The Lies About Truth Read Online Free PDF Page A

aseries of plastic surgeries when I’m healthier. I’m hopeful those will help. Maybe then I’ll have conversations with my friends, family, and strangers that aren’t about my face or the wreck.
    It’s crazy. In the time we need each other most, we don’t seem to know what to do with each other.
    The doctors put a steel rod in my arm. If they’d been more considerate, they would have inserted a forgetbutton in my chest. Ah, the limits of modern medicine.
    Sadie
    From: [email protected]
    To: [email protected]
    Date: July 28
    Subject: Apology Central—How may I direct your call?
    Max,
    Yeah, I’m not surprised Gina and Gray emailed you. Both of them asked me for your email address. What you said is fine. I would never tell them stuff about you, either. And yes, they say
I’m sorry
like those are the only two words in their vocabularies.
    Honestly, I don’t want their sorrys. All I want is for them to look at me—to see me the way they used to. I want to believe that who I was for sixteen years is stronger than the picture they have of me now. Can I ever be the crazy, fun girl again?
    At the very least, they could stop bullshitting me. I’m tired of them saying, “Sadie, you’re looking much better.” How wouldthey know? Neither of them will actually look at me, so . . .
    Mom says they feel guilty for causing the wreck, which I get, but losing them, and Trent, and even you (in a way) is too much for me right now.
    Sadie
    From: [email protected]
    To: [email protected]
    Date: July 30
    Subject: RE: No Skype, Please
    Max,
    The fact that you can’t see me helps big-time. It’s easier to email someone the truth when you know you don’t have to face him. Maybe if Gina and Gray went away, it would help. Maybe I’ll go away instead.
    You and I didn’t hang out as much as Trent and I when you lived next door, but it’s nice to have something new that didn’t exist before our world hit the spin cycle. Mom says painful events are life’s wrecking balls—they make doorways that let some people out and others in. I guess these emails are me putting a welcome mat at the foot of the rubble and whispering, “Max, come on in.”
    That’s scary, but it’s helpful. If that is ever too much pressure, let me know. Something about this feels right. Or maybe it just feels easy.
    I need some easy.
    Other people mean well, but they don’t, or can’t, understand. They ask how I’m doing and it’s awkward because I don’t have a clue. There are two parts to the question:
    1. How am I doing physically?
    2. How am I doing without Trent?
    I don’t know how to answer either. Do you?
    As for number two, this is my guess: He was your brother. He was my friend. I know exactly how you’re doing without him. I take how I feel and multiply times a billion.
    Sadie

CHAPTER SIX
    I humbled myself the next morning and asked for a ride to the airport. That ask went down better than expected. Mom was as ecstatic to see the McCalls as I was. She even offered to straighten my hair and do my makeup—an offer I happily accepted. I’d take all the help I could get.
    About forty-five minutes into the process she threw down the eyelash curler and said, “Looking good. You want nail polish, too?”
    “Nah, I’ll just chew it off.”
    She smacked my hands away from my mouth. “It’s Max. You don’t have to be nervous.”
    “That’s exactly why I’m nervous. I don’t want to screw this up.”
    “Flip your head over a few times.”
    I did as instructed. When I straightened back up, she set a straw fedora on my head and tweaked two rogue strands into place. “Bea uti ful,” she whispered.
    I stuck my feet in a pair of sandals and said, “Let’s hope Max agrees.”
    Mom placed both hands on her hips. “If he doesn’t, he’s fired.”
    I laughed and thanked her.
    “Hey, it’s what I’m here for.”
    Mom took advantage of getting me out of the house, doting on me, treating me to a meal at the pier (dark,