Page 61 of Crescendo

“I feel bad lying…”

“Do you want me to write your teacher a note?”

“Dad,” I groaned, amused. “It’s not primary school.”

“I don’t care. You’re my baby girl and you’re ill. That’s all I care about.”

My stomach jolted like a rock had been dropped into it. “I’m not ill.”

He snorted. “Ella, I didn’t have ‘explaining to a literal doctor that there are more ways than one to be ill’ on my to-do list today.”

I groaned. “I know. I know. I just… I don’t… want…” I sucked in a painful breath. “I need… to be…”

“Can you book an appointment with—”

“No,” I said quickly, knowing I was disappointing him. “I don’t have time.”

It wasn’t just that. It was that this felt like failure. Like I was failing at Crescendo, failing in school, failing in moving on like everyone thought I should, failing at everything. And I couldn’t face the look on my therapist’s face when I showed up there and admitted that I was failing at grieving. Again.

Last week, I’d been doing it. I was doing okay, doing well. I just needed to get that back.

I heard him suck in a breath that way he did—had always done—when he was about to impart wisdom he knew we didn’t want to hear. Callum had always whined and thrown himself about and then taken it out on an instrument, making something beautiful from his fury.

I’d always felt it like a punch to the gut, wrapped it up inside, and held onto it. A bruise I couldn’t let go of but didn’t know how to let out.

“It’s not going to go away if you don’t face it, sweetheart,” my dad said, his voice low and sad.

I cracked, fresh tears running down my face. “I don’t know how.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. I hate it. I hate it every day. And I hate that we can’t help you with it.” He sniffed. “All you want to do in life is take away every little thing that hurts your children, keep them safe from all of it. And I’m so sorry that we don’t know how to take this hurt for you.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not yours, either, Ella. None of it is your fault.”

It was. I should have known, should have worked harder. Callum was the loud one, the brave one. He showed the world exactly who he was every single day of his life. He lived so big. The house was filled with all his noise, his music, his life. And I was older, I was supposed to protect him, help him, guide him, keep him safe. I was a fucking doctor and I didn’t talk to him about the risks of riding a motorbike. I’d blown it off and thought he wouldn’t listen.

I should have tried.

“Sweetheart?” my dad said quietly, a little more composed.

“Yeah, Dad. I’m here.” I dragged the hanging toilet roll towards me, tearing some of it off and mopping at my face, makeup already everywhere.

“You know your papa and I aresoproud of you for doing Crescendo. For taking time to finally stop and to rediscover something you always loved, that you shared with your brother. And we know you’re going to do spectacularly—you always do. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t going to hurt. There’s no way to do this without it being full of him. And you’ve waited long enough to feel it all, baby girl. Four years of feelings trapped inside of you. You’ve got to let them out.”

“I don’t know how,” I said again. I’d never felt so trapped in my life.

“Do you remember the first time we watchedSleeping Beautyat the ballet?”

“A little.” I remembered being small and excited. Just me and my dad and my papa. I remembered wearing sparkly shoes and a thick, winter coat. I remembered it raining and Papa carrying me because of those shoes.

“You cried so hard at some of the music. You felt it so deeply, even then. And, of course, we cried because we loved the way you felt things, how freely you felt them. And then you put it away. The world is not an easy place for someone who feels that much. Most especially when you suffer a loss.”

But they’d suffered it too. He was their son. And they were doing okay. What was wrong with me?

“I didn’t remember crying,” I said, my voice tiny.

He hummed. “That’s okay. My point is, music has always made you feel so much, Ella. And you should let it. It’s not going to be easy, or neat, or tidy—and I know that’s scary, but it’s okay.”

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