Left Behind(9)

A quiet hush comes over the room as we walk in. Heads turn in our direction. The minister takes his position at the front of the room, silencing the murmur without words. Slowly, my parents lead me to the front row. I feel all the eyes in the room watching me, even though I don’t look up.

Three chairs wait for our return. Mr. Bennett insisted we sit with him. I was Emily’s family as much as he was, he said. I thought the weight of my guilt might be enough to pull me through the floor.

Ahead of us, a small table sits on one side of the ornate wooden casket, a tribute to Emily’s life. A shrine. Four pictures in frames highlighting the life of the girl I loved: Her parents with her at her communion  . Her junior yearbook picture. Me and Emily all dressed up for junior prom. But it’s the last one that gets to me, rips a hole right through my already torn heart. Emily riding her canary yellow Schwinn. Memories flood back to me…the day I met her, the first time she let me ride it. Her on the handlebars chattering away as I peddled us to the park where we’d play on the swings for hours. It breaks me. Tears roll down my face uncontrollably, my shoulders shuddering, each breath between sobs burning my throat.

The minister begins to speak. Words flow from his mouth, yet I don’t hear anything he says. To my left, my dad hangs tough, tightening his grip around my shoulder. To my right, my mother silently sobs alone. I can’t even bring myself to comfort her. Long minutes go by, the haze I’m in blocking me from reality until a verse catches my attention.

“We cannot judge a biography by its length.

Nor by the number of pages in it.

We must judge it by the richness of its contents.

Sometimes those unfinished are among the most poignant.

We can not judge a song by its duration.

Nor by the number of its notes.

We must judge it by the way it touches and lifts our souls.

Sometimes those unfinished are among the most beautiful.

And when something has enriched your life.

And when its melody lingers on in your heart.

Is it unfinished?

Or is it endless?”

***

Graveside, hours later, I stand watching an endless stream of mourners place a rose on Emily’s casket before they walk away. Tears gone, I’m numb, inside and out. I watch, but don’t really see. Touch, but don’t really feel.

Eventually, only my family and Emily’s parents remain surrounding the hole in the ground, where Emily’s casket rests next to a mound of dirt. My father nudges me, speaking quietly, “Come on, Son. You need to say your goodbye and leave Emily’s parents to do the same.”

Mr. Bennett looks to me and then to Mrs. Bennett. Mrs. Bennett nods, a single tear falling from her eyes. “No, please, I think we should go. Emily would want Zack to be the last one here. She may have been my daughter, but her heart belonged to your son.”

Placing his hand on my shoulder and squeezing as he walks by, Mr. Bennett’s voice is choked up as he says quietly, “Say your goodbyes, son.”

My parents walk to the waiting cars along with Emily’s. Finally alone, I stand staring down at the pile of roses atop of the casket. Emily’s final words to me come flooding back, the first memory I’ve allowed myself since it all happened. “You’ll be sorry tomorrow, Zack Martin. And, you know what, by then it may be too late.”

Falling to my knees in the muddy grass, I cry. And I cry and I cry. Until there’s no more tears left to come.





Chapter 11



Nikki—


Brookside, Texas— 5 months later


“This isn’t permanent, Ash,” I whisper so Aunt Claire and Ms. Evans can’t hear. “I’ll be back after I find her. I promise.”

I mean it as I say it, but as soon as the words come out I start to wonder if I will really be back.

This morning, I stood in a courtroom while a judge granted my aunt temporary custody. I can’t believe how fast time has gone by. The pain of losing Mom is still fresh, yet at the same time it feels like forever since I heard her voice. The mixed emotions on Ashley’s face could be a mirror image of mine.

“I’m happy for you, Nikki,” she says with a hesitant smile— the kind of smile you form when you don’t know if you’re happy or scared. I know she’s scared— for both of us.

“Thank you for everything,” I say, hugging Ashley tightly. I’m not normally a touchy-feely person, so this unexpected demonstration of affection makes Ash start to cry.

“Nikki, we have a lot to do before you can get on a flight with your Aunt tomorrow.” Isn’t that just like Evil Evans, not being sensitive enough to spot a moment between Ashley and me?

Aunt Claire steps in. “Why don’t you come to the airport with us tomorrow, Ashley? We can have lunch and you can spend a little time together before our flight. The car service can take you back home after.”

I feel like I’m Annie and I’ve just been adopted by Daddy Warbucks. Ashley squeals a thank you at Aunt Claire and squeezes me once again. At least I’ll be departing Brookside in style.

***

As I pack up the last of my things in Ashley’s trailer, I start to wonder if I’ve made the right decision. The way Aunt Claire looked at Donna and the dim, cramped trailer makes me wonder if she’s looking at me the same way now. Whenever she’s come to visit, Ms. Evans has always driven me to a restaurant or her hotel. Aunt Claire comes from a world where trailer parks don’t exist. I don’t know if that’s the right world for me. This is the only life I’ve ever known.

I tuck away my thoughts, reminding myself that finding my sister is more important than my feeling a little uncomfortable. I don’t intend to live with Aunt Claire forever, or even to stay in California. I just need to find my sister and figure out what to do from there.

“Almost ready, Nikki?” Aunt Claire asks as she comes in from bringing the next-to-last box from the trailer out to the waiting town car. “We have to get the boxes over to a delivery store. You know you have to pay just to take a bag on the plane these days. So, we’ll ship whatever we can.”

The truth is, I didn’t know. I’ve never even been on a plane before. But I agree, pretending what she says makes sense.

Picking up the box I’ve purposely left for last, I ask, “Can I carry this small one on the plane with me? Will it count as a bag?”

Aunt Claire stares at the small cardboard box clutched in my hands. “Of course, you can carry anything that’s important to you.” Her voice gentle, she asks, “Is that box important? We could get a new box. That one looks just about ready to fall apart, I think. They sell them in the UPS package store we’re going to.”

“Just some of my mom’s things and a few pictures. Things I’ve moved in the same box every time we moved.” My own voice drops, becoming shaky, as I answer. It isn’t easy to leave. Mom and I didn’t live here that many years, but this is the first time I’ve ever moved without her.

Aunt Claire’s face turns solemn. I’m not sure if it’s because I mentioned Mom or because I mentioned moving around a lot. I get the feeling Aunt Claire feels badly that I’ve had what she thinks must have been a crappy life, full of moving over and over again.

“I’m sorry, Nikki. I can’t image how hard this is for you. You must miss your mother. I’m so sorry, honey.” Tears gently roll down her face. I’ve never seen anyone cry in such a polite, pretty way before.

“She was also your sister.” I don’t look at her as I say the next words. “I’d imagine that it’s just as hard to lose a sister. At least I got to spend most of my time with her…you weren’t that lucky.”

Aunt Claire nods solemnly. I turn to look for Ash, so we can leave, but she’s nowhere in sight. Instead, Donna has snuck up behind me.

“We’re going to miss you, honey,” she says, holding out her arms. If Aunt Claire is Daddy Warbucks, Donna is playing the part of Miss Hannigan to a tee. She hasn’t called me honey in the five hundred times I’ve walked through her door. I’m suddenly conscious of the smell of her cigarettes and cheap perfume.

At the door, I turn back to take one last look around, sending a silent prayer to Mom: I promise I won’t let California change me, no matter what.





Chapter 12



Zack—


Long Beach, California


I hear the door bell ring but I don’t leave my room. That’s the way it’s been every day since it happened. People came by a lot more in the beginning. Friends from school, neighbors, my aunt and cousins. It took five months, but the stream of well-wishers has finally slowed down. Maybe that’s the way it happens. Time just has a way of making things ease up. For me? Nothing has dulled the pain since Emily died.

My mom’s talking to someone downstairs but I don’t recognize the voice. That’s happened a lot too lately. I hear things, but nothing registers. Voices and words all jumble together and it all sounds the same. Nothing sparks my interest, nothing brings me out of my haze.

The talking stops again. I guess whoever came by has left. People don’t stick around long since Emily died. Even my parents, who come in my room a dozen times a day, maybe more, leave quickly.

There’s a knock at my bedroom door but I don’t bother to get up. Mom and Dad don’t wait for me to answer anyway. They knock once and come in. I get the feeling they’re afraid of what they might find if they wait to knock a second time.