I call someone who I know will get it.

“Hello?” Quinn says, picking up after one ring.

“Can you come over? I need help.”

She doesn’t hesitate for even a second before saying, “I’m on my way.”

Thirty-Eight

Quinn

Dear Parker,

This is the last letter I’m ever going to write you.

I don’t think I’ll ever have the words to say exactly what I want to say. I don’t think those words exist.

But I’m going to try.

I also know you’re never going to read this letter. But I like to imagine that there’s a world where you do. I’m sure Cora would tell me that’s scientifically impossible, but I don’t care. I want to believe it.

Cora told me that Grams says the dead belong to the living. She says that she means that it’s the people who are alive who create the memory of the dead person. So it’s my job to remember you.

The good and the bad. About your tipped-back head laugh. About how angry you would get. About how much you liked pickles. About all the hateful stuff you posted on the internet. About how you helped me down from the tree and those tears in your eyes. About how you once looked at me like you wanted to hurt me, like you wanted to hurt yourself. About how sometimes, when we were both little, you looked at me like I was your favorite person in the world.

I’m going to tell the truth because I hope that it saves another girl somewhere from having to write letters to her dead brother. I hope it means that she’s able to help him in a way that I wasn’t able to help you.

I think it’s possible for me to love you and never excuse or forgive what you did. I didn’t think that was possible before, but I’m choosing to believe that it is now.

Your sister,

Quinn

It was Cora’s idea to visit the giant oak tree today. I didn’t think it was such a great idea. I mean, I didn’t want Cora to slip again. And also, I didn’t feel ready to face everything, but Cora said that the date on the calendar—November 11—was going to make us face it anyway, so we might as well do it on our own terms.

That’s a phrase she uses a lot. Our own terms. I’m still not really sure what it exactly means, but I’m learning. Cora’s been talking to me a lot about how learning is the most important thing we can do. That it is okay if we don’t always know the perfect answer or the solution. At least that’s what I think she’s saying. I try to keep up with everything she tells me, but sometimes my mind still drifts.

We walk together to the giant oak tree. Cora talks about random things, and I nod here and there to let her know that I’m listening. I know that it helps her to talk, and she knows that it helps me to listen. She told me the other day that silent is an anagram for listen. An anagram is like a word scramble. It’s when the letters used to write one word can be rearranged to write another. Cora likes anagrams. And I like that she is telling me about them, that she’s telling me about things again.