Page 128 of Sunday Morning

Matt turned.

“I don’t want to give you a list of reasons; they’ll only sound like weak excuses that won’t change what has happened,” I said.

He kept his stony expression firmly in place. “It’s unforgivable, Sarah.”

Pastor Jacobson’s daughter would have had a lineup of Bible verses about forgiveness. But I felt abandoned by my pastorandGod, so I didn’t have a sermon to offer, no divine wisdom.

“You’re probably right. But I wasn’t in …” I shook my head.

“In what?” He squinted. “In love with me? We broke up, and all of your feelings vanished?”

“No,” I whispered. “But it’s not like we used to be. With you, I felt less than. And I was tired of fighting for you and everyone else to acknowledge that my dreams mattered.”

“I told you they did.”

“No. You begrudgingly acknowledged them when we fought. That’s my point. I was tired of fighting, tired of begging, tired of jumping up and down saying, ‘Hey! Look! I have dreams too!’ So, imagine how it felt when someone who shared my dreams looked at me like I was special and deserving. Like I was the only one in the room. Like everything I did made him smile.” I wiped tears from my cheeks. “Matt, we were over.”

“Anyone.” He clenched his jaw. “Anyone but my brother.”

“That’s not how life works.”

He grunted. “It is, actually. It’s called self-control. You just close your knees, Sarah. It’s that simple.”

I tried not to react, but I couldn’t help but flinch. “What do you want me to say?” I whispered.

“I want you to admit that you’re a terrible person.”

I swallowed. “I’m a terrible person.”

“You should have been in that car with Heather and Joanna.”

I blinked, and a fresh round of tears escaped. “I should have been in the car with them.”

His face morphed with ugly pain, blue eyes streaked red. “Fuck you,” he whispered, wiping his eyes. “Stop agreeing with me. Stop making me sound like a monster. I’m not the monster.” His fingers curled into his hair, and he tugged at it.

I took a few more steps and rested my hand on his back. He jerked away.

“I should have told you. I tried to protect everyone exceptyou, and I’m truly sorry for that.”

Losing Matt, my friend, felt like its own death. I wassosorry for the pain I’d caused, but I didn’t regret Isaac. And those two facts were hard to reconcile.

“I’m not coming back.” He wiped his eyes and stared at me. “When I leave in August, I’m not coming back. I hate my parents. I hate this town. And …”

“You hate me.”

He leered over my shoulder with watery eyes. “I don’t hate you. I actually love you. But I just don’t want to see you again.”

As Matt turned and headed towards the house, he gripped my heart and clenched it.

Tearing … tearing … tearing.

I did not hold back the tears. He stopped, angling his head a fraction toward his shoulder until his chin nearly touched it.

“But maybe someday,” he said.

I closed my eyes, pressing my quivering lips together.

Someday. Maybe someday he’ll forgive me.