The Gravity of Us(3)

“I do.”

Those two words were the same he’d used to promise himself to Mari through sickness and in health. Those two words were now forever drenched in agony and filthy lies.

He stepped into his car before driving off without once hitting his brakes. I stayed in the driveway for a few moments, unsure of how to walk inside and tell my sister that her husband had abandoned her during her storm.

My heart cracked again.

My heart broke for my sister, the innocent one in a world full of ruthlessness. She’d given up her free spirit life to live a more structured one, and both worlds had turned against her.

I took a deep breath and placed the palm of my hand around my heart-shaped necklace.

Maktub.

Instead of running like Parker, I went to see Mari. She was lying in her bed resting. I smiled her way, and she smiled back at me. She was so skinny, her body pushing each day to fight against expiration. Her head was wrapped in a scarf, her once long brunette hair now nothing more than a memory. It made her sad at times, staring into the mirror, but she didn’t see what I saw. She was so beautiful, even in sickness. Her true glow couldn’t be stolen away by such changes to her body, because her beauty stemmed from her soul, where only goodness and light resided.

She’d be okay, I knew she would, because she was a fighter.

Hair grew back, bones regained strength, and my sister’s heart was still beating, which was reason enough to celebrate each day.

“Hey, Pea,” I whispered, hurrying over to the bed and crawling into it to lie beside her. I lay on my side, and she turned on hers to face me.

Even in her weakness, she found a way to smile each day. “Hey, Pod.”

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

She shut her eyes. “He’s gone.”

“You knew?”

“I saw him packing when he thought I was sleeping.” Tears started rolling from the corners of her eyes, which she kept closed. For a while, we just lay there. Her sadness became my tears, and her tears articulated my sadness.

“Do you think he’ll miss me when I die?” she asked me. Whenever she brought up death, I wanted to curse the universe for hurting my best friend, my family.

“Don’t say that,” I scolded.

“But do you think he will?” She opened her eyes, reached across to me, and held my hands in hers. “Remember when we were kids and I had that awful dream about Mama dying? I spent the whole day crying, and then she gave us all a talk about death? About how it isn’t the end of the journey?”

I nodded. “Yes, she told us we’d see her in everything—the sunbeams, the shadows, the flowers, the rain. She said death doesn’t kill us, it only awakens us to more.”

“Do you ever see her?” she whispered.

“Yes, in everything. In absolutely everything.”

A small whimper fell from her lips, and she nodded. “Me too, but mostly I see her in you.”

Those words were the kindest I’d ever had delivered to me. I missed Mama every second of every day, and to have Mari say she saw her within me meant more than she’d ever know. I moved in closer to her and wrapped her in a hug. “He’ll miss you. He’ll miss you while you’re alive and healthy, and he’ll miss you when you’re a part of the trees. He’ll miss you tomorrow, and he’ll miss you when you become the wind brushing against his shoulder. The world’s going to miss you, Mari, even though you’ll still be here for many years to come. The second you’re better, we’re going to open our flower shop, okay? You and me, we’re going to do it.”

All our lives, my sister and I had been in love with nature. We always had a dream to open a floral shop, and even went so far as to attend Milwaukee’s School of Flower Design. We each earned degrees in business so we’d have all the knowledge available to us. If it weren’t for the cancer, we would’ve had our shop. So, once the cancer was gone, I planned to do everything in my power to bring that shop to life.

“Okay, Mari? We’re going to do that,” I said once more, hoping to sound more convincing, hoping to bring her ease.

“Okay,” she said, but her voice dripped with doubt. Her brown doe eyes, which were shaped like Mama’s, were filled with the deepest look of sorrow. “Can you get the jar? And the bag of coins?”

I sighed, but agreed. I hurried to the living room where we’d left the jar and the bag of change sitting the night before. The Mason jar was wrapped with pink and black ribbon, and it was almost full of coins. We had started the jar when Mari was diagnosed seven months ago. The jar had the letters NT written on the side, which stood for negative thoughts. Whenever one of us had a bad thought race through our minds, we’d place a coin in the jar. Every negative thought was leading to a beautiful outcome—Europe. Once Mari was better, we’d use the money to go toward us backpacking across Europe, a dream we’d always wanted to bring to life.