Into The Fire (The Ending Series) (22 page)

“This…” I gestured between us.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on.”

“This isn’t normal, Jason. We can barely stand to be around each
other, and half the time I don’t even know why.”

He scowled.

“Look, it doesn’t even matter. You don’t have to look in the
box, okay? But I deserve to know what’s in it. Dad left us the key; he must’ve
wanted us to know what’s inside. I have so many questions, and there could be
answers in there—”

“Or not,” he said calmly.

I turned away from him and started pacing. “Isn’t it weird
that I don’t know anything about Mom? Would it really hurt to know who the hell
she was or what she even looked like? Why wouldn’t Dad ever talk about her? Shouldn’t
he have gotten over her death—”

“Gotten over it?” Jason sounded offended.

“You know what I mean. Don’t you think she’d want her own daughter
to know who she was? I
am
her daughter, right? Or is that the big
secret? Are we not really siblings? Is that why you hate me?” My voice was more
scornful than I’d meant it to be, but letting out my frustration felt like
finally taking a breath after holding it for years.

“Don’t be stupid—”

“Stupid? You and Dad have always walked on eggshells around
me, and neither of you ever tell me
anything
. Dad always looked at me
with sadness and I have no idea why.
You
can barely stand the sight of
me!” Saying the last bit out loud hurt more than I’d expected.

Confusion flashed across Jason’s face, but he said nothing.

“I’m tired of being in the dark just because I was too
fucking young to remember anything. I’m tired of you looking at me like I did
something wrong.”

“Knock it off, Zoe. You don’t know what the fuck you’re
talking about.” His tone was cold and flat, which only ignited my anger
more.

“Would you stop being an asshole for once in your life? I
barely know you because you always stop a conversation before it starts or
you’re too busy or you’re in a bad mood or you’re off with some girl…take your
pick! The way you glare at me all the time, like you’re judging me, is getting
old. You’ve never been around or cared what the hell happened to me. There has to
be a reason. It’s the end of the fucking world and you still can’t stand the
sight of me—or is that just second nature from all the years of practice?”

“God, you can be such a bitch,” he replied, shaking his head
in disbelief.

I glared at him, using my frustration to keep the tears at
bay. “Yeah, maybe, but you know what I’m talking about. I’m not blind, and it
hurts. I—”

“You want to know why I hate looking at you?” he
interrupted, taking a step closer to me. His intense eyes fixed on mine.

You want to know why I hate looking at you?
Hearing
him say it stung, and I took a cowering step back.

“You look
exactly
like her. The older you get…” He
shook his head. “You think I want to remember Mom every time I look at you?
Remember her accident…that she’s dead?” His eyes searched mine, hostility burning
in their blue depths, and resentment dripped from his tone. But in an instant,
his expression blanked. I wasn’t sure if I’d really seen remorse flicker across
his face, or if he was even capable of remorse. Either way, the truth was
finally out.

I felt my face fall, and another lump swelled in my throat.
“Oh,” was all I could manage to say. Jason’s eyes thawed momentarily,
considering something, but I turned away from him. In a strange way, I
understood him…empathized with him.

My mind was reeling. I was embarrassed but also relieved. I
finally knew the cause of Jason’s distance—I looked like our mom. The fact that
I resembled her filled me with joy, but it was a bittersweet joy. Jason had
known our mom, had been nurtured by her most of his childhood. He remembered
what it felt like to be around her every day—and what it felt like when she was
suddenly torn away.

I heard Jason walk away behind me, leaving me alone with my
thoughts. A sense of helplessness settled over me. Even though I understood why
Jason distanced himself, there was nothing I could do about it, about the way I
looked
.
I sat back down on the log. There were still unanswered
questions.
Why didn’t Dad ever talk to me about her?

Only a few moments passed before, again, I heard footsteps
approaching. I turned around to find Jason standing there with Dad’s small,
cedar box gripped in his hands. The key swung from a chain wrapped around his
thumb.

My heart sputtered to a halt as he stepped over the fallen log
to sit down beside me, setting the box between us. We looked at each other with
silent understanding, and then he handed me the old-fashioned iron key.
The
moment we’ve both been waiting for…and dreading
. We were finally going to
know what was in the stupid box. For a long time, all I could do was stare at
it.

“Just open the damn thing, Zoe,” Jason said impatiently.

Biting the inside of my cheek to avoid smiling at his
mounting curiosity, I placed the tiny, ornate key into the lock. With a click,
the box was unlocked. I scooted closer to Jason, still balancing the box on the
log between us. Running my fingers over the intricately carved scrollwork on
the lid, I slowly lifted it open.

A cedar scent escaped its stuffy confines, and I wondered
when it had last been opened. The wood’s grain was rainbowed with coppers, reds,
and browns, and the initials “TJC” were etched in the bottom right corner on
the inside of the lid—confirmation that the box had been handcrafted by my dad.

Peering inside, I examined its contents. A folded newspaper
clipping lay on top. I carefully lifted it out, revealing what I assumed was my
mom’s gold wedding band resting on the box’s black velvet lining. Beside it lay
a lock of long, black hair tied with a white lace ribbon. Beneath that was a
small envelope.

My eyes flicked to Jason’s, and when I realized his
attention was focused solely on the items inside, I painstakingly picked up the
gold ring and studied it. It was delicate and dainty. I checked the inside of
the band for an inscription before slipping it onto my left ring finger,
imagining what it might have looked like on my mom’s hand. It fit perfectly. I
glanced at Jason again, and his eyes darted to mine. He nodded for me to
continue.

I turned my attention to the lock of hair. Picking it up, I
examined the long, thick black strands, wondering how old our mom had been when
she’d given it to our dad. It made sense that she had black hair like us—our
dad’s was much lighter, though it had been mostly gray all my life. I let the
silky wisps fan across my fingers before setting the black tresses back inside
the box. I lifted out the folded newspaper clipping. It was yellowed, and the
black print was so faded I struggled to read it.

“It’s their wedding announcement,” I mumbled. “Do you want
me to read it?”

Jason closed his eyes and took a deep breath, giving me a
hesitant nod.

“San Diego—California. Miss Annabel Elizabeth and Mr. Thomas
Cartwright of this city were privately joined on Tuesday night, January 3, at
City Hall. Directly after exchanging vows, Mr. and Mrs. Cartwright left for
their honeymoon in Mexico.”

I was disappointed by the absence of any photos or
interesting details about them. I handed the clipping to Jason and reached for
the last item in the box—the envelope. Opening the flap, I was careful not to
tear the well-worn paper.

My fingers fumbled with the page as I pulled it free.
Glancing to the bottom of the letter, I saw her name,
Anna
, written in a
slanted script. I looked at Jason. He folded the wedding announcement he’d been
rereading and placed it in the lid of the box.

“It’s from her,” I clarified, making sure he realized the
significance of the letter. “You want me to read it out loud?” My voice
cracked. I was both scared and ecstatic to read our mom’s words.

Again, Jason hesitated before nodding.

Clearing my throat, I began to speak. My voice sounded
foreign, and my mounting anxiety made me feel nauseated. “‘Tom,’” I said,
trying to ignore the strangeness I felt in reading our mom’s private words to
our dad. “‘Please know that I love you very much. I’ve loved you since the
first time I saw you. The sight of you completely crumbled my resolve to never
date a…’” The next word caught in my throat.
Holy shit.
I tried not to
wrinkle the paper in my clenched, frozen fingers.

“What? Why’d you stop?”

I took a weary breath, knowing Jason wasn’t going to like
what he heard next, and continued. “‘…crumbled my resolve to never date a
military man…’”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jason stiffen. Like me,
he’d apparently had no idea Dad was ever in the service. But for Jason, that
omission was a far greater insult than it was for me. Not wanting to see his
expression, I read on. “‘…but your smile alone dulled every rational part of
me. I’m glad it did. I’m sorry I had to leave, but please remember that it
wasn’t by choice.’”

This time I couldn’t help glancing at Jason. He was
frowning.

“Maybe they were having problems and she left for a while,”
I suggested, grasping for a shred of understanding. But reading the date on the
top of the page, I realized something was wrong. “It’s dated two days after she
died,” I told him, pointing at the date to make sure I hadn’t misread it.
“Right?”

The crease between his eyebrows deepened, and he nodded.

“But the accident…and Dad practically disowned you when you
joined the Army,” I said dumbly. “He hated the military. I don’t understand.” I
tried to push away the crushing realization that, for whatever reason, Dad had
lied to us. “Does any of this make sense to you?” I asked, hopeful.

“Keep reading,” Jason ordered, unblinking as he stared
ahead. He wasn’t showing any outward reaction, and I couldn’t feel his
emotions, but somehow, deep down, I knew he was filled with a violent maelstrom
of confusion, disbelief, betrayal, and anger that easily rivaled mine.

I refocused on the letter. “‘It’s best if the kids never
know the truth,’” I read hollowly. “‘Tell them whatever they need to hear so
they never come looking for me. It’s safer for them that way. We both know
this.’” I hesitated, trying to rein in the sudden suffocating pain I felt in my
chest. “‘Remember, every scar makes us stronger. We have to be strong…for them.
This is for the best. Love them, Tom, for the both of us, and take care of our
family. I love you, all of you, always. Yours forever, Anna.’”

The letter fell from between my fingers. “She left us,” I
whispered.

Abruptly, Jason stood. He said nothing, just stalked back
toward the ghost town, while I stayed behind, motionless…heartbroken…betrayed.
I didn’t doubt that the same emotions fueled his actions as he disappeared
through the trees.

I looked down into my lap. The thin, worn letter still
rested between my fingertips. It seemed impossible that our dad had lied to us
for so long, that he’d kept so many secrets. As I stared blankly at my mom’s
words, my eyes began to sting and the writing turned blurry.

It wasn’t long until Jason reemerged through the trees, a
giant ax gripped in his right hand. He passed by me without even sparing a
glance in my direction. I watched him stalk away, his steps determined, until
he was out of sight again, deeper in the scrubby woods. In the distance, I
could hear the sound of the ax blade splintering wood.

I’d never pretended to know my brother well, but his eyes
tended to deceive him—they always had. When Dad cursed him for joining the
Army, his eyes had filled with sadness. And seven years ago, when Dani and I
had wandered home after a day basking in the sun on the beach, a look of wonder
had filled his eyes as he looked at her—like he’d discovered something hidden,
something pure. So the emptiness I saw in his eyes when he walked past me with
the ax told me how much our dad had hurt him. How much our mom had.
Why’d
they do it? Why’d they lie?

As I slipped the note back in its envelope, I noticed
something else inside—a photo. The back was discolored and the edges were torn,
but the moment I saw the cursive name written in faded black ink on the back,
my heartbeat quickened.
Anna
.

I slowly flipped the photo over to find the image of a woman
who could only be my mom staring back at me. Her hair was straight and black
like mine, some of it hanging past her shoulders while stray wisps were
suspended on a breeze, frozen in time. Her eyes were like Jason’s and mine, as
bright and vivid as gemstones; they could’ve been green or blue or maybe both,
and they were surrounded by dark, thick lashes. Though her gaze was shrewd, she
looked happy. Her full, pink lips were pulled into a broad smile that revealed
perfectly white, straight teeth. She was wearing a white eyelet skirt and a
purple tank top that exposed her pale skin and slender frame. Beside her, a
resplendent collection of driftwood and green and white sea glass rested on the
sand. Her bare legs were folded under her, her yellow painted toes peeking out.
Although her right arm was raised as though it was draped around someone, the
photo was torn in their place. All I could see was a child’s hand resting on
her skirt.
Jason’s hand.
Does he remember taking this picture?
She, Anna, my mom…was real. She was stunning, and seeing her for the first time
sent silent tears streaking down my cheeks.

I wasn’t sure which feelings made it so difficult to breathe:
desperation—grief—resentment—curiosity—maybe love? Did I love my mom? I didn’t
know if I could. I loved her for existing, for being alive and so vibrant, even
if it was only in a picture. But she’d left me…us. Part of me hated her for
that, and hated my dad for lying to us. He’d cheated us out of ever knowing the
truth, and his death had cheated us out of ever knowing the reason for the
lies. I wanted to scream…but instead I just cried.