The lady lit her cigarette. Then she narrowed her eyes, moving in closer. She studied the picture for a minute. Whitney held her breath.

“Yeah, actually, I have seen her.”

Whitney’s pulse jumpstarted. “Really?”

“Yeah, she and the other girl left like a half hour ago.”

“A half hour ago? You’re sure?” Her heart sank. She’d been so close.

“Yeah, cause that’s what time my boyfriend left and I walked him out.”

“Do you know where they went?” It was a long shot, but Whitney had to ask.

“I overheard them saying they were on their way to visit their mom. Wait. Is that you? Guess you guys had a mix-up or something.”

Heat shot up Whitney’s spine.

Her sister.

Their mom.

She knew exactly where they’d gone.

And it wasn’t far.

31

AFTER MY OVERDOSE, I wasn’t allowed to see Millie anymore.

At the time it seemed ridiculous. It’s easier for me to understand now. I actually get why my parents kept us apart.

If I were in their shoes, I would do the same thing.

But in that moment, it felt like they’d destroyed my life. Taken away the thing that mattered most to me.

For the next six months or so, Millie and I found ways to interact. We’d sneak phone calls. Talk at school. If the subject of boys came up, she was vague. She never talked about Mitch.

But then she got pregnant and dropped out. That’s how I knew she’d chosen him over me again.

The phone calls became scarcer and then stopped altogether.

My parents forced me to go to therapy. I know they expected me to talk about Kevin’s death. That’s how they justified my actions. The lying. Manipulating. Using drugs. Trying to kill myself. I was acting out because I’d lost my brother.

And maybe they were right. At least partially, anyway. Kevin’s life and death had definitely affected me. His illness had permeated every aspect of our family. There wasn’t a day, a moment, even, that wasn’t affected by it. It consumed my parents while he was alive, and certainly after he died.

That’s why I missed my life with Millie. A life that had nothing to do with Kevin. A life that was all mine.

It was the loss of Millie that I felt deep in my bones. That made me depressed. And it’s what I’d planned to talk to Dr. Carter about. But when he stared at me with that expectant look on his face, pen poised over his yellow steno pad, I opened my mouth and told an entirely different story.

One that wasn’t even mine.