What She Left Behind ✔️

chapter thirteen

I watch as Evangeline runs through my parent's backyard. With February coming to an end, the weather has warmed up enough that it's safe to go outside without a parka. In my coat and gloves, I'm still shivering, but Evangeline, who's adorned in boots, jeans, and a sweatshirt, seems unaffected.

"She's come so far," I say.

"She really has," Bowie agrees.

"And she looks so much like Raelyn. It's a little eerie."

"Nah, Raelyn had red hair. Vange's is brown."

"It's in the eyes," I tell him, "and not just the color. The way they twinkle when she's happy, the way they squint when she's upset or confused, the way they look at you so hard it's like she's staring into your soul... that's all Raelyn."

"Maybe. I don't know. You knew Raelyn better than I did," Bowie replies, taking a seat on the back porch.

I shake my head and sit down beside him. "A lot of people think I knew Raelyn, but I don't think I did at all."

He raises his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

The only people who know about the flash drive are Levi, Griffin, Ella, and myself. I'm tempted to tell Bowie, but I don't want to include him in all of this. With only one out of four videos watched, I'm not sure what this is yet. Either way, Bowie doesn't need to know about the secret life of Raelyn Porter.

"Just, you know, the fact that she committed suicide," I finally say. "I didn't see it coming, and I feel as if I should have. It's hard not to blame myself for what happened."

Bowie chuckles. "Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?"

"Huh?"

"You went from calling Raelyn selfish to literally blaming yourself for her death. That's a pretty big change of heart."

I shrug my shoulders. "Levi and I had a talk. I'm trying to be more open-minded and less judgmental."

"Probably not a bad idea."

"He's been through a lot. This whole situation has been one big trigger for him."

Bowie's blue eyes widen. "Did you just use 'trigger' unironically?"

I smile to myself. "Yeah, I guess I did."

The crunch of tires on gravel sounds from the front of the house. Evangeline runs toward us, her cheeks flushed from the frigid air.

"What's up, kiddo?" Bowie asks her.

"Someone's here," she says, looking past him.

"Benson told Mom and Dad he was gonna stop by. He said he had a surprise for all of us," I inform them.

Bowie places his hands on Evangeline's shoulders and guides her up the back steps. "We should get you inside, Vange. Don't want you to get hypothermia."

"But I'm not even cold," she protests.

"Your rosy cheeks say otherwise," he responds.

She spins around and meets my gaze, a please-help-me look in her eyes. Although she's adorable, I can't override Bowie. He spends more time with her than I do and therefore has more authority. It's rare if I see the six-year-old more than once a week.

Despite her assertion about not being cold, Bowie brings her into the house. I head to the driveway and see Benson's Mercedes-Benz parked at the bottom. He gets out, greets me with a wave, and then runs to the other side of the vehicle to open the passenger door.