Unconditional

I left.

Juliet pulls off the road and parks at the lookout point at the top of the cliffs. It’s empty, nothing but the stretch of grass running to the edge, and a picnic bench for summer sightseers. She pauses a moment, staring out of the windshield.

“It’s a nice day.” I try to sound cheerful. I look around at the wisps of cotton-wool clouds in the blue sky, and the green of the trees fringing the park. “Mom loved these sunny days.”

Juliet turns and gives me a sharp look, as if I don’t have any right to be talking about what Mom liked. She reaches into the backseat and picks up a bunch of flowers I didn’t notice before.

“Lilacs,” I realize. “Her favorite.”

“I get them every year,” Juliet replies in a quiet voice. “Even when I didn’t come here, I always got a bunch for her. Daffodils, too.”

I feel a sting in the back of my throat. “Remember how she wanted to paint the living room? Daffodil yellow, she called it. So it would be spring all year around.”

Juliet meets my eyes, unflinching. “I remember Dad said it made her look jaundiced. You both laughed so hard she switched to blue instead.”

Her words hit me in a sucker punch to the gut. I open my mouth to respond, but Juliet gets out of the car, striding away from me towards the cliff.

I sit, feeling the shame and guilt crash over me like a tidal wave. How can I possibly explain the way I acted, or even hope to make up for everything I’ve done?

I watch Juliet’s silhouette as she reaches the platform marker at the lookout point. From there, I know, she has the perfect view of the whole bay: Beachwood and the shoreline curving around beyond the old lighthouse to the country beyond. The image is fixed in my brain, everything about that day is. The dress I wore, black and stiff, the label itching at the back of my neck where I forgot to cut it out. It was a good dress, expensive and flattering, but I threw it out the minute I got back to the house. I couldn’t bear to see it hanging in my closet, reminding me of everything we lost that day.

I steel myself and slowly get out of the car, walking over to meet Juliet. The day we scattered Mom’s ashes, it was cold and bleak, spitting down with rain at the end of summer. I was glad for the terrible weather, it made it easier somehow: summer was over, and so too was that part of my life. My childhood, my innocence. I watched the dust of her dance on the wind, whipping and whistling, disappearing into the stormy blue of the ocean below. Gone forever, before her time.

Juliet is murmuring something under her breath when I reach her. She straightens up, falling silent as I approach. She looks so small, clutching the flowers, her jaw set in a brave expression. I feel an overwhelming urge to put my arms around her and hug her close to me, but when I take another step towards her, Juliet flinches back.

I stop. Silence. Juliet looks out across the water, her eyes filling with tears.

“I can’t believe it’s nearly five years,” I say quietly. “Sometimes, I forget she’s gone altogether. I’ll get a call on a Sunday morning, and I’ll reach for the phone, thinking it’s her. She used to call, when I was in college. Like clockwork, every week.”

Now I feel the swell of tears, hot in the corners of my eyes.

Juliet turns to me. “Don’t do that,” she says, her voice harsh.

“Do what?”

“Pretend like you miss her.” Her gaze cuts through me, accusing. “You never even cared when she was around.”

“I did,” I insist, swallowing back a sob.

“Not enough.” Juliet’s voice is full of scorn. “You weren’t there. You never even tried…” She stops herself. “You know what, this was a bad idea. Let’s just go.”

“Juliet—” I try, but she turns away from me, carefully placing the flowers in the shelter of the small platform. Her eyes close for a moment, a silent message to Mom, then she straightens up and heads back to the car.

I feel an ache in my chest, so tight it hurts to breathe.

She hates me.

My own sister can’t bear to look at me. All these years we’ve been so distant, she’s been polite, civil to me, but now the facade has cracked, and I can see the wounds hiding beneath her indifferent smile—wounds I caused her, pain created by me. I knew I’d hurt her, but now I see just how much, the blame I carry, a bitter weight that could crush me where I stand.

How can I ever heal these wounds now?

I turn back to the ocean for a moment and clench my jaw to keep from sobbing.

Mom, I call silently into the wind, desperate for answers. Just tell me what to do. How can I make it right?

But there’s no reply, of course. I’m alone with the crash of the ocean against the rocks below, alone with my guilt and shame, and all the mistakes I’ve made.

Nobody but me, and everything I’ve done wrong.

I’m sorry, I tell her. I’m so sorry I ruined everything.

But she’s not the one I need to apologize to now. I hear the engine start behind me, so I head back towards the car, leaving the flowers there, a lonely bouquet on the cliff-top.

When I get inside, Juliet won’t look at me. She keeps her gaze fixed at the road ahead, snaking back down the hill, as if I’m not even sitting here.

I can’t take it. I feel the desperation wash through me again, bitter and hopeless. How can I even start to bridge the vast chasm between us now?

Every journey starts with a single step.

It’s Garrett’s voice in my mind, teasing, but warm. Urging me on. I remember his understanding, the night on the dock when I opened up and showed him everything I’d been hiding for so long. He’s seen it all, the worst of my secrets.