Page 11 of As the Rain Falls
“Mom?”
“No.” She pressed something between my hands. I stared at the pill, something tiny and inconsequential. Her full lips went to my forehead in a comforting gesture, but her words truly broke my heart. “Not this time, we can’t.”
My vision blurred at her gentleness, how she pushed my hair back and brushed a wild strand to set it down. Mom dried my tears with her thumb, her own eyes so sad.
My throat, so closed-up, hurt as I finally asked, “Why not?”
“Think about it, okay?” she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. “Think about what people would say about you.”
“Does it matter?” I cried.
Her gaze sharpened as she spoke, “Of course, it does! Do you really want them to know about this? Do you want them to see you like that?”
She was using her wise tone now.
I hated wise tone.
It left no room for rebuttal.
“They’ll say awful things because Nathaniel ruined you. He—He really ruined you. You were not supposed to let him get that far…”
Oh, this was about religion.
Mom was Catholic.
I was not.
But at that moment, it felt like I believed in it a little bit too. I believed in it enough that a numbness overcame me after, followed by a feeling of hopelessness. The magnitude of the situation began settling, loud and overwhelming, shutting down my shock.
“Take this.”
“What is it?”
The neighbor’s dog barked again. He was still a small puppy, eager to play with anybody who gave him an ounce of attention. I liked to slip in my backyard to hand him treats when no one was watching. I wish I had done that today instead of sleeping.
“It’s going to be okay, Cassandra,” she smiled, something like a grimace spreading across her lips. “Just take the pill.”
I took the pill.
She kissed my forehead.
“You’re a good girl.”
I blink, my vision clearing out.
Mr. Lin fixes the thick frames, but the glasses slowly drop along his long nose bridge.
Breathe, he mouths.
I wet my lips and try to remember how to breathe.
Nathaniel’s eyes narrow down and his chest puffs, a futile attempt to make me cower.
In retrospect, my brother always seems ten times more intimidating in my memories. I used to be a different, more easily frightened kind of girl, and he got the best of me thanks tothat. He thinks he got to me again just now, and maybe he did do that just a little.
“My brother and I used to be very close,” I admit, sounding almost too soft.
“What changed? Was it your friendship with Mr. Evans?”
