Chapter 4

"Where is she, Diane?" Grandpa’s voice was dangerously low.

Mom wouldn't meet his eyes. "She was tired. She went up to her room hours ago. "

I stood right beside her, screaming. Liar!

Grandpa didn't even glance at the stairs. "Take me to her."

Dad stepped in, trying to play the peacemaker. "Dad, come on, keep your voice down. Lila is sleeping. Scarlett was throwing a fit all day. She was slamming doors, yelling, trying to ruin everything. We couldn’t let her destroy Lila’s birthday. Not tonight."

"So where is she?" Grandpa demanded.

"I put her in the basement to cool off."

Smack.

Grandpa’s heavy, calloused hand hit the coffee table so hard the wood groaned.

"You locked her in the basement?" Grandpa’s voice shook with a rage. "That place is a damp, moldy hellhole! Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

"I checked on her an hour ago. She is asleep. If we go down and wake her up now, she's just going to start screaming and wake Lila. Let her sleep. She's always been the healthy one."

"Tough?" Grandpa stepped closer, getting right in Dad's face. "Lila has a bad heart. I know that. Eleanor knew that before she passed. We all love Lila. But look at what you’ve done to Scarlett! Eighteen years in this house, and what has she gotten from either of you?"

Mom flinched. "We do our best for both of them—"

"Shut up, Diane!" Grandpa roared. "You don't do a damn thing for her! Lila gets imported supplements, Scarlett gets tap water. Lila gets the thick down comforter, Scarlett freezes with a cheap fleece blanket in the middle of winter! I look at this wall," he pointed a trembling finger at the fireplace, "and I don't see a single picture of Scarlett. Not one!"

I floated near the soup. Someone was finally saying it. Someone actually saw me.

"She coughs, Mark!" Grandpa grabbed my dad by the collar of his expensive shirt. "I told you many times. She sounds like she's wheezing every time I call. I told you to take her to a doctor. What did you tell me?"

Dad swallowed hard, his face pale. "She was faking it. She just wanted attention because Lila was sick."

"Faking it?!" Grandpa shoved him backward. Dad stumbled against the sofa. "She told you she couldn't breathe! You locked a kid with a chronic cough in a moldy, dust-filled basement! If she suffocates down there, are you going to stand there and tell me she's faking it? She’s also your daughter!"

Mom was weeping now, curling into the armchair and hiding her face in her hands. "I just wanted Lila to have one perfect day! The doctors said she might not make it past tonight! I couldn't let Scarlett ruin it! If we lose Lila..."

"You really don't get it, do you?" Grandpa looked at his own daughter with pure disgust. "Do you know what Lila asks me every single time I talk to her? She asks, Grandpa, is Scarlett’s cough getting better? She loves her sister. She worries about her more than she worries about her own heart."

Mom froze, her sobs hitching in her throat.

"Lila knows how you treat her," Grandpa said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "She knows Scarlett gets the scraps so she can get the best. It's killing her. You think Lila's heart can take the guilt? If anything happens to Scarlett down there, you won't just lose one daughter. Lila will never forgive herself—or you."

"I'm her mother," Mom wept, shaking her head. "I was protecting her."

"You're Scarlett's mother too," Grandpa said. "But God help you, you never acted like it."

No one slept.

The hours dragged on. I sat on the stairs, watching the miserable silent movie play out. Mom cried on the sofa until she passed out. Dad paced the floor, chewing on his thumbnails. Grandpa sat in the armchair, staring at the hallway.

Dawn broke. The pale, gray morning light filtered through the curtains, illuminating the deflated balloons on the floor.

The eighteenth birthday was officially over. The "deadline" the doctors gave Lila had passed.

Dad stopped pacing. He looked at the hallway leading to Lila’s room. His face was gray.

He walked toward her door. His hands were shaking so violently he had to grab his own wrist to steady himself. He raised his fist to knock, then dropped it. He did it three times. He was preparing himself to find a corpse. He was preparing for his entire world to end.

I floated right next to him. Knock, Dad. She's fine. I'd know if she was dead. There'd be two of us haunting this miserable house.

Click.

The doorknob turned from the inside. The door pulled open.

Lila stood there. She was wearing her pink silk pajamas. She looked pale, but she was standing up straight. She wasn't clutching her chest. Her breathing was even and steady.

"Mom? Dad?" Lila blinked, rubbing her eyes. Then she looked past them and smiled. "Grandpa? When did you get here? I'm really hungry."

The house went dead silent. For three seconds, nobody moved.

Then, absolute chaos.

Grandpa’s knees gave out. He dropped to the hardwood floor, burying his face in his rough hands, sobbing loudly. "Thank God. My baby girl made it."

Dad lunged forward. He grabbed Lila and pulled her into a crushing hug. Mom woke up with a start, saw Lila standing there, and started screaming. She ran over, tears streaming down her face, and threw her arms around both of them. They sandwiched Lila between them, a tangled mess of crying, laughing, and desperate relief.

"You're alive!" Mom wailed, kissing Lila's hair, her face, her hands. "Oh my god, Lila, you made it! You passed the deadline! Your heart!"

Dad was crying too. A grown man, sobbing like a child. "We’re going to be okay. You're going to live, sweetie. The hospital called yesterday—they think they have a donor match. We’re going to have a normal life. We’re going to be a perfect family!"

I stood a few feet away, watching them. A perfect family. Three people. No space for a fourth.

Lila looked overwhelmed. She patted Mom's back, breathing a little heavy from being crushed, then pushed Dad away gently. She looked around the living room. Her eyes scanned the sofa, the kitchen, the empty stairs.

Her smile faded. Her eyebrows pulled together.

"Where's Scarlett?" Lila asked.

The question hit the room like a bomb. The joy evaporated instantly.

Mom stopped crying. Dad froze, his hands still hovering in the air.

"She... she's downstairs," Dad stammered, his voice suddenly hollow.

Lila’s eyes widened in horror. "You left her in the basement all night? Dad, she couldn't stop coughing yesterday! It's freezing down there!"

Dad’s eyes widened too. He slapped his own forehead hard. "Oh my god. Scarlett."

He turned and sprinted toward the hallway. He dug desperately into his left pocket, pulling out the brass key. His hands were shaking so badly he dropped it on the floor. He cursed, scrambled to pick it up, and ran for the basement door.

Go ahead, Dad, I thought, drifting down the hallway right behind him. Open the door. Go see what you did.

I hovered right over my father’s shoulder as he pushed the basement door open. The hinges groaned. Instantly, the thick, foul stench of mildew, damp earth, and stale urine rolled up the stairs.

Dad froze.