Chapter 7 Elise's Smile

For one second, Elena could not breathe.

Then she closed the door behind her, slowly, like nothing was wrong. She walked to the bed and sat down next to her sister. She did not grab the notebook. Grabbing it would make it look important.

"You read my diary," she said. "We're twenty-three, Elise. Not twelve."

"Don't do that." Elise's voice shook. "Don't make a joke. Why is my name in here? Why does it say die?"

Elena looked at the page. Her own handwriting stared back at her. Four lines. The last one was darker than the others, because she had pressed so hard.

She could not tell the truth. Who would believe it? I died. You died first. I came back.

Elise would laugh. Or worse, she would be scared of her.

So Elena told the closest thing to the truth she could.

"I had a nightmare," she said softly. "Two nights ago. It was raining, and there was a car, and you were in it. And I couldn't reach you." She swallowed. "I woke up crying. I couldn't stop shaking. So I wrote it down. A teacher told me once that if you write a bad dream down, it stops feeling so real."

Elise stared at her.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"A dream."

"A very bad one."

For a moment, Elise did not move. Then she let out a breath and laughed, a little too loud.

"God, Lena. You scared me." She shut the notebook and pushed it into Elena's lap. "You and your feelings. You always take everything so seriously."

But Elena saw her hands. They were still shaking. Elise pressed them flat on her knees to make them stop.

"You've been strange since yesterday," Elise said. "Hugging me. Crying. Telling the whole family you're marrying Adrian." She tilted her head. "Is that because of the dream too?"

"Maybe," Elena said. "Maybe I just woke up."

Elise looked at her for a long time. Then she smiled. It was the bright smile, the one she used on teachers and boys and their father.

"So it's true," she said. "You're really giving me Damien?"

There it was. The real question. The one she had come here to ask.

Elena thought of the hallway. The whispering. I'll take Elena's place in the car.

She thought of the hospital, too. The white lights. Don't come between me and Elise.

"He was never mine to give," she said.

Elise's smile froze, just for a second. Then it came back, even brighter.

"Well," she said, standing up and smoothing her skirt. "I hope you'll be happy with the ice block."

At the door, she stopped. She did not turn around.

"Lena?"

"Yes?"

"In your dream." Her voice was very small now. "Did I die?"

Elena held the notebook tight against her chest.

"It was only a dream," she said.

Elise nodded. She walked out. She did not close the door all the way.

Elise did not go home.

She drove around the city for an hour with the radio off. She did not know where she was going. She only knew she could not sit still.

She should have been happy. This was what she had wanted for years. Elena was stepping aside. Damien was free.

So why did she feel like someone had slapped her?

Because I didn't win him, she thought. She gave him to me.

Like an old sweater. Like the last cookie on the plate. Here, Elise. I don't want it anymore. You can have it.

That was how it had always been. Elena got the good grades. Elena got their father's proud looks. Elena got Damien's umbrella when they were seven, while Elise stood in the rain and watched.

And now Elena got to be the one who walked away. The noble one. The one who chose.

Elise had planned it all so carefully. The switch on the wedding day. The surprise. Damien seeing her in the white dress and realizing it had been her all along. She had imagined his face so many times.

Now there was nothing to plan. Nothing to win.

She hit the steering wheel with her palm. Hard. It hurt.

Then she turned the car toward Damien's apartment.

He opened the door in a wrinkled T-shirt. His hair was a mess. His eyes were red, like he had not slept either.

"Elise," he said. "Hey."

Not oh, it's you. Not come in. Just hey.

She smiled anyway and walked past him into the living room. It smelled like old coffee. There were empty cups everywhere.

"You look terrible," she said.

"Thanks." He sat on the couch and rubbed his face. "Did you see her this morning?"

Elise's smile tightened. "See who?"

"Elena." He looked up. "Is she okay? Did she say anything about last night? About me?"

"She's fine." Elise sat down beside him, close. "She went to breakfast with Adrian."

Damien went quiet. He looked at the floor.

"Adrian," he said. "She doesn't even know him."

"Maybe she wants to."

"That's not like her." He shook his head. "None of this is like her. She looked at me last night like…" He stopped.

"Like what?"

"Like I'd done something terrible. And I don't know what it was."

Elise put her hand on his arm. "Damien. You didn't do anything. She's the one who changed her mind."

He did not answer. He just stared at nothing.

After a while, he stood up. "I need a shower. I can't think. Stay, if you want. There's coffee."

The bathroom door closed. The water came on.

Elise sat alone in the messy room. She hated it. She hated that he had asked about Elena three times in five minutes. She hated that he had not once asked how she was.

Her eyes fell on the coffee table. Under a pile of mail was a black sketchbook. Damien had drawn since he was a boy. Silly things, mostly. Cars. Dogs. Once, a terrible picture of their art teacher.

She pulled it out and opened it.

The first page was a grave.

Gray stone. Dark rain. White flowers lying in the mud.

She turned the page. Another grave. The same one.

She turned again. And again. Ten pages. Twenty. The same stone, the same rain, drawn over and over. Some of the lines were shaky, like his hand had been half asleep. One page had a date at the bottom, written in messy pencil. Three in the morning. Last night.

Elise's skin went cold.

On the last page, the drawing was clearer than all the others. He had pressed so hard the pencil had torn the paper. And this time, there were letters carved into the stone.

She leaned closer to read them.

The name on the grave was ELENA.