes. Instead, I was met with the ones filled with rage. The bubbly sensation in my stomach ceased at the sight. Fear wrapped around my neck as she yanked my arm back. "You're a bad girl," she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "You don't deserve to play - you deserve to be punished."

"No," I yelled, struggling in her strong grip. My eyes found the playground, so close yet so far. "No! I didn't do anything! No, mommy, please! No!"

"No!" I yelled, shooting up in my bed. Large hands were wrapped around my arms, squeezing tightly. I swung my limbs around, breaking out of the grasp. "No! Don't touch me! Get away from me!"

"Hey, hey, princess, relax. It's me. It's me," Daddy's voice said softly, his southern accent dripping from each word.

I grasped at my chest, desperate for air. Despite my quick and heavy breaths, no air was filling my lungs; it was as if I was drowning. My vision blurred, my surroundings whirling around me like I was on a carousel.

"Amy," Papa cooed. "Look at me. Look at me." His hand cupped my cheek, pulling my swirling gaze at him. Three of him spun around me. "We're going to breathe together, okay? One deep breath in; one, two, three… Now, one deep breath out; one, two, three…"

Closing my eyes, I eliminated the spinning world and focused on his voice. One deep breath in. One deep breath out. One deep breath in.

"There you go, princesa. Keep going. One deep breath in; one, two, three… And let it out; one, two, three…"

My hands slid across the covers, searching for my fathers' hands. Their warm palms wrapped around each of my hands, steadying my shaking nerves.

Squeezing tightly, Papa continued coaching my breathing.

I followed his voice out of the chaos of my mind. Eventually, I was finally able to reach the surface and gasp for air. I leaned against Daddy's broad shoulder,

"I'm sorry," I murmured. "I'm really sorry."

"Don't apologize, baby girl." Daddy kissed the top of my head. "We're here. You're safe."

Papa wiped at the tears running down my cheeks. "Do you want some water?"

"Yes, please," I replied.

He gave my hand a soft squeeze before leaving my side. He was only gone a few moments before he returned with a bottle of water.

I chugged the water, eager to ease my dry throat.

Daddy and Papa waited patiently, sitting quietly until I was ready to talk.

When I moved in with them, I used to have nightmares like this all the time. I'd wake up screaming, writhing, swinging, shaking, and crying. Daddy and Papa were scared half to death for the first few nights. I worried I was ruining my chances of them caring for me.

They'd welcomed me with open arms, offering a newly decorated room and a brand new wardrobe. Papa stayed home with me during the first week. Every morning after breakfast, he'd clean my fresh wounds and dress them. We'd spend the rest of the day painting or coloring or running errands around town. When Daddy came home, we'd eat dinner together and watch a Disney movie on the couch. I felt more safe with strangers I'd known for a week than family I'd spent the first eight years of my life with. The love Papa and Daddy showed me on the first day they met me was much more than my own mother ever offered me - and I refused to take any of it for granted.

"Are you alright?" Papa asked after a few minutes.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" Daddy tag-teamed.

I nodded. "I'm fine. I promise."

My fathers shared a silent conversation, speaking only with their eyes. Daddy's brows crinkled together and Papa's lips pressed together in a soft frown. Coming to a silent agreement, both of them threw the covers over their bodies and climbed underneath with me.

Tears threatened to brim my eyes as they snuggled close to me, their arms enclosing me in a sandwich between their bodies. They were so kind to me. With all the hell I've caused them since I moved in, with the nightmares and the therapy sessions and the trial and last summer, their love never faltered.

Last year, I asked them why they loved me so much - convinced I was far from worthy of their affection. I remember Daddy smiled and Papa stroked my tear-stained cheeks.

"Because you're our daughter," Papa answered. "And we are so grateful to have you in our lives."

I wished I was able to express exactly how much their gratitude meant to me.

The next day, I slept well into the afternoon. By the time I finally woke up, it was nearly time for us to start heading to the University of Chicago. I'd agreed to meeting up with Wyatt and discussing whatever he needed to talk about. He suggested meeting on his college campus and grabbing lunch. I hadn't minded when we originally made the plans, but after the rough night I had, I really didn't want to go anywhere. My covers were like a cocoon around my body, protecting me from the bites of the winter wind brushing against my mind. Laying in bed for the rest of the day and binge watching Pretty Little Liars for the rest of the day would've been much better than going to see Wyatt. But, I knew I couldn't avoid this conversation forever.

I dragged myself out of bed and took a quick shower, washing off the remnants of last night's nightmare from my consciousness. I needed a clear head if I was going to have a civil conversation with my brother.

The ride to the university campus was quiet. My fathers sat in the front seats, Daddy driving and Papa shading in a drawing in his sketchbook. I tried to occupy myself by texting Sonia or scrolling through social media. I needed to ignore the knots twisting and turning in my stomach. Wyatt may not have been the villain in my story, but the thought of his name brought those horrible memories back to the forefront. I wished I could toss them all into the sea and let them sink into the bottom of the ocean. I'd rather live a life of ignorance about the gruesome scars covering my body opposed to knowing the story behind each one. Would there be any peace in that? Or would the curiosity haunt me more than the memories did?

We parked in a small lot next to the spot where Wyatt wanted to meet. I stayed a step behind my fathers as we walked into the cozy cafe. The soft smell of coffee and freshly baked sandwiches wafted through the air. Soft pop and R&B music played from the tiny speakers in the ceiling. Small cushioned booths lined the perimeter on the left and right side beside large windows. Smaller wooden tables with decorative chairs littered around the open space. The cashier counter sat in the back corner of the cafe with a small panel for freshly made food behind it. Since it was the weekend, the place was relatively empty. However, there were still a few students sitting around the booths with their noses stuck in books or conversing with one another.

My eyes browsed over the students, quickly falling on my brother's head of glossy blonde hair.

He was sitting by himself with an open textbook and a notebook half filled with notes. He tapped the paper with his pen, his eyes staring off at the view behind the window. He looked different than the last time I saw him. He'd lost weight in his face, his once full cheeks now clearly defined. A neatly trimmed mustache and beard covered the bottom half of his face. His hair, once long to touch the collar of his shirts, was now cut short to his head; the longest strands at the front of his head were pushed back out of his face.

As if he felt my gaze, he looked away from the window and fixed his eyes on me. Instantly, a smile spread across his face, and a glimmer of the brother I used to have flashed before my eyes.

"Are you alright from here?" Papa asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. I'll call you when we're finished."

Forcing a smile, I left the safety net of my fathers' presence and approached my estranged brother.

He stood up, still taller than me, but somehow to an unnatural extent. He opened his arms as he stepped towards me. "Amy!" He exclaimed.

My breath was knocked out of my chest as he pulled me against him, squeezing so tightly I thought he was going to break every single bone in my back. "Hi Wyatt," I whispered. My hands gently patted the sides of his ribs, unsure if I wanted to return the hug.

Thankfully, our embrace only lasted a moment. He let me go and stared down at me. "Wow, look at you! "You're all grown up. You were so small the last time we saw each

other. Well, you're still small, but you just…you're not a little kid anymore."

"Yeah, I could say the same about you."

He motioned to the empty booth where his books sat. "Sit down. I'll order us some food. What do you want?"

I glanced around his head at the menu plastered on the wall behind the cashier counter. "A chicken fajita melt and an orange soda would be great." I reached for the flap on my purse.

"No, no," Wyatt said, stopping my hand. "I've got it." He nodded to the booth. "Sit down. I'll be right back."

I complied with his request, sliding into the cushioned booth. I watched him stride over to the counter, still in awe - and confusion - at the change of his physical appearance. If it weren't for the wide green eyes we shared and the color of his hair, I couldn't be sure I'd have recognized him. Eight years was a long time; I'd underestimated how much could truly change in that amount of time.

Wyatt sat down two bottles of orange soda on the table when he returned. "The food will be out in a few minutes."

"Okay."

We sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, avoiding eye contact and fiddling with any object our hands could find.

"How have you been?" He asked after some time.

"I've been doing okay," I replied. "How are you? How is Ivy League life treating you?"

"I'm great. I'm on track to graduate next year. I love it here, but I'm actually looking to go to Stanford for medical school."

"Oh, you're going to school for medicine? That's nice."

"Yeah. You're a junior now, right? Are you thinking about college?"

I shrugged. "A little. I'll probably go to the state school and get a degree in business management. My fathers have their own businesses, and they've talked about leaving them to me someday."

Wyatt smiled. "That's cool."

A food runner briefly broke the awkward silence that followed, politely setting our food down in front of us and hurrying off.

I picked up a french fry and tore it apart between my fingers. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

"Well, first, I wanted to apologize…for what I said at the trial. I know…I know it wasn't right, but-"

"Then, why did you do it?" I asked.

He sighed. "My father said it was in my best interest to pretend I had no idea what was happening up until that night. He said the only reason I needed to testify on the events of that night was because it was my voice on the 911 call."

"Was it in your best interest because you'd be seen as a hero or because your father didn't want it getting out that all of this wasn't a secret?" I glanced at him. "You told him what was happening way before the trial, didn't you?"

"Of course. Amy, I told everyone I could. I wanted to help you!"

"If you really wanted to help me, you would've told the truth on that stand."

"What difference would it really have made if I did? The jury still convicted her on all the charges."

"I haven't spoken to you in seven years - you tell me what the difference would've been."

His eyes softened, my words cutting through the wounds neither of us ever healed. "Amy, I can't apologize enough for what I did. If I could turn back time and do things differently, I would. But, I'm here now, and-"

"Why are you here?" I asked. "After seven years of radio silence, I really don't think you invited me here to mend our relationship. So, what do you want?"

He looked down. "She's dying, Amy."

My heart dropped into my stomach at the mention of her - a reflex that still has yet to subside. I inhaled a deep breath, determined to maintain my steady breathing. "What does that have to do with me?"

"You know what they say: people on their deathbed are more likely to confess to their sins in hope of repentance. You deserve a reason, and she needs to reconcile with what she did."

I shook my head. "That woman doesn't owe me anything, and I don't want anything from her."

He sighed. "Listen, Amy, she wants to see you."

"Why? Don't tell me she found Jesus."

My brother's lips tugged at the ends, fighting the smile my comment evoked. "She wants to make amends before she dies. It's important to her."

"How long does she have?"

"A few months. The doctors don't think she'll make it past September."

"What is she dying from?"

"Breast cancer. She was battling for a few years, but it's aggressive and her body didn't respond well to the chemo treatments." He wrung his fingers. "So, in accepting her fate, she wants to make things right."

I turned my gaze on the ripped up pieces of fries on my plate."Can I think about it?"

"Of course," he replied. "It's completely up to you whether you want to see her or not."

"Okay," I murmured.

He reached his hand across the table to grab mine. His fingers offered a gentle squeeze.

I looked at our intertwined hands. His porcelain complexion clashed with my caramel one. Growing up, I used to wonder why we didn't truly look like siblings. Some of my teachers who'd had Wyatt prior to me had no idea he was my brother until I mentioned him. Their mouths would twist into a strange frown and their eyes scrutinized my curly hair and brown skin. Words didn't need to leave their lips for me to know what they thought of me. I'd already stood out enough amongst the other porcelain skinned children in our small private school. It wasn't the first time I'd received those looks, but in those instances, it hurt the most.

"You don't have to accept my apology," my brother said. "But, I want you to know that I truly am sorry, Amy."

I slid my hand out of his grasp. He was right. I didn't have to accept his apology - and I damn sure wasn't accepting hers either. Standing up, I mumbled an excuse about having homework to do. "I'll have one of my fathers call you about my decision," I said. I hurried out of the cafe shop, desperate to get away from him. From the mention of that awful woman, my scars had erupted into flames, sizzling and burning every inch of my flesh. Eight years was a long time, but it wasn't long enough to heal the wounds she'd inflicted.