They were silent for a moment.
“I don’t think I’m ever going to shake the feeling of having some kind of responsibility for Charlie’s death. I think that’s what I’ll spend the rest of my life dealing with.”
Cadence nodded.
“I miss him. He was a great friend.”
“I know he misses you, too,” Cadence said softly.
“I’ll see him again, though.”
She smiled. “Yep.”
“I saw pictures of the accident,” Oliver said. “That car was obliterated.”
Cadence nodded. She saw the pictures, too—Charlie’s car wrapped around a thick oak tree. She had no idea how Oliver survived the crash, let alone walked away with just a gash on the cheek and a broken arm.
“You know what?” Oliver asked.
“What’s that?”
“Sometimes I wish we could reverse time and go back three years.”
“Three years?”
“Yeah. When we were blissfully unaware. You were a goody-two-shoes sophomore with an equally goody-two-shoes best friend. I was in eighth grade and thought I was awesome because I was at the top of the middle-school food chain. Mom and Dad liked us because we hadn’t done anything bad yet.”
Cadence considered all this.
“Maybe it wasn’t really real, but it was safe.”
Cadence nodded. And then she took Oliver’s hand.
“You’re gonna feel safe again. I swear.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Is it because of Mark?”
“He has a lot to do with it. But it’s not just him. It’s his mom, Fanny, Avery.” She paused. “You.”
He nodded.
“You all make me feel safe.”
“So it’s a matter of having good people in your life,” Oliver confirmed.
“Exactly.”
“So I need to get some good ones.”
“Well, I hope I’m one,” Cadence said.
“You are, but you’re not enough,” Oliver said thoughtfully.
“Have you reached out to Kim?”
“Yeah. At first she told me to get lost. But after two weeks of nonstop pestering, she agreed to hear me out over dinner.”
“That’s awesome, Ollie.”
“Yeah. Now I’ve gotta figure out what to say.”
“No better time than the present,” Cadence said.
“You mean, like, practice with you? Gross.”
Cadence laughed. “I’m just saying that it might help. Go on. Try it. I can give you some pointers.”
Oliver turned to Cadence. “This is sick,” he began. “But I’m desperate.” He pulled his hand from his sister’s. “All right. Here goes. Kim, I know you hate my guts right now . . .”
He paused and stared at his sister. And then they burst out laughing.
***
Mark was apprehensive about the dinner. He wasn’t invited—no surprise there—and he wondered what her father planned to say that he couldn’t say in front of Mark. He was reluctant to see her off, standing in front of the apartment and watching her car disappear from view. He had the sudden, sinking fear that he’d never see her again.
Cadence battled her own apprehensions, especially when she walked into her old house. Everything looked and smelled the same, and she avoided glimpsing the spot in the living room where her dad attacked her. Her mother tried to hug her when she opened the door, but Cadence sidestepped her. She wasn’t ready to be touched. She may never be ready to be touched again.
The last time she saw her father, he was crying in a hospital room. She recalled staring at him as if he were a stranger. She felt no empathy, no connection to his grief, though hers was similar. They were both grieving for Oliver and the loss of his best friend. But she couldn’t do it with him. She didn’t want to do it with him, and she wondered now why she even agreed to this dinner. The connection, she discovered quite suddenly, had been permanently broken. It was broken in the hospital room. She just didn’t know it until now.
“Thank you for coming,” Mr. Miller said as Cadence sat down across from him. He sounded like he was addressing business partners at a meeting.
Oliver took the seat beside Cadence. He sat a little too close, but she realized it was his nonverbal way of saying, “I’ve got your back.” She smiled to herself.
“I made your favorite, Cadence,” Mrs. Miller said. “Lasagna.”
Cadence wanted to say that lasagna was no longer her favorite, but that seemed cruel. Her mother was obviously trying. Sort of, anyway.
“Oliver, would you like to say the blessing?” Mr. Miller asked once everyone’s plate was filled with food.
“No.”
“All right then. I will,” Mr. Miller replied, unaffected.
They all bowed their heads, and Cadence listened to the drone of her father’s voice. The prayer was mechanical and practiced; she’d heard it a million times, but her father always tried to inject some kind of feeling into it. Now, he simply went through the motions, like he didn’t believe a thing he was saying. It was disrespectful, and it baffled her.
They ate half of their meal in silence. Cadence wasn’t sure if her parents were waiting for her to open the conversation. She had nothing to say. And anyway, they invited her. Midway through her lasagna, Mr. Miller finally spoke.