Page 26 of Heartache Duet

I try to eat.

Try to study.

Try to sleep.

Nothing flies.

Hours pass, and I’m still wide awake, tossing and turning when my phone goes off in my drawer.

A text.

I stare in the general direction of it. It might be Dad, but he calls, not messages.

It goes off again.

And again.

Hope fills my chest—please be Ava—and I reach for it without getting out of bed.

Ava: Hey, I hope this doesn’t wake you.

Ava: I’ve just been thinking about you… about what you told me today. And I have a question but feel free not to answer.

Ava: I was just curious. Do you remember any of it… what happened to you?

My response is swift. Easy to formulate. Because I give her the same answer I’ve given everyone before.

Connor: Not a damn thing.

FIFTEEN

ava

Four thirty a.m. comes around quick.

After a hurried shower, I check over the notes that Krystal, Mom’s in-home caretaker, had provided. She’s here Monday through Friday, from 7 a.m. until I get home from school. On the weekends, it’s just Trevor and me. Or just me, most of the time. Trevor doesn’t like to leave me alone with her so much, but he works, and now and then I force him to go out and live a normal twenty-two-year-old life.

We’re so lucky he was able to pick up the family business when his dad left, and it only took him a couple of months to get certified. If he’d let me, I’d have dropped out of school and worked, too, but for him, that wasn’t an option. For him, it was vital that we look further into my future than just tomorrow.

Breakfast is already on the table when Mom appears from her bedroom at 5 a.m. sharp. No alarm clock needed. Years in the military can do that. “Mornin’,” she greets, kissing me on the cheek. She adjusts the hood of her robe to hide most of her battle scars as she takes a seat at the kitchen table.

“Morning, Mama. Did you sleep well?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. No screams in the night mean no flashbacks or memories of her real-life nightmares, and I’m grateful for that always, but last night especially because I couldn’t sleep.

My mind was too inundated with thoughts of Connor.

And me.

Not Connor and me.

At least not like that.

But, I’d thought about him a lot, all day and night, and I kept replaying what he’d told me.

I wondered if everyone remembered traumatic experiences the way I do. Vivid and powerful and intense. As if I were reliving the moment again and again. Maybe he was too young. Or maybe he blocked it out completely. Sometimes I want to ask my mom if she remembers any of it, but I’m too afraid of her answer.

Sometimes, I’m afraid of her.

“I slept like a baby,” she says, a slice of toast halfway to her mouth. She watches me watching her and places the bread back down. Using her one good arm, she scoots back in the chair and comes to a stand. “Ava?” she asks, her tone flat.