Page 91 of Broken Instrument

“What?” She pulls away from me and wipes the tears from her cheeks.

“The money he borrowed from Martin Hayes,” I tell her. “He needed it to pay for his addiction.”

With a look making me feel like I’m a crazy person, she argues, “No, he didn’t. He gave it to my mom.”

“What?”

“The money. He gave it to my mom before he disappeared. My mom was talking about college and how much it was going to cost for me to go to my dream school, if I even got in,” she clarifies, her voice sounding strained and broken. “He said he’d find a way to help. Then, he wrote my mom a check a few weeks later. Mom didn’t think much of it at the time. She was just grateful he was finally starting to show up in the dad department. But once that Troy guy mentioned the loan from Martin and why Dad disappeared because of it, she was able to piece things together.”

“What?” I repeat. My mind feels like it’s on black ice, and I’m spinning out of control.

“It’s why I’ve been such a mess,” Mia whispers. “Why I feel like it’s my fault he’s gone.”

“Mia,” I squeeze her tight against me. “It’s not your fault, okay? It’s not.”

“I think it’s a little debatable. He’s gone. And it was all because I wanted to go to school.”

“Sh…,” I whisper. “That isn’t true.”

“It is, though.”

I release a soft breath against the crown of her head as we both cry for her dad and his thoughtfulness. And for some reason, the truth is more telling, more poetic, and more bittersweet as I come to terms with the real reason why my brother isn’t here anymore.

He didn’t choose his addiction over his family.

He chose his family over his addiction.

And he really was stronger than I ever gave him credit for.

Which means… Could Fender be stronger too?

Was I too harsh?

Am I too late?

I let Mia go as the questions swirl around and around in my brain, leaving me more lost and confused than ever.

Mia’s attention drops to her lap, oblivious to the mini-meltdown or how impactful this conversation has really been on me. I don’t blame her, though. She has her own demons to deal with, and it’s clear she’s still fighting them.

“I know Dad wasn’t perfect,” she whispers, “but he was trying, wasn’t he.” It isn’t a question. And now that I know why he really disappeared, I wouldn’t argue with her anyway.

He was trying.

And I should’ve given him more credit.

“Yeah, Mia. He was trying.”

She rests her head on my shoulder, staring blankly at the mirror hanging above the white dresser opposite the bed where we’re still sitting. But she looks…empty. Broken. Torn to shreds and barely keeping it together with nothing but a few strings of determination. Ones I hope will hold firm until she can accept her father’s sacrifice and how to move on without him.

When she catches me staring, she forces a smile and sits up fully. “So…enough emotional garbage.”

“Mia––”

“Do you need any more help packing?” she interrupts.

Deciding to let it go, I lift my arms and motion to the boxes scattered around the spare bedroom, not to mention the ones littering the kitchen, bathroom, and my bedroom. “Pick a room, any room.”

And just like that, we get to work.

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