Chapter 25

It was over a week before Emma could bring herself to open Rachel’s journal again. She’d finally finished cleaning the kitchen, having forced Andrew to load the dinner dishes in the dishwasher, and her shoulders were tight after enduring his incessant whining. She now sat on the back porch in the gathering shadows. Rolling her shoulders forward and back, she let out her breath slowly. Chin in hand, she flipped to the next entry.

Thursday 10/28/99

I finally understand why Ana is so troubled. No wonder!

She’s been coming to my room nearly every afternoon even though she no longer has detention. I’d teased her after her last infraction, saying, “You know you don’t have to get in trouble to come see me. You’re welcome any time.”

But when she showed up two days later, I was pretty shocked. “I came to work on homework,” she said. “Can you help me with my math?”

“I’ll try,” I said. Once she got started, she didn’t really need much help. Honestly, I think she just wanted my company.

Yesterday, on her fourth or fifth visit, she closed her math book and cleared her throat. I set aside the stack of quizzes I was grading and waited, fighting the urge to ask if she was okay.

When she finally spoke, I had to strain to hear her. “My sister’s dead,” she said flatly.

“Oh, I’m so–”

“And it was my fault.”

As I listened to the story, I realized it was vaguely familiar. I’m sure I must have heard it on the news last summer.

Ana said she and her older sister Cristina had been arguing over an outfit Cristina borrowed without permission and then ruined. They didn’t speak for several days, and when Ana saw her sneak out with an older boy, a gang member, she said nothing.

“Cristina was always the good girl, the responsible one. I guess I wanted her to get in trouble. I was hoping she’d do something stupid and Mom would be disappointed in her.

“When she wasn’t home by midnight, I was glad. But when I woke up at 2:00 and saw her bed was still empty, I started to worry.”

Ana lay awake all night long, afraid to tell her mother about Cristina because she’d have to admit that she’d watched her go.

“When the doorbell rang at 7:00 the next morning, I knew,” Ana said, her eyes filling with tears. “It was a police officer. He said she was killed in a drive-by. She wasn’t carrying ID, and they didn’t figure out who she was until Carlos came to that morning.”

I had no idea what to say at that moment. I walked over and laid my hand on Ana’s back, praying silently as she sobbed. “I could… have… stopped it, Miss.”

“It’s not your fault, sweetie,” I murmured.

She didn’t speak again until her sobs faded to sniffles. “I should have talked her out of it.”

“You don’t know that she would have listened.”

“Then I should’ve told Mom…. I never did, you know. I never had the guts to tell her I knew about Cristina sneaking out.”

I couldn’t believe this poor girl had been carrying all this guilt by herself. I prayed again for the right words.

“Your mother would forgive you, Ana. It’s your choice whether to tell her, but I think you need to get this off your chest.”

“I can’t.” She shook her head vigorously, and another ragged sob shook her frame. “She’s got enough to deal with as it is.”

Dragging her knuckles over her nose, she looked into my eyes and said, “Now do you see why I said you have to make up with your sister? Oh, I wish….”

She glanced up at the clock and then slung her backpack over her shoulder. “I’ve gotta go,” she said. “Mom will worry.”

I followed her to the door and touched her arm as she passed through the doorway. “Ana?”

She turned, one hand on the door frame.

“Cristina knew you loved her.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I have a sister. Sisters squabble, but they always love each other underneath it all.”

Her lips curved into a smile, but her eyes were still sad. “Thank you, Miss. I hope you’re right.”

My heart began to flutter, and there was no way I could hold back the next words. “I’ll be praying for you, Ana.”

“You will?”

I nodded, unable to speak around the lump in my throat.

Emma wiped her nose on her sleeve. This was not the story to make her forget her troubles. Could it get any worse?

She flipped the page for a peek, ready to shut the book for the night—or the week. But then she glimpsed her name: “Dear Emma…”

She jerked up the journal, startling Trixie, who lay at her feet. “It’s getting too dark. I’ve got to go inside now,” she said.

Trixie followed her to the door, where Emma gave her a pat. Inside, she didn’t even wash the stink off her hands before settling down at the kitchen table.

Friday 10/28/99Dear Emma,I don’t even know where to begin. How about “I’m sorry”? I’ve wanted to apologize for so long, but I don’t think you’ve been ready to hear it. I can’t say I blame you. I should’ve said it at the very beginning.

Even though you acted like nothing was wrong, I knew you well enough to know you were hurting, to put it mildly. I saw that you were lonely, knew you felt betrayed. I knew all this, and I hurt with you, but I was too proud to say I was sorry.

I told myself I’d done nothing wrong because Evan wasn’t your boyfriend. But what did that matter? You’d been crazy about him from the time we started liking boys, and for years we’d schemed together about how you would win him.

I want you to know that I never meant to hurt you, that I tried several times to break it off. But I also have to confess that there was a part of me—a catty, snotty part of me—that felt good about Evan’s attention. I’d watched you attract all the guys over the years, guys you didn’t even want. I felt invisible next to you. So when Evan noticed me at the prom, in that moment I felt beautiful, more beautiful than you, even. And it felt good.

Please forgive me, Emma. I was wrong. I wish I could undo the pain I caused you. I wish we could bring back the years we lost.

I can’t know for sure, but I have a feeling you must be feeling some regrets too. I hope you’re not burdened with guilt like I’ve been. If you are, I hope you’ll let it go. Talk it over with God, Emma. He’ll give you peace.

No matter what happens, know that I’ve never stopped loving you. And I never will.

Yours always,

Rachel Lynn

Emma clutched the journal against her heart as hot tears rolled down her cheeks and splashed onto her neck.

Why, oh why hadn’t Rachel sent this letter? Would it have made a difference? Maybe the next entry would explain it.

“Mom?”

Emma jumped violently, dropping the journal on the table.

“Why are you crying?”

She shrugged, swiping at the tears with both hands. “Just reading Aunt Rachel’s journal again.”

“Oh. Can you help me study for science? There’s a test tomorrow, and I need help with the review sheet.”

She suppressed a sigh. At least Andrew was doing his homework voluntarily.

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