Undersold(48)

“Yeah, we all should.”

I looked around the house. The quiet continued to smash down on me.

“What do we do now?” I asked.

John shrugged. “I figured we’d start packing the house up a bit. At least go through everything. Then we have to go down to the funeral home, set everything up with them, and talk to the lawyers.”

“I can’t imagine putting their things in boxes.”

John sighed and sat down on the couch. “Neither can I, Amy. I don’t know what we’ll do with all this stuff. I don’t want to do anything with it, if I’m honest. But we might as well start dealing with this the best we can.”

I moved over and sat down next to him. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” I whispered.

“I miss him too.”

We sat in silence together for a few minutes and looked around the house. I remembered Mom making dinner in the kitchen while Dad played with the three of us in the living room, letting us ride around on his back like a horse, or wrestling with us. He’d pick us up and toss us into the air, then throw us onto the couch. We’d do that over and over until Mom eventually made us stop to eat dinner. I remembered asking him for help with homework, and laughing when he didn’t know all the state capitols. I remembered his face, tear-streaked, when I woke up in the hospital after the accident, and him explaining what had happened. I remembered him holding me as I cried. I remembered the long nights he worked, John watching over Derek and me, and how tired he was all the time, dragging himself into his truck and out of it. I wished I could go back and make his life easier, but knew I couldn’t. He was gone, and the best we could do was pick up and keep going, be good to each other, and give him the best farewell we could.

I stood up from the couch and walked upstairs as John busied himself in the kitchen. I sat on the floor of my childhood home and looked at my phone. Shane’s texts had gotten more worried, and I knew that I wasn’t being fair, so eventually I sent him a message.

Father passed away. Need time off work. I kept it simple and didn’t mention the scene with Janice. It kept playing through my head, and mixed with my grief. It was hard getting out of bed those first mornings, but I had to help John make arrangements.

I’m so sorry Amy. Take all the time you need. That was all he said, and his worried messages stopped. I missed the buzz of the phone, almost as if it were actually Shane’s voice, but memories of my life in my old room started to come flooding back, and I soon forgot him in my grief.

A few days passed, and it was Saturday. I hadn’t heard from Shane for two days. I’d been staying in Dad’s house with John, and the funeral was set for the next morning. We had packed up a lot of the house, and had spent a lot of time reminiscing about the stuff we found. Some of it I never knew about, like my mother’s wedding dress, and most of her jewelry; I guessed Dad didn’t have the heart to get rid of it. I packed away a few small things to keep in memory of them.

Eventually, the grief turned from overwhelming to barely manageable. I didn’t want to cry every hour anymore, but the hole Dad left was still fresh in my chest, and it was difficult to get through the day.

Standing alone near my bed, I looked over my room, at the yellow-green walls and yellow carpet, at the Ikea furniture and the boy band posters. I had good and bad memories of this room, but they were mine. It was strange how Dad had kept all of our rooms exactly as we had left them, even Derek’s. There was something heartbreaking about the Backstreet Boys posters, yellowing at their corners.

I imagined Shane in this room with me. I imagined his form and his lips pressed against my body. It was hard thinking about him, and I wished I could have him there with me, but even if I hadn’t walked in on him and Janice in that moment, he wouldn’t have been able to come. It would have been breaking all of his privacy rules. Still, I found myself imagining those hours we spent together wrapped in each other, and it softened the hard sting of every other moment.

Out of nowhere, I heard the doorbell ring, which was strange. As far as I knew, we weren’t expecting anyone. I got up and walked hesitantly toward my bedroom door. I heard John open the front door downstairs.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” John said, muffled by the distance. I moved toward the top of the stairs, confused.

“Yeah, well, neither did I, but I’m here.” I recognized that voice. I walked down the stairs slowly.

“I’m glad you’re here,” John said. Framed in the door was Derek, looking haggard and tired, but in the flesh. I ran down the last two steps, moved passed John, and threw my arms around him. He smelled like sweat and hospital, and he needed a haircut and a shave, but he was there. I didn’t expect him to actually show up; he was a flake, and he didn’t get along well with Dad. I was so happy he showed up for once.