I thought about my shoulders, pretty sure there already were consequences for this. That thought made me even angrier. Was my swimming career over? Had I damaged them permanently this time? I stood and went to my bedroom.

“Don’t walk away from me!” she yelled after me.

I retrieved the award from beneath my bed, went back, and dropped the envelope at her feet. “That’s the last one of those I’ll probably get. I’m glad you wanted to see me win it.”

Her anger seemed to fade as she stared at the envelope. Finally, she bent down and picked it up. “What is this?” she asked after she took it out.

The small square showing the distinction was missing so I took the envelope from her, dug it out, then handed it to her.

She scanned the words.

I sat back on the couch, my anger fading as well. “I really didn’t mean to break the truck. I was just going to drive it. Face my fear of him, of you always choosing him. And then I was going to put it back. But it all went wrong.”

She sat down in the chair by the couch as though she couldn’t stand anymore. “What do you mean me always choosing him?”

I had finally controlled my emotions. “Mom, you know what I mean. You have to.”

“But it’s not him I’m choosing. This is what I do. This is my job now. People count on me. I go to all your swim meets. I went to all your grade school sporting events.” She stopped, her gaze going back to the award still in her hands. She took a deep breath. “I chose him over you.” A single tear fell down her cheek and she swiped it away. Then she put the award on the end table next to her and looked at me for several long minutes. But she wasn’t looking at me; she was looking through me, lost in her thoughts. “My grief has become a living thing.”

“I know,” I said. Because I really did know. I knew what this was. I knew she hadn’t gotten over my brother’s death.

“I’ve fed that grief year after year. I let it grow. I have let it take over my life.” She put her face in her hands. “I have let it take over our lives. Hadley, my sweet girl, I’m sorry.”

I opened, then closed my mouth again. Of all the reactions I was expecting, it wasn’t this. I didn’t expect her to recognize it so quickly.

She wiped at her tears again and met my eyes. “When I came home and saw the platform bent, saw the truck in the drive, I thought . . . I thought someone had tried to steal it. I thought someone had come into our house. Had hurt you. I was so scared.”

Maybe the disaster outside with the truck had helped her come to these realizations more quickly than she might have otherwise. “You weren’t worried about the truck?”

“I was worried about you. I love you. You know that, right?”

I nodded. I did know that. Things just needed to be different.

“I never saw anyone after I lost him. A professional, I mean. Someone to help me through my grief. We had you and you brought so much joy into our lives and I pushed that grief of losing him deep down. I thought I’d moved forward. I hadn’t.”

I stood. “Can I show you something?”

She let me get the keys and lead her out to the truck. She climbed inside with me and reverently touched the dash like she hadn’t been inside since he was alive. I turned on the engine and played the recording of Eric.

Sobs shook her shoulders as she listened.

Yes, it was decided. I was definitely a sympathetic crier.

When it got to the part about laughing, my mom smiled through her tears. “I don’t believe this has been in here this whole time.”

“He sounds fun.”

“He was fun.”

The sound of the tape turning in the deck made me reach forward and turn it off.

“And moody and angry and belligerent sometimes,” she said.

I looked at my mom in surprise.

“It’s easier to remember the good times.” She tapped the lid of the cardboard box that sat between us filled with the memories of Eric.

“What would you put in a box like that for me?” I asked, and wished I hadn’t because that seemed morbid, that seemed unfair, and I had put her on the spot.

But she didn’t seem to mind. She smiled. “Lots of swim stuff for sure, caps and goggles and swimsuits.”

That was the easy answer but I was glad she’d been able to think of something so fast.

“And music,” she went on. “You’ve always loved music. From the time you were little. It seems to take you to another place.”

“I like music.”

“I know. And we can’t forget your lime Slurpees. Those would go in there. Plus, your phone. And probably a best friend charm to represent what a wonderful friendship you have with Amelia. You truly are an amazing friend. Loyal and giving.”

I wasn’t sure if she was going on and on because she felt so guilty or if she just couldn’t stop herself but I didn’t care either way. I was happy.

“I’d have to bottle some sand from the lake because you’re always there in the summer. And maybe one of your many ribbons to show how competitive you are.”

“Okay, Mom,” I said, thinking that maybe she’d go on all night if I let her.

“I’m sorry for ever making you feel like I didn’t know all that.” So she did realize why I needed to hear it. “Sometimes, Hadley, I think that you don’t need me. You’re so independent. So hardworking and motivated and dedicated. And I feel like you have your life all figured out and that you don’t need me for a thing. I should’ve never let that feeling be my excuse.”

The words Jackson said earlier about how I shut people out came flying back into my mind. “I need you,” I told my mom. “I’ll always need you.”

“Good.” She kissed my forehead and gave me a hug. “Because I’ll always need you too.”

When she let me go, I pulled the squirt gun out of the cardboard box and pointed it at her. “What do you say? You want to go dance on a grave?” I squirted her.

She held up her hands with a squeal. “Yes. Let’s.”

I started to get out.

She touched my shoulder, stopping me. “Let’s take this truck.”

This truck. Had she ever referred to it as “this” anything in her life? It had always been Eric’s truck. I wasn’t sure I wanted it to be mine. I kind of wanted something that didn’t make me a little bit sad every time I looked at it. But it was nice that it was possibly an option now.

I nodded and took a deep breath. Just as we were about to back out of the driveway, my dad pulled up.

“Is he going to kill me?” I asked, nearly forgetting I had another parent to talk through this.

She threw the door open, slid the box to the floor, and shifted to the seat next to me. “Daniel, we’re going for a dance.”

My dad approached the truck, wary. He took in the collapsed platform and the bumper I’d thrown into the back. His normal smile was far from present. “What’s going on?” he asked in a heavy voice. One which showed that when he offered to sell this truck, he might not have been quite emotionally ready.

Mom patted the seat next to her. “Hop in. I’ll explain on the way.”

She would explain on the way. I didn’t have to. This brought me a lot of relief. He sat down next to her, still in his work suit, his tie loosened. She started with, “Your daughter won a swim award a couple weeks ago that usually only seniors win.”