On top of sending letters every week, Mama keeps calling. Every. Single. Night.

After she first picked me up six weeks ago, Beth had to call a special number on her cell phone and set it up so Mama could make calls to her from the jail. I told her she was wasting her time. That I wasn’t gonna talk to her. But Beth did it anyway, and now every evening, right at dinnertime, her phone rings.

“Hi, Mama,” Beth says after waiting through the automated voice at the start of the call. “Yeah, it’s me … I’m doing all right. How are you?”

It’s weird hearing Beth talk to her, even after all these weeks. At first, it had seemed like she didn’t know what to say and was just filling the silence until she could get off the phone. Now, though, Beth seems more comfortable. She always spends the first few minutes of every call telling Mama about her job or Vanessa or plans she’s made with her friends. I don’t know if that means they get along now or what. And I don’t know how I feel about it, either.

I don’t gotta think about it for long, though, because after a few minutes, Beth pauses and says the same thing she does every single night:

“Yep. Hadley’s right here. Let me ask her.”

Then she turns to me. The first few times, she asked if I wanted to talk to Mama. But after I said no enough times, loud enough I knew Mama could hear it on the other end, she stopped asking. At least with words. Now she just looks at me and waits.

Tonight, though, when Beth turns to look at me, I’m already leaving the room. As soon as the phone started ringing, I went to rinse off my plate in the sink. Beth usually makes me do the dishes on nights when she cooks, but I can do them later. For now, I’m going to my room, and Lila is following close behind.

I hear Beth sigh as she says, “Um, she’s busy right now, Mama. She’s … she’s doing some training with Lila … Yeah, that’s going pretty well. She’s real good with the dog, already made some good progress with her … Uh-huh, she’s still doing that mobility training. She’s getting lots of practice with her new cane.”

I grit my teeth and shut the bedroom door behind Lila and me so I ain’t gotta hear Beth talk about me anymore.

I guess there’s a limit on how long they let you talk on the phone when you’re in jail, because Mama’s calls only last about fifteen minutes. But tonight, when Beth gets off the phone, she comes to my bedroom door. And for once, she knocks and waits to come in.

“Hadley,” she says from the hallway. “Can I come in a minute?”

“I guess.”

I’m sitting on my bed, holding one end of a short rope toy as Lila, standing in front of me, tugs on the other. Lila hadn’t really shown any interest in toys until Beth brought this one home a few days ago. The minute Lila saw the rope, she got more excited than I’d ever seen her. And now, pretty much any time I sit down, she grabs it and runs over, hoping to coax me into a game. She braces her front legs and clenches her jaw as she pulls, sometimes even letting out a little play growl. Lila’s pretty strong, so when she inevitably manages to pull the rope out of my hand, she always freezes, waiting for me to take it again so we can pick up right where we left off.

The door opens, and Beth watches us play for a minute. I think I even hear her chuckle a little before she moves into the room, sitting down in the desk chair across from my bed.

“Can I talk to you?” she asks.

“Ain’t that what you’re doing right now?” I ask, still watching Lila as we continue our game.

Beth and I ain’t talked much since our argument by the park a couple days ago. I didn’t think either of us had anything left to say, but apparently she does now.

“Hadley …”

I sigh and let go of the rope. Lila tries to offer it to me again, but I shake my head. “Go on,” I tell the dog. “We’ll play later.”

Dramatic as always, Lila huffs, then just lets the rope drop from her mouth and onto the floor. Clearly disappointed in me.

“Blame Beth,” I say. “She’s the one who wants to talk.”

Lila looks over at my sister before hopping up onto the bed beside me, head turned to glare at Beth. Like she’s also waiting to hear what’s so important as to stop her playtime.

“So …” Beth says, “I was just talking to Mama …”

“Yeah. So?”

“She misses you, Hadley. A lot.”

I shrug.

“You know … she can have visitors. They have visitation days. She’d really love to see you.”

I don’t say nothing.

“I know it’s a long drive back down to Tennessee,” Beth continues, “but I’d be happy to do it. It’d be good for all of us. We could even make a day of it. Like a little road trip. We could stop by one of those big shopping malls along the way. Or maybe meet up with some of your friends in Tennessee and get dinner after? You can tell Mama all about your training with Cilia and what you’ve been up to with Lila and—”

“No.”

“But, Hadley—”

“No!” I say, louder this time. Loud enough it makes Lila jump. “I don’t want to see her. Ever again.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” I demand. “Mama taught me never to steal or lie. She taught me that those were bad things. And then she did both. Why should I want anything to do with her?”

“Because she still loves you,” Beth says. “She made a mistake. A real bad one. But she did it because she wanted to take care of you. I’m not saying that’s an excuse or that it was right. But it doesn’t change how much she cares about you, Hadley.”

“I don’t care.” I fold my arms over my chest. “I don’t want nothing to do with her. Besides, I thought you were about done trying to have nice days with me after what happened on Saturday.”

Beth looks down at her feet. “I shouldn’t have said the things I did that day. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I say. “You weren’t wrong. Neither of us asked for any of this. No sense lying about that and pretending we’re happy.”

“But we can make the best of it,” she offers. “Hadley, I did mean what I said that morning—I’m happy to have you back in my life, even if I didn’t … didn’t plan for it to be this way. I want to do nice things for you and spend time with you. It’s just … it’s hard when it feels like I can’t do anything without getting you mad at me.”

I shrug. I don’t know how to tell her that it ain’t her fault I got upset on Saturday—that it was really because I saw that girl staring at me. And I don’t know that I wanna tell her that, either. Because I know she don’t always deserve the way I treat her, and sometimes, I do feel bad about it. But I don’t know how to stop it. I got no clue how to stop being angry or how to not take it out on her. So maybe if she just accepts it now—that it ain’t gonna change—then she’ll stop trying so hard.

“Anyway … I don’t see why you’re the one telling me I should, considering you don’t even like Mama.”

“That’s not true,” Beth says.

“Ain’t it, though?” I ask. “You took off and then never called or wrote or nothing. Not to me or her. If you can go off and decide never to see her again, why can’t I?”

Beth don’t answer, and for a long moment, I don’t think she’s going to. I mean, what else is there to say? She just sits there, looking down at her bare feet on the carpet. But finally, she takes a deep breath and looks up at me again.

“What I did—leaving like that—it’s exactly why I think you should see her, Hadley.”

“I don’t want—”

“Just hear me out a second,” she says. “I won’t make you do anything you really don’t want to. But … But you asked me the other day why I left, and I didn’t tell you. Truth is, I’m real embarrassed about the whole thing. I ain’t proud of it. And if I could do it over again, I would.” She swallows, loud enough I can hear it. “After … After Daddy died, Mama and I didn’t get along well. We were both sad and angry, and we took it out on each other. We both said some not-so-kind things to each other, but I said the worst.”

I watch my sister, my narrow field of vision focusing on her face as best as I can. But she ain’t meeting my eyes.

“I’d already been planning to leave,” Beth explains. “I’d graduated. I’d saved up money to get an apartment with some friends. But the night before I was supposed to move out, Mama and I got into a fight. And I … at the end of it, I told her … I said …” Beth’s voice gets real shaky, and I think she might be about to cry. “I told her that I wished it had been her. Instead of Daddy, I mean. That I wished … I wished she was the one who’d died.”

“Oh.” The sound leaves my mouth on an exhale, but I hadn’t meant to make a noise at all.

I don’t remember that argument. I was pretty little when Beth left, after all. But I do remember her and Mama yelling a lot. And when I asked why, both of them would always just tell me not to worry about it. The morning after Beth went away, I found Mama sitting on the couch in the living room crying. All these years, I’d assumed it was because Beth had moved out. But now I see there was more to it than that.

Still, this throws me for a loop. The older sister I grew up with, the one I remember, was bubbly and energetic and maybe a little dramatic, but … Even now, as upset as I’ve been with her, I can’t imagine her saying something that mean. Just thinking something like that is terrible. And not the kinda thing I’d have expected from Beth.

“I didn’t mean it,” Beth says quickly. “I felt awful about it the minute the words left my mouth. But instead of saying I was sorry, I … I left. And I was too ashamed to talk to her again after that. Mama called me, and I didn’t answer. And she kept calling, but I … couldn’t talk to her. After a while, she called less and less. She stopped after a year or so. By then, I didn’t just feel ashamed for what I had said but for taking so long to apologize. So I … I stayed away. And I’ve regretted it. A lot.”

“That’s a stupid reason to stop talking to us,” I snap. I’m angry at her. It’s an old, heavy anger that sits on my chest. It mingles with something even more raw: grief. The grief and mourning I felt and pushed away years ago, when I first realized Beth wasn’t coming back. It’s all stirred up inside me again now.

I’m not upset with her for what she said to Mama, but that she didn’t just apologize and come home when she could have. I’m angry at her for letting that argument take her away from me. When I hadn’t done nothing wrong.

“You’re right,” she says. “It was. Especially because I know Mama would have forgiven me. I made a mistake, I did a bad thing, but she would have forgiven me. I just never gave her the chance.”

“And what about me?” I ask. “Were you too busy thinking about Mama to consider me? I thought you’d come home. I waited and waited. I knew y’all argued, but I never fought with you. I thought you’d come back for … for me. And I’ve been so, so mad at you that you didn’t. And I …”

I trail off. I wish I hadn’t said any of that, because now there are tears springing to my eyes. And I hate myself for being this pathetic.

“I’m sorry, Baby Sister.”

“Hadley,” I correct.

“Hadley. I’m … I’m sorry. I was young, and stupid, and you were … you were caught in the middle. I never meant for that to happen. I wish I could change things.”

I look away. Not because I’m mad at her, but because I ain’t sure what else I’m supposed to say to all this.

Beth don’t make me dwell on it too long, though.

“I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to, Hadley,” she says again. “But take it from me—seeking forgiveness ain’t easy. Especially from the people you hurt. But Mama’s trying. She’s trying real hard. You don’t gotta forgive her. That’s up to you. But … at least know what you’re doing, okay? I don’t want you to have the same kinda regrets I do.”

“What about you?” I ask. “You’ve been talking to her again. Did you apologize? Did she forgive you?”

“I did apologize,” Beth says. “And … she has. She forgave me right away. It don’t make what I did right or better. It doesn’t mean it goes away. But we’re trying. Both of us. It’s hard and uncomfortable, but … it’s better than losing her forever, you know?”

When I don’t say nothing in response, Beth gets to her feet. I keep my head turned and listen as she quietly walks out of the room and shuts the door behind her.

After she’s gone, I move to look at Lila, who’s still lying on the bed beside me. She’s staring at me with her big, dark eyes. She pushes herself into a sitting position so she can lick my cheek.

The best thing about Lila is, she don’t expect me to say nothing. I lean against her, wrapping one arm around her boxy frame, glad for the company that won’t judge the confused, frustrated tears sliding down my cheeks.