Destiny Binds(79)

“Why is Tinsley making funeral arrangements?”

“You remember that aunt Alex had in Montana?” I nodded. “Turns out, she doesnʼt exist. In fact, none of the contact information they provided the school is correct. Since we have no way of reaching the next of kin, the Senior class took up money to pay for a funeral. As class president, planning the actual service became Tinsleyʼs job.”

“What about Liam? I mean, I know they donʼt have much money, but heʼs still his brother.

Shouldnʼt he be making funeral arrangements?”

Talley examined the bags hanging from my IV pole as she spoke. “No one has seen Liam since he carried you into the emergency room.”

“Since he did what?”



“After Alex fell, Jase and Charlie started howling for help. Liam was hunting close by. He was already carrying you out of the woods when I got there.” Her eyes met mine once again.

“It was just like my vision. You were laying across his arms, blood everywhere.” Something was off. Wrong. There was too much that didnʼt add up. Too many questions without answers. Too much to process. Fortunately, the nurse came with her syringe of liquid oblivion, saving me from trying.



***

I did, in fact, get released from the hospital on Sunday morning. The doctor was hesitant, afraid of infection, but Mom agreed to continue IV antibiotics at home. She explained that I had a funeral to attend.

We got to the cemetery just before the service started. I was wearing a light black cotton dress that was two sizes too big so it wouldnʼt agitate my sutures. Dad pushed my wheelchair along the uneven ground as gently as possible.

The entire school turned out for the memorial service. I doubted even half of them had actually known Alex. They thought they were grieving for the boy who died, but really they were just mourning their long held sense of immortality.

Everyone stared at me as we made our way to the front. My hospital room had been filled with cards, flowers, and balloons from fellow classmates, yet every time I looked over the crowd eyes darted away like cockroaches scurrying from the light. The Scout Donovan who stood at Deathʼs door was a beloved friend of the entire Senior class. Scout Donovan, the survivor, was merely a spectacle, a topic of conversation.

I briefly wondered if it should bother me.

Since Alex was not active in any of the local churches, the service was conducted mostly by the high school administration and staff. Our principal, Mrs. Tavers, started by talking about the tragedy of losing someone so young. Several of Alexʼs teachers got up and spoke about what a good student he was and his positive attitude. Mrs. Sole was the only one that talked about him like she actually knew him, although most of her speech was unintelligible through the sobs. After the eulogies, Jane Potts did an emotionally draining acoustic version of “When Soul Meets Body”. The service ended with a prayer led by another senior, David McGowan, who was heading to seminary in the Fall.

And then it was over. The whole of Alexʼs life had been reduced to a generic grave side service attended by people who never knew him in any way that mattered. I wanted to scream at the injustice of it all.

“Baby, do you want to go say good-bye?” Dad nodded towards the casket where several people had gathered, most of them leaning on one another for support.

I did want to say good-bye. I wanted at least one person who knew him, who loved him, to stand by his casket and acknowledge the life that was lost and could never be replaced, but there were so many people. People who watched me through the entire service, waiting for some response. People who wanted to see me break down, wanted to witness my grief. What were they saying about me? About my relationship with Alex? About what happened that night?



Why on earth did I care?

“Yes, please.”

The group of mourners parted as Dad wheeled me forward. I saw groups of people turning to look at me. For the first time in my life, I truly didnʼt care what they thought. If they wanted a show, fine. I would give them one.

The casket was, of course, closed. I was grateful. I had already seen his face pale and unmoving once before, I couldnʼt stomach doing it again.

There was a photo sitting on top. Normally it would have been a Senior picture, but Alex had never got around to doing those. Instead, it was a candid shot, obviously taken from a cell phone. He looked like a kid at Christmas, joy seeping from every pore. I had already forgotten how beautiful he was when he was like that.

I stretched out my hand and placed it on the casket, ready to say my goodbyes, but the words got stuck in my throat. I stared at the plain wooden box, my thoughts and emotions in chaos. I knew it was impossible. I watched him die; he was gone. Yet I was certain, beyond a shadow of doubt, that the casket was empty.