Page 27

Ronnie

H er bottom lip quivers before tears burst along with a heart-wrenching sob. Her body crushes against mine, face planted in my chest as I sit next to her. “I never wanted anything other than someone to talk to and hold when everything falls apart.” She wrote it in our project and shattered my heart into tiny particles. I reach around to cuddle her, inhaling her musky scent into my lungs.

For ten minutes straight she cries and it hurts my soul.

Bradley rubs her back in soothing patterns, lifting a bottle of water he must’ve taken before they went out and signaling me to tell her.

“Amber, Bradley has water for you.” I kiss her forehead. “You need to drink some.”

Sniffling, her body trembles but her crying slows down.

“You told me I could tell you when I’m ready.” She takes a few sips but refuses to detach from me.

I stay silent only nodding to confirm when she peers up at me.

“Purple is my favorite color.” She pauses to gasp uncontrollably. “When I was five I wanted everything in purple —my dress, room, hair. It made me peaceful and I wanted my sister to love it too. They set me down near the hospital bed and put her in my arms for the first time. She was tiny and calm. Then Dad glanced at Mom and said choose her name anything you want. ”

I’m barely breathing. My glossy eyes meet Bradley as he tucks himself around us, letting Amber know he’s here for her too.

“I knew it had to be Violet.” Her voice breaks again. “For a year I held her nonstop, forced my parents to buy her purple clothes, and dreamt of the day we could play and talk to each other.”

It never came. I can hear those words trail off without her saying them.