The entire drive to the Ardenaux's house, I silently beg and plead for some unlikely event to take place that will prevent us from seeing them: a flat tire, a spontaneous tornado, August breaking out into hives. I'd even be happy if King Kong himself fell out of the sky and blocked the roadway.

None of those things happened. Obviously.

We pull up to James and Parker's house; a quaint, little yellow cottage-style house with sky blue shutters bordering every window, nestled between a forest full of pine trees and a pond in the backyard that always had far too much algae for Aurora and me to swim in. The memories that I've tried so hard to suppress instantly come flooding back, as do the tears.

Mother lowers the ramp and guides me down it, somehow knowing I don't have the energy to do it on my own. My arms feel as if they're tied to one-hundred-pound bowling balls; I can hardly lift them on top of the wheels. Maybe it's just a side effect from surviving Desiree's boot camp, or maybe it's because I fear the conversation that's sure to come when we enter that house. Either way, mother continues to push me towards the front door, following father and August closely.

Everything looks the same: the flowerbed that Aurora and I picked lilacs from every spring, the porch swing we sat on while we drank Parker's homemade lemonade each summer, and the maple tree we sat under as the red and orange leaves rained down on us in the fall. But everything isn't the same. Aurora isn't here.

There's a series of odd-shaped stones placed on the grass in a sporadic pattern leading up to the porch. The wheels of my chair climb up the ridge of each stone, then drop off on the other side, repeating the process and making for a very bumpy ride. If I wasn't so emotionally vacant right now, I would probably be irritated.

At the base of the stoop, father curls one hand around the armrest and the other on the wheel, while mother does the same to the other side of the chair. With a slight heave, they hoist me up and over the two porch steps. August stands to the side, curiously watching while sucking his cherry Tootsie-Pop, eagerly waiting to devour the chocolate center.

Father presses a finger to the doorbell; my heart plummets to my stomach as I hear it ring on the other side of the door. A moment later, James slowly opens the door. His image is a little distorted from the screen door in front of him, but I don't need a magnifying glass to see the agony that's burned into his face. He forces a small smile; one that clearly says a lot of effort is required. "Thank you all for coming. Please, come in." He shoves the screen door open and we enter.

No. No! You can't do this. You can't! You killed their daughter. You killed her! Why are you even here, McKenzie? How could you have the nerve to show your face here ever again? You don't deserve to be alive. You don't deserve it! You should have never come here.

James nods at each one of us as we pass through the front door; his eyes seem to linger as they meet mine. I tear my gaze away from his, unable to bear the misery that swarms inside his hooded eyes.

It doesn't look like they've changed things around much since I was last here. The walls are the same mint and crème color, only a little dirtier from years of being lived in, and the beige colored carpet is a bit more worn than I remembered. Over the recent years, Aurora spent more time at my house than I did hers, mainly because we have more space. But the early part of our childhood was spent here in this house.

A pile of cardboard boxes is stacked in the corner of the room. A few of the boxes are open and I can see household items and other personal belongings protruding from the open flaps.

Are they moving?

James motions for mother and father to sit on a floral pattern sofa, while he takes a seat on an old, wooden chair. Most of their furniture looks like it came from a secondhand shop. August, still sucking on his Tootsie-Pop, sits down on the carpet and I roll up next to him in my chair. No one speaks for a long while. James exchanges empty glances with mother, then father, then me, but quickly looks away. He can't bear to look at me. I probably disgust him.

The silence drifts on to an incredibly awkward degree. James sighs uneasily, mother begins to wring her hands nervously, and father simply stares at the floor. This is so awkward. Why isn't anyone saying anything? My heart feels like it's trying to claw its way out of my chest.

I hear a loud crunch—August has eaten through the sugary layer of his Tootsie-Pop and is now gnawing at the chocolaty center. He appears to be the only one here not overtaken by extreme anxiety.

"Parker should be along in a moment," James finally breathes, then nudges a tray topped with tea and shortbread cookies in mother and father's direction. "Would either of you care for a cookie?"

"Yes, please," they say in unison, almost a little too quickly.

Above the TV, there's a picture frame hanging on the wall of James and Parker with Aurora in between the two of them. They look happy; their cheeks are jammed together with energetic smiles on each of their faces. Aurora is dressed in her cap and gown. That picture must have been taken on graduation day. Which means that was the last picture they ever took with her.

Parker shuffles into the room wearing a ruby colored bathrobe and black house shoes, taking a seat in a chair next to her husband. Her eyes are nearly the same hue of red as her robe, almost like she's spent the last half an hour bawling her eyes out. She looks worse than James. I don't remember her having any gray hair the last time I saw her, but now I see quite a few silvery strands stemming from her scalp.

Father starts in, "We would like to extend our condolences to you once again. I know McKenzie wasn't able to make it to Aurora's funeral, so she wanted to pay her respects in person." He then nods in my direction, giving me the vastly unwanted spotlight. I have no idea what to say to them, so I just sit here with my mouth hung open and this whole deer in headlights look about me, desperately trying to avoid both their heartbroken stares.

"I'm sorry," I finally manage to say. My voice is low, so low in fact that I can barely hear myself, let alone anyone else. Parker places a hand over her mouth and looks away.

Is she crying?

James rubs a hand over wife's shoulder; she collapses against him, lowering her head into the crook of his neck. "As I told your father, Kenzie," James says. "Parker and I hold no ill will towards you whatsoever. Yes, it's hard moving on without our daughter, but I know she wouldn't want us to stop living our lives simply because she isn't here to spend them with us. Recovery will be arduous; we've accepted that reality. We're just taking it one day at a time."

I can't believe how forgiving he is. I don't deserve it. I hate myself right now! I don't even know who I am anymore. My entire life has been a waste, always thinking of myself and no one else. And look where it's gotten me, stuck spending the rest of my days in this chair, like a baby confined to its crib. But I can't let my selfish actions control my life any longer. I need to change. I will change.

I raise my chin and boldly stare into their eyes. "James, Parker, I can't give back the life I stole from you. Aurora was more than just my best friend; she was like a sister to me. She was taken from this world far too soon and I know I'm to blame. Your kindness means the world to me. I can never repay what you lost, but I give you my word, I will change. I will spend every waking moment making sure my carelessness doesn't hurt anyone else ever again." My voice croaks with emotion. "I will make sure Aurora's death is not in vain!"

Parker gets up from the chair and rushes into the other room, sobbing as she exits. No one breathes a word for a moment. Was it something I said? Was I too forward?

We're back to silence again. James looks as if he's trying to process my words. I don't know how much more silence I can handle. There's too much pressure. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it throb in my ears. I think everyone's expecting me to say something else. Was what I said before not enough? What else can I say? What do I do? I think I'm gonna be sick.

James gets up from the chair and stumbles over to me, buckling to his knees in front of my wheelchair. His eyes are glassy. He curls an arm around my neck and draws me in close, resting his chin on my head. "I'm so glad to hear you say that. And you should know that Aurora loved you like a sister, too." My heart practically splinters at those words. I can feel the teardrops fall from his eyes and onto my head.

I whisper in his ear. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"I know you are, child. I know you are."

We stay and talk with James for a few more minutes; light conversation, not wanting to make our visit more wearisome than need be. There's a portion of me that feels incredibly relieved. I didn't know how this whole visit would go. I kind of expected them to come running out of their house with a butcher knife aimed at my head. I know the Ardenaux's aren't that way, but still . . . it's over now. I can breathe again.

Before we leave, James tells us that they will be moving out of town in a couple of months and heading west; though, not entirely certain where their destination currently lies. My guess is there are too many memories within this old house, not to mention having to pass by Aurora's bedroom each day. I don't blame them for wanting free of such bondage.

James sees us to the door. Mother wraps her arms around him, whispering something in his ear before they part, then father does that man hug-slash-handshake thing where they first shake hands then wrap an arm around the side and slap each other on the back a couple of times. August runs over and hugs James' waist, screaming gleefully as James picks him up and tosses him skyward.

Maybe my eyes are deceiving me, maybe it's a shadow or the way the sunlight is refracting off the windowsill, but for a moment, a split-second, a smile, a genuine unforced smile spreads across James' face. I think he's going to be okay. Yeah. He's going to be okay.

Door hinges creak from over my shoulder. I turn around in my chair to see Parker with her head between the door and its frame. She whispers loud enough for only me to hear. "It's your fault. It's your fault she's dead."

* * *

Death. It's starting to sound better and better.

I'm here at The Bluff, battling the many thoughts that are threatening to consume my brain. Maybe I should have shoved myself off this cliff the last time that I was here. It would have saved me the grief of knowing that Parker blames me for Aurora's death. I mean, I am to blame. I can't deny that fact. I was just hoping that after seeing how James was so understanding, almost fictitiously so, that maybe Parker would be, too, and that all would be well.

But all isn't well. And I seriously doubt it will ever be.

It's like a big rock is sitting on top of me, pressing harder and harder on my fragile bones. I'm practically drowning in self-loathing and acute depression. It seems like each time I take a step forward to accept my new life and all its unwanted friends, I'm slapped with something that sends me two steps back. And the process repeats.

I'm not sure I want to exert the effort to get my legs back. It's nearly an impossible feat, and even if I do everything by the book: go to all my classes, stretch my lower ligaments daily, even undergo surgery, there's still no guarantee that I will ever walk again. So why even try?

Pine needles rustle nearby. "Why so sad, Bestie?" Aurora sits on her knees beside my wheels.

"Sad? Why so sad?" A scoff. "Are you kidding me! My life is in ruins. I'm a total freak!" I sigh in frustration. "But you wouldn't understand."

"I dunno, I can be pretty understanding sometimes."

I glance down at my wheels; they're such an ugly sight, a sight I'm slowly getting used to.

"Try me." There's an insistent tone in her voice.

"We visited your parents today. It went horribly."

"What happened?"

"Your dad extended the kindness I don't deserve. Your mom did the opposite."

"What'd she say?"

I turn away and face the horizon. "She basically said that everything is my fault. And what makes it worse is she's right. I don't even know what I was expecting. Going into the whole thing I wanted to be forgiven and when that happened I knew I didn't deserve it. But then when I wasn't forgiven the only thing I wanted was forgiveness. Does that make sense?"

She rests her hand on my knee. It's a painful reminder knowing that I can't feel it. "Just give them time. They're good people, you know that. They once told me you're like the second child they never had. They'll come around. You'll see."

"Yeah. Maybe."

But I wondered. What if they never come to the place of peace. What if James harbors negative feelings towards me that he hasn't yet displayed. What if Parker isn't the only one who feels that I'm to blame.

What if.

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