After the Wreck, I Picked Myself Up, Spread My Wings, and Flew Away Read Online Free PDF Page A

really haven’t a clear idea what state your mother’s finances were in at the time of the”—Dad paused with a look of discomfort—“accident. I’m hoping they were in some sort of order. I tried to help Lisbeth out as best I could, but with my new family and new responsibilities it wasn’t easy. At least there is a life insurance policy naming you as beneficiary. And a fully executed will…”

    Will! I hated that word.
    Mom is not dead but in some other place. Where you can’t hurt her anymore.
    I smiled thinking of this. Maybe in some way it was true.
    In La Jolla, Dad was saying, I would continue with outpatient therapy as well as “the other kind.” (Mental?) It wouldn’t be cheap, but at least the sale of the Tarrytown house would help pay for my treatment.
    It was time to depart for JFK. Dad was a man who enjoyed ending visits. The way he glanced at his watch with a prim little frown as if he feared the time yet with a look of satisfaction that time was passing. A final squeeze of the hand, a final kiss. Promising to call, and I must keep my cell phone on, and get busy with the paperwork to La Jolla Academy.
    “Dad, please. I’m not transferring.”
    “What?”
    “I’m not transferring to that school. I’m not moving to La Jolla.” I swallowed hard. My voice was surprisingly calm. Dad was staring at me as if I’d spoken a garble of foreign words. “…can’t forgive you. You were cruel to Mom and hurt her more than you needed to, and you hurt me, too. And now you want to make it up. But you can’t. This is after the wreck.”

    Dad was on his feet, hovering over me. There was a shocked look in his eyes that shifted to that steely-sharp look I remembered. The look signaling Don’t provoke me! Either of you.
    My voice had started shaking. Dad touched my arm and I felt a sudden rush of emotion, a sinking-down sensation, as if I wanted to be hugged by him. Except Dad was saying bitterly, “Your mother turned you against me—of course. Cruel is her word. I was trying to be truthful, not a hypocrite. You blame me, but what about your mother? It was her careless driving that caused the accident, killed her and nearly killed you.”
    I couldn’t believe what my father was saying! Blaming Mom for her own death.
    “It wasn’t Mom’s fault, what happened—it was mine. I was to blame.”
    “Jenna, what? What are you saying?”
    “I—I don’t know. I think I was to blame. But it wasn’t Mom’s fault.” My throat began to close. I was trembling. I needed to summon strength from some place deep inside me. In the blue was lost to me now but I tried to recall what it had been, the sky opening into emptiness, in the distance white geese pumping their wings, lifting out of sight.
    Wait for me, take me with you….
    Dad was gripping my shoulders, shaking me. My eyes flew open.

    Dad was telling me that I was sick, “mentally unbalanced,” “in need of psychotherapy.”
    Somehow I was able to break free of him, of his angry fingers gripping my shoulders. I shoved a chair between us so he couldn’t grab me again and hurt me. It was strange how he’d never touched Mom, only me. Shaking me, scolding me, terrifying me so I was too stunned even to cry, with Mom looking on, begging him to let me go, tears glistening on her face. Only if Mom begged, if Mom said the right, placating words, would Dad relent. And I would be free to run away.
    I wasn’t afraid now—maybe a little afraid—but it was happening so fast. I wasn’t even feeling much pain in my legs, pain that made me cry out like a wounded animal when I was led through my exercises.
    In a shaky but loud voice I told my father I didn’t want to live with him and his new family.
    “If you try to force me, I’ll run away. I don’t love you! Not after what you did to Mom.”
    Dad’s face was flushed and not so handsome now. I could hear his angry breathing. A strand of damp, metallic-looking hair had fallen across his forehead.

    “Jenna,