Angel Falls (Angel Falls Series, #1), Babette Jongh [books for 6 year olds to read themselves .TXT] 📗

hurt have its way, I might never find my way back again. I realized now, the wave of grief that had knocked Ben to his knees was just now hitting me. “I’m sorry.”

But being sorry wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough to stop the suffering I knew I deserved. The tears were stronger than I could ever be, and they burst out, coming so fast I couldn’t stop them or even wipe them away.

I heard Lizzie barking in the back yard. She’d heard me keening and wanted to come inside and make sure I was okay. But I couldn’t move, trapped in an undertow that wouldn’t let me surface.

Headlights lit up the walls of my old room as my parents’ car pulled into the drive.

When had it gotten dark? I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and pulled against the bedpost to stand, unlocking muscles gone stiff from sitting so long on the floor.

Mama met me in the dark hallway and flipped on the light. “Oh, my dear.” She pulled me into her embrace. After a few moments, she led me into the kitchen and dosed me with half-a-Valium and a huge slice of chocolate pie with cream cheese and coconut frosting.

Lizzie had already been let into the house and fed a plate of leftover stew, so she had no objections when Mom insisted we stay the night. I took a warm bath, and Mom brought hot tea for me to drink and wet tea bags to put on my swollen eyelids. I knew the tea bags wouldn’t do much good, but I used them anyway.

It was nice to be pampered for a while, and I knew I needed it, though I didn’t deserve it. After my bath, I put on a T-shirt of Daddy’s and one of Mom’s big velour zip-front robes. In the living room, Daddy stretched out in his recliner, the remote control clutched to his chest, sleeping to the sound of the television blaring loud enough to wake the dead.

It was good to be home.

“Lizzie was filthy.” My mother came into the room behind Lizzie, who smelled strongly of peppermint shampoo. Lizzie splayed her feet and shook, leaving her damp fur standing up in spikes—and startling my dad from his before-bedtime nap. “Don’t you ever bathe her?”

“Huh?” Daddy fumbled for his glasses and snapped down the footrest on his easy chair.

“I bathed her last week, I think.”

“Hello, mangy old dog,” my dad greeted Lizzie in his usual way, absently petting the top of her wet head. Lizzie was only two when I got her from the pound shortly after moving back home. She was neither mangy nor old, but that was Daddy’s form of endearment for all canines.

I grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. “How can you hear yourself think with all that noise?”

My dad stood. “Come on, Lizzie. Let’s go to bed.”

Mom planted a kiss on his mouth. “See you in a little while.”

“G’night, Daddy.” I gave him a hug.

“G’night, baby girl.” He returned my hug then patted mom on the butt. “Don’t stay up too late. Come on, dog,” he commanded to Lizzie.

Lizzie looked back at me once then followed him down the hall.

“Your fur’s too wet for you to get on the bed, you know.” He held the bedroom door open for Lizzie to pass through. “You’ll have to sleep on the floor until...” And the door clicked shut on their one-sided conversation.

Mom sat in her recliner and I sat in Dad’s. “So,” Mom said, “tell me what’s going on.”

My feelings were so complex I hardly understood them myself. “I feel so bad for Ben and the kids. I wish I knew what to do for them.”

“Why do you have to do anything?”

“Of course, I have to do something.” Couldn’t she see that?

“Well, it’s a sad situation, I agree with you on that. But I still don’t see why you feel—”

“If Melody hadn’t come with me that day, she’d still be—”

Mom sat forward, making the recliner squeal. “Well, now, you correct me if I’m wrong.” Her face had tightened with something that looked almost like anger. “But it was my understanding that you were going with her. She was the one driving, was she not?”

I just looked at her. She knew the answer to that question.

“Sweetheart.” Mom’s voice softened. “You’re always trying to save the world. Just don’t lose yourself in the process.”

“Mom...” I wanted so badly to tell her about the accident. The part I hadn’t told anyone. The way Melody had died, her last request, and my promise. But if I told even one person, I ran the risk of everybody finding out.

“What, Casey?”

“Nothing.” I looked away so she couldn’t read my face. “Nothing.”

We sat for a moment in silence. Then Mom stood and turned out the lamp. “Let’s go to bed. Things will look better in the morning. Do you need the other half of that Valium?”

“No.” I still felt sad, guilty, and desperate, but thanks to the Valium, my feelings sat a few feet away, just looking at me instead of trying to poke my eyes out.

I slept all night and most of Monday morning in my old bed. Classes didn’t start till two in the afternoon, so I could afford to be a slug. Mom served me breakfast at lunchtime, then disappeared into the laundry room. I sat at the kitchen table, looking out the bay window at Lizzie lounging by the pool. My sadness, guilt, and desperation sat beside me, small, quiet companions much more easily managed than the night before when I’d lost it over a stretched-out swimsuit.

My cell phone broke through my thoughts.

“Casey, your purse is ringing!” Mom yelled from the laundry room. She carried my brown leather bag into the kitchen by its long strap, bringing with her the comforting aroma of fabric softener.

I answered the call and listened with a sinking heart. “I’ll be right there.” Disconnecting, I dug through my purse for my car keys.

Mom handed them over,