I’ve been angry as long as I can remember. Even before our mother died, I remember being angry. Angry at our father, and angry at our mother for not leaving, for always giving him another chance. I’d cried at her funeral, holding Crystal’s and Jamie’s hands, felt their bodies shaking beside me. Then I stopped. I just fucking stopped.
I didn’t cry at that crap foster home when they made me work so many hours that my hands were raw, or when the wife smacked me with the wooden spoon across the back of my head, or when I had to sleep in the barn with the horses who shuffled their hooves all night long. Not when Dad beat us, punching us so hard we lost our breath, or when Jamie shot him, then looked at me with huge eyes, as if asking me to make it better. But how could I? I knew our life was never going to be the same. I knew that it was over. Whatever pitiful happiness I had managed to scrape up for us had blown away the second that bullet hit my father’s head. I knew I’d never marry Corey and have his babies and rock on the porch and laugh. Crystal would never move to Nashville and become a singer. Jamie would never get to travel the world and take photographs.
And I damn well didn’t cry when Brian and Gavin raped me, their sweaty hands all over me, their disgusting breath in my face, when they twisted me around and hurt me in ways I didn’t think possible. I just got angrier. All I’ve ever felt was rage. Deep, deep dark rage. It consumed me.
I tried to drown it out at the gym, took it out on my opponents, on the heavy bags, on myself, but it never went away. It was always there, simmering.
The thing that made me the maddest of all was Crystal dying. I mean, what did she ever do? She’d never hurt anyone. All she wanted was to sing and have fun, but that asshole Gavin killed her. I’d held her in my arms when my mom brought her home from the hospital, and I held her in my arms when she died. I hadn’t told Jamie that I’d felt the last breath leave her body, felt her go. I’d wanted to scream at her to come back, made deals with God, but she left anyway. Left us behind. She wasn’t supposed to do that. We were three. Not two.
I glanced over at Skylar and Jamie as we got out of the car.
“Ready?” Jamie said.
I nodded, but I wasn’t ready. I’d never be ready to say goodbye. It was just something we had to do. We got the boxes out of the trunk.
It had taken almost a week to make the origami cranes. We had a thousand by the time we were done, three hundred and thirty-three brightly colored birds strung on three different lines. Skylar kept the extra one. We’d spent hours threading the string through the cranes, fitting each one inside the other and carefully staggering the colors until they made a beautiful rainbow. Skylar had told us that the Japanese believed that the wings of cranes could carry souls up to paradise. I hoped it was true.
You weren’t supposed to spread ashes in a public place, so we’d come down to the beach early in the morning, the grass still damp with dew. There were so many birds we each had to carry a box to the shore, then carefully take the string out. We had to let most of the string drag behind as we took our sandals off and waded into the cold water, sand squelching between our toes. When we’d gone a few feet, we stood in a solid line, pulled our strings closer, so they were floating in front of us, then let go so that the waves could take hold.
With our hands over our eyes, blocking the sun shining off the water, we watched them crest, then disappear, then come back up. They floated together, some of the strings tangling, making one brightly colored line on top of the wave.
“They look pretty,” Jamie said.
I had the fleeting thought as they floated away that I wanted to run after them, wanted to dive into the water and swim hard. I wanted to bring them back.
“I should get the ashes,” I said.
I walked toward the picnic table on the shore, where’d we left the cedar box. I held my hand on top of the box for a minute, the wood smooth and warm in the sun. It seemed so small, too small to hold such a big spirit.
When I came back to stand beside Skylar and Jamie, I slowly opened the box with the little plastic bag. I realized, with surprise, that my hands were shaking slightly, and I fumbled for a second with the tie around the top.
I got the bag open, leaned over the water, and let it flow out. The ashes were delicate, a soft gray. Some sank down, but some of the particles floated on the surface. The waves pushed them closer, and they wrapped around our legs. None of us moved. Another wave came and pushed the ashes away.
Jamie and Skylar had their eyes closed, their faces lifted to the sun, their hands clasped tight. They looked at peace. The wind was moving Skylar’s hair, blowing a curl across her face. She brushed it away, reminding me for a minute of Crystal, how she’d toss her hair over her shoulder.