Free What She Left Behind by Tracy Bilen Page B

the rose-covered comforter, I look under the bed. A stray pack of cigarettes is the only thing there. If there had been a fire in the fireplace, I would have flung them in, but instead I shove them in the pocket of my jeans. At least Mom’s suitcase is gone.
    Just to be sure, I go into their bathroom and check out the palm-tree toothbrush holder. Only one toothbrush. Blue. My dad’s.
    I open the cabinets under the sink and look for my mother’s makeup bag. Gone. Hair dryer—gone. Curling iron—gone. At least her things haven’t been magically put away like mine were.
    I hope that somewhere there’s a clue as to where my mom went or a note that she has left for me. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I look anyhow. I check the drawers of her dresser and nightstand and her jewelry box.
    That’s when I find it. The locket that Matt had given her three Christmases ago. She wears it every day. Without fail. Weekdays, Saturdays, and Sundays. Why isn’t she wearing it now?
    I open the locket and look at the tiny pictures of Matt and me on the inside. They’re pictures from when we were much younger. And happier.
    I want to keep the locket, so I can feel a little closer to both Mom and Matt, but I know I have to put it back. My dad notices everything.
    I start to put the locket in the little drawer. Wait a minute. The chain is broken. I inspect the damage with my fingers.
    It’s as if someone had yanked off the necklace.
    In anger.
    Don’t be ridiculous, Sara. It just broke. Nothing sinister in that.
    I return the necklace to the little drawer and put the jewelry box back on the dresser. In the same place, I hope.
    I try to remember whether or not my mom was wearing the necklace Monday night or Tuesday morning.
    Sinking down on the bed, I attempt to calm my nerves. Your dad did not yank it off her neck on Tuesday. She probably broke it before that.
    Still trying to convince myself that everything’s okay, I go and get a kitchen chair and look behind all of the sweaters on the top shelf of the closet. I manage to knock three to the ground. Underneath one, I find a pair of Mom’s god-awful navy blue dress shoes that wouldn’t look good on anyone. I can’t believe my mom still has them—she promised she would never wear them again. I grab the shoes and walk to the garbage can. I am about to let them drop when I realize I can’t. Dad would notice. A flash of color in one shoe catches my eye. It’s one of those cards you get when someone sends you flowers. Handwritten on the card is a scrawled heart and the name “Brian.”
    Does the card mean anything? Or is it simply one of the many we got for Matt’s funeral? And who is Brian? I put the shoes back and go to the spare bedroom that my mom uses as an office. I leaf through papers in the filing cabinet, go through the desk drawers, and even look under the plants. Nothing.
    Where would Mom hide something she didn’t want Dad to find?
    Matt’s room. I walk down the hall and stand outside his room. Then I take a deep breath and push open the door. It brings me back to another day. The day before—well, the day before the end.
     
    I peeked through his doorway. Matt was lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Whatcha doing?” I asked him.
    “Just thinking.”
    I sat on the edge of the bed.
    “Do you ever wonder what it’ll be like when you die?” he asked. “I mean, we either have some sort of existence that goes on forever, or—poof—that’sit, black hole, that’s the end. I’m not sure which one scares me more.”
    “That’s a bit intense. And here I thought you were just putting off doing your homework.”
    “Nah, haven’t got any,” he said.
     
    What was it Alex said to me today? You didn’t do the homework because you knew you weren’t going to class.
    I finally knew what Matt had meant. He didn’t do the homework because he knew he was going to die.
    I haven’t been in Matt’s room since the funeral. The first thing I notice is