With a deep, fortifying breath, Kyla opened the door. The entryway was dusty and decorated with cobwebs, the pictures on the walls barely visible under a film of grime, the floor dull with all the dust. No one had set foot in the house since a few days after the three tragic deaths, when her parents' attorney had arranged to have the food removed from the house.
He'd told her it was to keep the smell away and the rodents out. She hadn't cared about anything at that time and told him to do what he wanted. But when he'd said he would remove the Christmas decorations, too, she'd freaked out, screaming at him to leave them alone.
Later she'd apologized, but he was a kind man and had never tried to make her feel guilty about her behavior. He had offered to have a cleaning service take care of the house, but she hadn't wanted anyone inside, feeling that it would be an invasion, an insult to her mother. So the attorney had the lawn taken care of, the outside of the home looked after, but no one came inside.
Kyla's and Tanner's shoes left marks in the dust covering the floor as they walked inside, and dust motes danced around them in the thick, stale air. She found herself drawn to the family room, where a brown tree stood tall with some decorations still clinging to its brittle limbs, and some broken on the floor, the weight of the ornaments just too much over so much time. Finally, sitting beneath the once lit tree, were many wrapped gifts, all of them covered in dust.
"I'm so sorry, Kyla," Tanner whispered as he stood behind her, lifting his hand to place on her shoulder.
"This is how I feel inside - dead and broken," she said as tears welled up in her eyes.
Those gifts had been picked out with love, some of them for Kyla, some for her brother, and some for her parents.
With a few steps, she stood in front of the tree and sank down to the dirty floor, her hand reaching out as she touched one of the once brightly wrapped gifts. Picking it up, she ran her hand over the top of the package, wiping away the filth that covered its beauty.
"This one is for my brother. I got it for him. It's a football jersey for the Washington Huskies. He would have opened it and laughed, telling me there was no way he'd wear a jersey from a rival school, but he would have worn it when he got homesick. We were close, closer than most siblings. Yes, we had our fights, but we loved each other immensely. We could kick each other's asses, but if anyone else messed with either of us, we'd jump in and defend the other. I miss him so much," she said, now not making the least attempt to hide the tears.
"I don't know what to say, Kyla." Tanner just sat next to her and wrapped an arm around her.
"There's nothing to be said. It's been two years, and yet it feels like yesterday. Why was I the one who got to live? It's not fair."
This was something she'd never said to anyone, not the therapist she'd seen for a year, not the police, not the hospital staff - not a single person. Why was she saying it now - to a stranger? Maybe because it was easier to speak with him, someone she knew she wouldn't see again when this thing between them was over.
It wasn't a matter of if, but of when it would end.
"It's Christmas. Why don't you open this?" he asked as he grabbed a small package and wiped away the dust covering the tag, showing her name clearly written in her mother's beautiful calligraphy.
"I can't," she said, though she took the package from his fingers.
"She would want you to have it."
"How do you know that? What if she just wants to be home, wants to celebrate the next fifty Christmases with her family, like she's supposed to?"
"I know she would want you to have it, because if I had a child and I died, I would watch over that kid from above, smile when they triumphed and cry when they fell. I would want my child to go on, no matter what happened. That's all any decent parent wants for their kids."
"Do you have kids?" Kyla asked, turning to look at Tanner, really look at him.
He paused. "No, I don't." He decided not to add that he probably never would, either.
Kyla looked down at the package, and she suddenly felt herself undoing the paper. Inside, shining up at her from a bed of velvet, was a gold heart-shaped locket with a smaller heart carved into its front.
Her fingers shaking, she opened the locket and found, staring back at her, a tiny picture of her family, one of the photos they'd had taken a month before the accident. On the opposite side was an engraved message: We love you forever and always, Love Mom and Dad.
Kyla smiled and sobbed and laughed at the same time as she closed the locket and struggled to open the clasp on its chain. Tanner gently eased it from her fingers and placed it around her neck.
"How can I go on?" she asked, her mouth trembling as her fingers clutched the golden heart, which rested near her own.