No! They don’t understand. How he burrows into the mind, plays games, hits all your weak spots. He could’ve brought me down too.
But then I look around. I’m sitting at the dining room table I’ve eaten so many meals around over the years. Meg is gone. The last few months have been hell. But Sue’s right. I’m still here.
The file is open, the pages splayed. Everything I went through to get this—the rabbit hole I went down with Bradford? I’d thought it was a mark of his strength. But maybe it was a test of mine.
I’m still here.
I put the pages back in the folder and slide it over to Joe. “I think I need to stop with this,” I say. “You guys do what you think is best.”
He takes the file from me. “We’ll show it to the police first thing in the morning.”
There’s a moment of silence. Then Sue says, “And, Cody,” but it doesn’t scare me like before. “Thank you,” she finishes.
Then she and Joe are up, out of their seats, holding me so tight, and we are all crying. We stay like that for a long time until Sue says, “You’re a bag of bones. Please, Cody. Let me feed you.”
I lean back in the upholstered chair. I’m not hungry, but I say okay. Sue heads toward the kitchen. Joe stays with me.
“You should’ve told us,” he says, tapping the file.
“You should’ve told me, too,” I say.
He nods.
“And Scottie. You should tell him. He already knows. I mean, he doesn’t know the specifics, but he suspects someone helped Meg. He’s the one who clued me in.”
Joe strokes his chin in wonderment. “Nothing gets past kids. No matter how much you try to protect them.” He sighs. “We’ve started talking to families of other suicide victims. Putting it out in the open. It’s the only thing that seems to help.” He grasps my hand so tight, the metal of his wedding band leaves an imprint. “I’ll talk to Scottie,” he promises.
Sue comes back in from the kitchen. She puts down a heaping plate in front of me, some kind of stew.
I take a bite.
“It’s homemade,” Sue tells me. Then she smiles. It may be the weakest smile I’ve ever seen, but it’s there.
I take another bite. It turns out that I’m hungry after all.
41
I fall asleep that night at nine o’clock, still in my clothes, and when I wake up at five the next morning, Tricia is asleep at the kitchen table. I touch her lightly on the wrist.
“Did you just get home?” I ask.
She shrugs, all bleary-eyed and fuzzy.
“Were you waiting up for me?”
She shrugs again. “Sort of.”
“You can go to bed now. I’m fine.”
“You are?” She yawns. “How’d it go with Joe and Sue?”
“Good. I’ll tell you about it later, when you’re semiconscious.”
“Semiconscious,” she repeats. But then she gets serious. “But you’re okay?”
I nod. “I am okay.” I’ve been saying that for a long time, but now I understand that it’s true.