Page 32 of As the Rain Falls (Sainte Madeleine #1)

Our estate holds so many of Angelina’s best childhood memories with Lucia. It is her home too in a sense, though I wonder how she feels about it now that the memory is also tainted by my sister’s death. I can’t help but ask myself if it’s tainted for her the same way it is for me.

Lucia and I had plans.

Dare I even say, big ones?

We were going to leave Le Port after she graduated. Lucia wanted to study art or astronomy at a university overseas. She honestly could’ve done either. My sister was brilliant, talented, and unstoppable. Now, her room sits frozen in time, her things left untouched, gathering dust.

It makes me sick to think of her dreams trapped there, forgotten on this island. The fact that her stuff will remain stuck here, unused, for as long as my parents will allow it, deeply unsettles me. It’s unnatural.

Her voice pulls me back, cutting through my thoughts.

“Your parents… They’re not together anymore?”

“They’re divorcing, I’m sure. But honestly, I stopped keeping track.” I slow down my steps, turning slightly towards her. “Whatever decision they might make is coming a little too late.”

“That’s true,” Angelina nods, seemingly at a loss for words. “By the way, I’m sorry if Mom put you on the spot like this. She’s been really big on us talking things out, and you know how she gets overbearing sometimes.”

I shake my head. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“She means well.” Angelina’s eyes flick to mine, still hesitant. “I swear, she does.”

I sigh, noticing the guilt in her reaction. I don’t want her to feel that way.

“Maybe she’s not wrong, though,” I add softly. “We do need to talk.”

“Beckett.”

“Just hear me out.” I stop walking, lightly touching her arm to get her to stop, too. “This is my fault. It’s totally, one hundred percent on me. I behaved like a complete asshole.”

Angelina’s thick eyebrows shoot up, startled. “But you were grieving, which is totally—”

“I was mean,” I cut in, my throat tighter than before.

Remembering what I accused her of, the things I said, the words taste bitter. It’s not the man I want to be.

“I know I blamed you because Lucia got in that car, but it was never your fault.”

Angelina wraps her arms around herself protectively. “But I overstepped first. You told me to leave you alone, remember?”

“I honestly don’t.”

The funeral is a complete blur in my head. The only thing I’m sure of is Antony’s mom forcing me into bed and how I felt too numb to argue about being tucked in like a child.

“I… Listen, can we not talk about it anymore?” Angie’s voice wavers, but there’s real hope in her eyes as she looks at me. Maybe she’s been waiting for this moment just as much as I have. “You’re like a brother to me and I really don’t like fighting with you.”

“I know. Me neither.”

She swallows hard, staring at her hands like she is trying to solve a complicated puzzle that won’t fit together.

“I thought about it, you know? The doctors helped me make sense of everything, kind of. I wasn’t in my right mind, Beckett. I was imagining things, seeing things that weren’t even there. It’s so humiliating to think about now. I mean, I was really high that night, you know?”

I’m not lying to you, Beckett. She wasn’t drunk!

Why would I believe you of all people? Lying is literally all you’ve done so far!

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” my voice breaks towards the end of the sentence. “If it’s too hard, I mean. You don’t owe me anything. Especially not after I made you sick. I was awful to you.”

“You didn’t make me sick, Beckett. My head’s just really messed up.” She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “I just hate how everything went down. I’m really sorry, Beckett. If I’d known this was going to happen, I would’ve done something.”

“Like what?”

“I would’ve called you,” she exhales guiltily. “You would’ve come and picked us up.”

Accident avoided, in her head. But I know better.Lucia did call me that night. I woke up to multiple calls and texts. I didn’t answer or call her back. At the time, I just—

“Yeah.” I look away, feeling my eyes start to sting.

Angelina shudders, hugging herself.

“I hate this town so much. I hate that I’m probably never getting out of here anymore,” she admits, barely containing her anger. I wait for her to finish her sentence, and Angelina forces a smile as her eyes flicker back to me. “At least you won’t have to worry about being alone.”

I blurt out, “What are you talking about?”

My tone is a little too sharp, filled with disbelief and shock.She rolls her eyes at me, but there’s hardly any humor in the gesture. I can tell the thought of meeting that ending bothers her, even though she’s pretending it doesn’t.

“You know how it goes. I’ll probably find myself a boyfriend if I’m lucky and my reputation isn’t entirely trashed. Get knocked up right after high school. Work at a shop or something. That’s what happens to girls like me.”

Her voice lowers at the end, some kind of resilience that is so unlike her. I try to laugh at first, thinking she’s just messing around, but nothing about what she said feels funny to me. It sounds more like a death sentence.

“No, you won’t,” I state firmly, concerned about her mental state. “Please, tell me you’re not being serious.”

Angelina smiles, daring me to argue, “Is there something wrong with being a housewife, Beckett Evans?”

“You can’t tell me you’re giving up on college and expect me to not have something to say about it,” I almost yell, my voice rising despite how hard I’m trying to control myself. She laughs, like, fully laughs . “Seriously, Angie. Stop. That’s not funny at all.”

“Oh, so you just became the biggest college advocate now? When did that fucking happen? What did I miss while I was stuck in a psych ward?”

I didn’t go to college. Never really wanted to in the first place. The whole idea of higher education feels suffocating. I don’t even know what I’d major in. Maybe one day I’ll leave this town, this place, and get a degree or something.

Who knows? But I doubt it.

It doesn’t mean she has to stay stuck here too.

“Don’t even start, stupid head.” I roll my eyes, lightly punching her shoulder. “This is all weird talk coming from you. You’ve always wanted to go to college. What’s really going on?”

Angelina presses her lips into a thin line. I step closer, nudging her gently.

“Talk to me. Tell me what’s happening. Let me… Let me help.”

“I’m just… having a hard time; that’s all,” she explains, her voice weak.

“I mean, my change of diagnosis put me on new meds, but taking them makes me feel like a zombie. I missed the whole beginning of the first semester, and we both know that’s the most important out of the two.

I won’t get into any good colleges now, not anymore.

It’s all stupid stuff, I know, but I can’t help but feel like such a loser. ”

The words come out of me instantly, contradicting her statement.

“You’re not a loser, Angelina.”

“Yes, I am,” Angelina snaps back, her tone derisive towards herself. “You’re the one who lost a sister, but I’m the one who went all psychotic about it.”

“I have reasons to believe you’ve lost a sister too,” I say, placing my hand at the top of her head. “You were inseparable—as close as Antony and I are, or any friend can be. And you were the last person to talk to her at the very end, Angelina. That matters more than you think.”

She swallows hard, blinking fast like she’s trying to keep it together. It can’t be easy to carry all that weight, just like it isn’t easy to be under my skin as Lucia’s older brother.

Angelina and I will always be connected by both our love for her and the loss that came with it. I understand why she feels the way she feels, but she can’t let her grief drag her down like that. The grief will kill her.

“People are so mean,” she concludes, her voice barely above a whisper.

There is resentment there too, something I find relatable.

“Are they now? I hadn’t noticed,” I try to joke, but my tone is too bitter.

“They stare at it.” She touches her arm self-consciously. The skin is wrapped up with bandages. “Everywhere I go. I can’t wear anything but long sleeves anymore. All my dresses, all my shirts, everything really.”

“That sucks.”

I think about it, about the stares I get on a daily basis. Pity whispers, petty gossip, and all the other things I choose to tune out. I’m way above all that, and I mostly don’t pay attention to them, but it still hurts sometimes.

“This feels like the first real long conversation I’ve had in a long time. Besides Antony and Well, I guess,” I admit.

And Cassandra .

I talk to Cassandra too, now more than ever.

“Well, it honestly sounds like a safe decision.” Her voice fills the space between us for a full minute, raw and unsteady, before she adds, “But not for me. I can’t miss any more school.”

“You really can’t.” I nod in agreement. “Have you made any friends? Anyone to talk to?”

“I don’t really know,” she admits, her voice still wavering with uncertainty.

“I talked to this friend I have online. There’s this boy I know who likes the same shows I’m always watching and this girl I used to hang out with, Alice.

She sent me a text back when I was still at the hospital.

Maybe I’ll sit with her at lunch instead of eating alone. ”

“Yeah. Maybe you really should, kid.”

She hesitates, her voice dropping lower, “This is going to sound weird—and I know you’re, like, really weird about touch, but… Can you give me a hug, or something?”

“Of course, Angie.”

I awkwardly pull her into my arms, and she exhales a shaky breath, melting into my embrace. Angelina’s always been the kind of person who needs physical affection. Hugs and holding hands are how she shows affection.

For her, it feels like coming home.

But for me?

Love is a warm meal and an honest conversation. A moment where I can voice my unfiltered thoughts and be answered at the same level. It’s a good thing that we got to do both tonight. I’m really glad I reached out to her.

“Don’t make me start worrying about you too, okay?” I whisper in her ear. “I’ve lost one of you, but I can’t lose both.”

“You won’t,” she promises, her voice trembling. “I’m just so sad about it.”

My arms tighten around her before I finally let me go.Her brown eyes are red-rimmed and so distant, it breaks my heart a little for her.

“Sadness is okay,” I tell her gently, knowing it can’t be helped. “Just don’t let yourself be sad for too long.”

She looks up at me, admiration in her gaze. “How do you do it? You’re just so put together while I’m a fucking mess, and you’re the one comforting me.”

Ah.

I’m not put together.

Not even close to it.

After Lucia died, we all dealt with things the way we could.

My mother left. My dad shut down. But I got angry and mean.

Mean in my head about every little thing.

I lashed out at her, at Antony. She doesn’t entirely understand how cruel I was to her after the funeral.

The things I said and thought, how badly I wanted her out of my life.

I can’t tell her about the investigation or my suspicions that something worse happened to my sister. What if knowing breaks her all over again? What if, this time, she doesn’t recover?

“I don’t,” I tell her, swallowing hard. “She’s gone, and I get what being gone means. But it doesn’t feel real, Angie. It’s like she’s—It’s like she’s here, sometimes. Like, I can feel her…”

Breathing down my neck.

“Does talking to me about it make it easier?” Angelina asks after a moment of silence, and I hum in response.

“I think it does. Antony and I talk about her sometimes too, just for the sake of it, you know?”

“Antony?” Angelina echoes, her head tilting back thoughtfully. “He really did like her, didn’t he? There was a time I thought he didn’t.”

I don’t add anything else, and the spark in her eyes dies out.

“You should invite me over, Beckett. I think I missed talking to you. I miss the house. And Pepé.”

“You can visit anytime. I mean, if it’s not too weird for you,” my voice falters for a second, remembering that I still haven’t packed Lucia’s stuff. “Her room’s still there. I didn’t touch anything.”

Is that weird? Maybe. But death doesn’t come with a guidebook.

“Good,” Angelina lets out a shaky, half-hearted laugh. I can tell she’s trying to put herself back together again. “That’s really good, actually. I think I left some shirts there. And probably some dirty laundry, too.”

I snort, knowing the closet is probably a mess, “Well, I’m not touching any of that.”

“Please, don’t,” she grins, her almond eyes crinkling at the corners. “Or maybe you should, I don’t know. I love the idea of you washing my panties as a revenge plot for putting me in the hospital, you know?”

“Oh, God.” I groan, rolling my eyes as far as I can. “Will you shut up?”

“What?” she smiles, a real one this time.

It tugs something loose in my chest, a breath I’d been holding for too long. I love this girl. I watched her grow up, so she’s like a sister to me. I want to keep her safe from the world, from all the bad things inside it.

“Is it too soon to joke about it?” Angelina teases, sounding like a complete smartass.

“It definitely is too soon, Angelina. Get a fucking grip!”

“Is it really?” her grin widens. “What? It didn’t feel like it was at all!”