Read Online Living With Regret by Lisa de Jong - Free Book Online Page A

It’s pristine, highlighted by a wooden spiral staircase. Everything in here is exactly how I remembered it. Beautiful. Classic. Extravagant. If only everything in life could stay like this.
    “Your mother was going to make up a space for you in the family room so you don’t have to go up the steps. Is there anything you want from your bedroom?”
    “No! I mean … I don’t want to sleep down here. I need my own space.” It comes out harsher than I intended, but I need time to think, and I’m not going to be able to get that down here with everyone around me.
    “Fine, Rachel, but when we’re not home, I want you downstairs in case anything happens,” he says, rubbing his fingers along his forehead.
    “Which is all day every day,” I say under my breath.
    “What?”
    “Nothing. Can you take me up to my room? Please.”
    Just as he’s about to help me to my room, Mom walks through the front door with a bag of groceries in her hand. “I didn’t think you guys would beat me here.”
    “Things went pretty quickly at the police station. She has a good lawyer,” Dad says, smiling almost as if I’m not even here. He met his goal for the day. It doesn’t matter how shitty I feel … making it out of the police station was the least of my worries.
    Mom pats his shoulder and heads for the kitchen, yelling back at us as she goes. “Did you show her where she’s sleeping?”
    “She wants to sleep in her room. I’m going to help her up now.”
    “Okay, I’m standing right here! Quit talking about me like I’m not in the room!” I yell, feeling weeks of frustration coming to the surface.
    Dad looks down at me, brows furrowed. He’s probably wondering where his sweet, obedient daughter went. He needs to get used to this version of me because the old one’s never coming back. “Let’s get you upstairs so you can get some rest.”
    The process doesn’t seem as bad this time, even though it’s more steps, because I’m driven to have some alone time. Neither of us says a word, and by the time we reach the top, Mom’s right behind us with a bottle of water and a plate of her homemade chocolate chip cookies. There used to be a time when I’d devour them on sight, but I could care less right now. This is an emotional mess that carbs can’t fix.
    When I’m standing safely at the threshold to my room, Mom hurries inside to put my snack on the table next to my bed while Dad excuses himself to return to work.
    “I’ll be home for supper,” he announces as he walks down the hall. I kind of doubt it since he rarely is. Today’s not going to be any different.
    The first thing that catches my eye when I look into my room is the bulletin board above my desk. It symbolizes years of memories … years of Cory. There’s a picture from our first date, our first dance, our first Christmas, and all the ones after. Everything on that board made me happy at one point. Everything on that board symbolizes, in full color, what I no longer have.
    “Are you okay?” Mom asks when I don’t move from the spot in the doorway.
    “No,” I say honestly, feeling warm tears slide down my cheeks.
    “Do you want to talk about it?”
    “No, just help me to my bed. Please.” I choke back my emotion when I notice the picture on my nightstand. It was the day of our high school graduation. We were both so happy, with no idea of what was to come one year later. We’d both had our graduation parties the night before, so after the ceremony was over, we headed to the parties of a few of our friends. I’d felt like all arrows were pointing my life in the right direction, especially when he took me out to the lake after the last party and we talked, well into the morning hours, about the future. And now I realize, too many lives are cut too short. There’s no notice, but if you live every day like it matters, like what you do or say really means something, there should never be regret.
    When we met with the police earlier, they mentioned