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lot of late-night phone calls from him when he said you were the only thing that keeps him going, that he was so grateful he had you, because if he’d lost you both in the accident, he would have killed himself.”
    I can feel my eyes filling up with tears again, but this time Aunt Sarah had me on the ropes and showed no mercy. “He talks about how you have these facial expressions like your mom had, and how you are the only part of her he has left.”
    Oh, that was below the belt. “So now he’s getting rid of both of us,” I managed to sniff out before a really embarrassing sob escaped. Aunt Sarah waited until I got myself under control.
    “He’s not getting rid of you, Declan. He’s giving you a new life.”
    “Well, I liked the old one.”
    “Yeah, that’s why you immerse yourself in music and games that are all about death.”
    Call me an idiot, fine. But don’t mess with my metal. We’ve had this discussion before. Like, don’t you think it’s a little sick the way that most of the culture denies death? It’s there all the time, and most people act like it’s not going to happen to them. I guess it would be better if I listened to some bullshit pop music about girls with big asses dancing.
    “Hey, great pastoral counseling there, Reverend. I feel tons better. Thanks.” I walked out of her office and headed home.
    When I got home, I cranked up some Norwegian metal, popped Hitman 2 into the Xbox, and spent a nice long time “immersing myself in death.”
    But here’s why Sarah is an idiot about this stuff—I felt so much better after a couple hours of this. Like I could look Dad in the eye when he came home and actually apologize for being an asshole to him. I mean, I was still pissed, but he is giving me a chance to be in the same building as a naked Neilly Foster, and I do appreciate that. And I didn’t know that stuff about him living for me or whatever. Basically, I have no idea how to feel, but at least having had my ass kicked by some growling Norwegians helped me to feel the bad stuff strongly enough that I could put it away for a while. Or maybe not. I have no idea.
    The rest of the week was pretty normal. I guess maybe I spent even more time than usual listening to metal and playing video games, but every time I turned around, Dad was there trying to have some kind of meaningful conversation, and I just had to duck out of those. I mean, I figure if we can coexist peacefully in the house, let’s do that—why mess with success by talking stuff over?
    I saw Neilly in the halls three times over the course of the next week. Every time she saw me she at least nodded her head in my direction, and I give her a lot of credit for that. Because, let’s face it, she’s got everything to lose and nothing to gain by being nice to me in the Darwinian jungle of high school. Well, I mean, okay, it’s not like she stopped and had a conversation with me, but at least she acknowledged me as a fellow human being, which most of the kids who occupy the top of the social totem pole at our school would never do.
    Well, there are the two football players who think it’s really hilarious to call me “Columbine” every time they see me. I’m not sure if that counts. I suspect it doesn’t.
    Of course, even if Neilly had stopped to talk to me, I probably wouldn’t have been able to talk to her, because a great deal of my mental energy was now devoted to the forbidden-love-between-stepsiblings fantasy.
    I’m lying. It was much more of a forbidden-sex-between-stepsiblings fantasy. It’s not like I wanted to sit in the stands at the football game holding hands with her or take her to the stupid prom or whatever.
    This is why, that weekend, I was tongue-tied when she showed up after church as I was vacuuming the parish hall. Well, that and the fact that she was in the backseat of my dad’s car with her mom in the front seat. Well, plus the fact that my Dad had just unexpectedly picked me up at church and said,