BooksBarbecue
Back Early Departures
Chapters (122)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. Facts
  5. 101
  6. 100
  7. 23 Months After the Funeral
  8. 99
  9. 98
  10. 97
  11. 96
  12. 95
  13. 94
  14. 93
  15. 92
  16. 91
  17. 90
  18. 89
  19. 88
  20. 87
  21. 86
  22. 85
  23. 84
  24. 83
  25. 82
  26. 81
  27. 80
  28. 79
  29. 78
  30. 77
  31. 76
  32. 75
  33. 74
  34. 73
  35. 72
  36. 71
  37. 70
  38. 69
  39. 68
  40. 67
  41. 66
  42. 65
  43. 64
  44. 63
  45. 62
  46. 61
  47. 60
  48. 59
  49. 58
  50. Postreanimation Day 1
  51. 57
  52. 56
  53. 55
  54. 54
  55. 53
  56. 52
  57. 51
  58. 50
  59. 49
  60. 48
  61. 47
  62. Day 2
  63. 46
  64. 45
  65. 44
  66. 43
  67. 42
  68. 41
  69. 40
  70. 39
  71. 38
  72. 37
  73. 36
  74. Day 3
  75. 35
  76. 34
  77. 33
  78. 32
  79. 31
  80. 30
  81. Day 4
  82. 29
  83. 28
  84. 27
  85. 26
  86. Quincy
  87. 25
  88. Jamal
  89. 24
  90. 23
  91. 22
  92. 21
  93. 20
  94. Day 4
  95. 19
  96. 18
  97. 17
  98. Day 5
  99. 16
  100. 15
  101. 14
  102. 13
  103. 12
  104. 11
  105. 10
  106. Day 6
  107. 9
  108. 8
  109. 7
  110. 6
  111. 5
  112. 4
  113. 14 Days Postreanimation
  114. 3
  115. 2
  116. 1
  117. 0
  118. Acknowledgments
  119. About the Author
  120. Books by Justin A. Reynolds
  121. Back Ad
  122. About the Publisher

“I know,” I say, because it’s true. Because the only thing to say is: “I’m so sorry.”

“Why?”

“Because I was angry. Because I blamed you for . . .” I look away but force myself to turn back. I hear Autumn’s voice. Accept responsibility, Jamal. “I blamed you for the accident. I convinced myself that if you hadn’t called, they’d still be alive.”

“I can’t believe you’d . . . wow, that really hurts. I loved them like my own parents.”

I nod. “I know. I was wrong.”

“Yeah, you were.”

“I blamed my dad too.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “Because he was trying to answer your call, but he couldn’t figure out how.” My voice breaking. “But that’s just as wrong. Those were lies I told myself because I was angry, and I was afraid.”

“What were you afraid of?”

“A lot of things. Suddenly, I realized how little control I had over so many things. That the massive amounts of love you have for someone didn’t protect them from being hurt. I was afraid to be hurt again. I decided . . . I decided that if I could stop feeling, then nothing could ever make me feel that bad again.”

Q shakes his head. “And I get all that, but still, I wouldn’t have done that to you. I didn’t do that to you.”

“Q . . . I . . .”

Q’s finger jabbing into my chest. “You think you’re the only one who’s ever hurt, Jamal?”

“That’s . . . that’s . . . not . . .”

“No one knows pain like Jamal. No one hurts as deeply as Jamal hurts. Your parents, they were only your parents, not Whit’s, too, right? Only you felt that loss? And you feel bad because your sister, what, wanted to be there for you? You think she took a goddamn deferment at her dream school so you could flush your life away? That’s how you thank her? That’s how you honor your parents’ legacy?”

I try to slow this down, because it’s going too far too fast, but Q’s showing no signs of braking, of letup.

“Q, listen to me . . . you don’t understand . . .”

His finger back into my chest. “You have no clue what I understand. Or Whit. Or my mom. Or anyone. And how could you, Jamal? For two years, you’ve only cared about you.”

“Q . . .”