Free Here by Denise Grover Swank Page B

tears from her face with both hands. “It’s okay, Anna.”
    Anna remains frozen in the doorway, her hand still on the doorknob. “What happened?” she asks again, more insistent.
    Mom rises. “Anna, shut the door. It’s freezing out there.”
    And just like that, my mom’s back. A pool of anguish one moment, in control the next. I wonder if that’s what she did after my accident. Did she fall apart, then put herself back together? How many times can a person shatter and have enough pieces left to be whole?
    Anna shuts the door, leery of whatever’s reduced our mother to crying on the floor. Mom goes to her and pulls her to the sofa, both settling on the edge of the cushions. I follow behind and stand at the entrance to the hall, leaning against the wall to support my shaky legs.
    “
What’s wrong?” Anna asks, her voice breaking.
    Mom takes both of Anna’s hands and her face tightens with resolve. “You know that Daddy and I haven’t gotten along very well lately. We’ve both tried really hard, but Daddy’s tired. He just needs a little break, like a mini-vacation.”
    Anna jerks her hands from Mom’s. “I’m not a baby, Mom, and I’m not stupid. Dad left us, didn’t he?”
    Mom’s mouth drops open and she glances at me.
    I step forward. “It’s only temporary. Dad just needs to think things through.”
    Anna looks up, seething with anger. “ You .” She stands and pushes my chest.
    I stumble back, gasping in surprise. “Anna—”
    She charges, shoving me into the wall. “This is all your fault.”
    “
Anna!” Mom cries.
    Anna’s shorter than me, but her anger gives her the strength she lacks in size. Her hands grab my shoulders and shake, rattling my head into the wall. “This is all your fault! Everything is your fault!” she shrieks, her eyes wild.
    “
Anna!” Mom grips Anna’s shoulders and pulls her away, wrapping her arms around Anna’s body. “It’s not Julia’s fault. It’s no one’s fault. It just happened.”
    Anna collapses into Mom, despair replacing her anger. The air in the room becomes too thick to breathe, the misery tainting our house too suffocating. I grab my heavy sweater and cell phone off the bed, then run out the front door. I need to escape, even if it’s only an illusion.
    I wander for an hour before ending up in a park a few blocks from my house. The cold wind ensures that it’s deserted. I sit on a swing and push off, my feet reaching for the sky. As the swing comes back down, I tuck my feet tight, my legs too long for the height between the seat and the ground, and pump hard. My feet shoot up farther. I close my eyes and lean back, my hair streaming behind me. I’m flying, far, far away from all the pain and despair and torment. The wind rushes over my face and the weight on my heart lifts, if only for this moment.
    For a brief second, I consider letting go, flying off into the unknown where I don’t have to deal with rejection and guilt. Or plunging to my death. Either is an acceptable option.
    I stop pumping and let the swing slow until it barely moves then lean my head against the chain. Dad is gone. I’ve driven him away and now Mom and Anna pay the price. I search my brain looking for the way to fix everything and make it better but come up with nothing.
    Some things can’t be undone.
    The phone in my jeans pocket buzzes. It’s vibrated several times since I fled the house. I’ve ignored it, not ready to talk to Mom, but I’ve worried her enough already. I dig it out and find ten missed calls from Mom. Five texts and a phone call from Evan.
    Evan .
    My eyes sink closed. My life is a complicated mess and I can’t drag Evan into it. The best thing to do is talk to him as little as possible. The thought twists like a knife in my heart, the grief more overwhelming than it should be. I have no right to feel grief regarding Evan, yet denial doesn’t lessen the pain. Instead, anger rises up to take its place. Finally, I felt myself returning to