43
QUADRAGINTA TRES
I’m dreaming again on the fourth day.
I dream that Finn and I are walking on the trails, doing yoga on the cliffs, swimming in the ocean, crab fishing. It’s always Finn and me, because he’s not in my reality anymore. He’s gone. But in my dreams, he lives.
In my dreams, he’s everywhere, surrounding me.
And then when I wake up, when I look at all of those places he should be, he’s not there.
He’s gone.
Today, when I wake, Dare’s waiting for me in Finn’s desk chair. It’s morning and he looks impossibly casual and elegant in his slim, fitted clothing as he sprawls out in the sun.
“I don’t think I can stay here,” I tell him, my voice husky with sleep and harsh with memories. “Everywhere I go… reminds me.”
Dare nods. “I know.”
“What should I do?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “I can’t decide for you.”
“I don’t want to leave Finn,” I say shakily. But Dare shakes his head again.
“Finn’s not here, Calla-Lily.”
I gulp, because he’s not.
“It’s so strange,” I muse woodenly. “I kept thinking that Finn was trying to convince me to go to the cemetery to say goodbye to my mom. But it was really my own mind, trying to make me see reality, wasn’t it?”
Dare stares at me, sympathy in his eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe so.”
“I need to say goodbye to them both,” I tell him. “But I can’t today. I just need a minute to wrap my mind around it.”
“Take as much time as you need,” Dare says wisely. “You can’t rush it. We’ll go as slow as you want.”
He pulls me to him and I stand there, my forehead against his chest, his hands rubbing my back.
My hands burn and I pull away, examining them.
I’ve got blisters across my palms, reddish and peeling, because they’re in the process of healing. I hadn’t even noticed them until now, although it’s clear they’ve been there for a while.
“You’ve been chopping wood,” Dare offers, and I cringe. I cringe because I know why.
“That was Finn’s job,” I say aloud. “I must’ve… I must’ve thought I was Finn. And that my dad would need wood when we went away to college.”
Dare nods solemnly in agreement and I still can’t figure out why he would stay with me. I’m such a mess.
“It’s like my mind was a rope, splintering and unraveling until it was hanging by a thread.”
Dare shakes his head and pulls me close again.
“You needed time to process what happened. That’s all.”
“I’m still not ready.” My voice breaks at the thought of moving on without Finn.
“I know.”
Four more days pass before I bring it up again. Four days of my father and Dare watching me for signs that I’m cracking, four days of rain and sleep and silence.
Four days of mourning.
Four days of having it hang over my head until one morning, I’ve had it.
“I’ve got to do it today,” I decide at breakfast. Dare immediately stands up.
“Ok.”
I ride on the back of his back on the way to the cemetery, my face pressed against his strong back. I close my eyes and inhale the fresh air, absorbing the sunshine, feeling the warmth.
Warmth = Life.
We pull to a stop outside the gates and Dare kills the motor, careful to respect the sacred grounds of the burial place.
“It’s so odd,” I tell him as we walk through the manicured grounds, stepping around stones. “I remembered my mother’s funeral, but I didn’t remember a thing about Finn’s. We had a joint funeral, but my mind blocked out anything that had to do with Finn. But I remember it now. You were there. I saw your face. You were in the back.”
At that point, I didn’t even remember him. God.
Dare squeezes my hand and we walk straight to the back, straight to the white marble headstones that mark the ground.
I look at my mother’s first, because even though it’s gut-wrenching, it’s easier.
LAURA PRICE. I trace the name with my finger, sinking to my knees.
“I’m sorry, mom,” I whisper to her. “I’m so sorry I called. I’m so sorry you answered. Please forgive me. I love you. I love you.”
I kiss my fingers and press them to the stone, and then I do the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do.
I turn and say goodbye to my brother.
My Finn.
Finn’s memorial stone is white and glows in the late afternoon sun. The writing on it brings tears to my eyes, because I recognize it immediately….it’s very similar to what Mark Twain had inscribed on his daughter’s stone.
The words on Finn’s blur as tears fill my eyes once again, or still.
Good night, sweet Finn. Good night, good night.
I tear up for a thousand reasons, and one of them is my dad. He must’ve paid attention to me over the years after all, because I’d told him once how heart-wrenching and beautiful I thought this particular epitaph was. And when it was time to pick Finn’s stone, I wasn’t in a position to help.
But my dad had remembered, and this is perfect.
It’s exactly what I would’ve chosen for my brother.
I sink to the ground in front, not caring that the earth is muddy and wet, and trace the words with my fingers.
Good night, sweet Finn.
He was sweet. And kind and good and funny. He was brilliant and witty and sharp. He was my brother, my best friend, half of my soul. He was all of those things and more. He was more than anyone else ever knew or ever would know. Because I was the only one lucky enough to really know him.
“I miss you,” I whisper. “God, I miss you.”
I slump against the cool marble, and I talk to my brother. I talk to him like he’s sitting right here with me. I tell him about dad, Dare and my mental break.
“So I’m crazy, too,” I tell him. “And I always thought I needed to worry about you.”
I feel Dare sigh behind me, because I know he wants to tell me that I’m not crazy, but he doesn’t interrupt. He just stands aside and lets me do what I need to do.
“I think I have to leave,” I tell Finn. “I don’t want to leave you, but you’re not really here, and I can’t stay. Not right now. It’s too hard. Do you understand?”
His cold marble stone doesn’t reply and I lean my cheek against it, desperately wishing that Finn were here.
But he’s not.
I’m wiping away a tear when I see it.
I stiffen and startle and stare.
A dragonfly hovers nearby.
Large and shiny, it’s greenish-blue wings shimmer in the late afternoon sun. It watches me, unafraid, as it hangs in the air, it’s gorgeous wings fluttering fast. It seems to be here for me, because it doesn’t move away. It simply waits with me, watching me.
My heart pounds and I’m frozen in shock.
“Finn,” I breathe.
I’m not crazy enough to believe the insect is Finn. However, I am crazy enough to think that Finn is here, somewhere, and that he sent the dragonfly as a sign.
He’s ok.
I’m suddenly surrounded by a strange peace, by something ethereal and other-worldly and I think it must be real.
Finn is bringing me comfort, like he always has.
“I love you,” I whisper. “I will always love you.”
The sunlight hits the dragonfly just so, and it makes it look like it winks at me. I smile through my tears, and it flies away. I watch it go, and the peace that has wrapped around me spreads inside, to my heart.
I’m still in pain, but for the first time in over a week, I feel calm, quiet, hopeful.
The air around me feels reverent and sacred somehow, and I hesitate to move, to get up, to take a step. But I have to, because I know that’s the most important thing. That’s the point, that’s what Finn was here for.
To move me forward.
To show me that he’s okay, that I’m okay, and that I need to move forward without him.
It’s scary because I’ve never been without him before. But at the same time, I know that I’m not alone.
I look up at Dare.
“That was real, right?”
He looks at me, confused.
“The dragonfly. Did you see it?”
He nods. “Yeah, why?”
“Because… the story.” I tell him the story that I thought Finn had told me, the one that I’d actually read in his journal. The one about the dragonflies. And Heaven. And peace.
When I’m finished, Dare’s eyes are wide.
“Do you think it was Finn?” I ask seriously.
Dare shakes his head. “I don’t know. But it was a sign. Whether it was from God or from Finn or your mom. It was a sign. I believe that, Calla.”
I’m not crazy.
I smile and close my eyes, soaking in the warmth.
It is here, in the sun and against my will, that I feel peaceful for the first time since Finn died. It’s an amazing feeling, and I’m afraid to move, out of fear that when I do, the feeling will be gone.
But when I open my eyes again, it’s still here.
I’m still warm.
I’m still alive.
And Dare is with me. He smiles down at me, holding out a hand to help me up. I get to my feet, then stare at my brother’s name again.
Good night, sweet Finn.
“I love you, Finn,” I tell him, as I lean forward and kiss the top of his stone. “I’ll see you later.”
We walk through the cemetery arches but before we climb back onto the bike, I pause, staring up at the most handsome face in the world.
“It was you,” I tell him softly. “You’re the thing that brought me back. You gave me reality. You tethered me, anchored me, loved me. I thought you were going to break me, but that’s just because I didn’t understand. You were trying to help me all along.”
He pulls me to him and kisses me softly. “I love you, Calla.”
“I know.” And I do. For the first time in months. I can see it. And I believe it.
I climb on the bike behind Dare, pressing my cheek to his back.
Beneath my hands, his heart beats, vibrant and strong and alive.
I have to live, too.
I have a reason, and that reason is warm and alive and sitting in front of me.
The sun warms my back as we ride up the mountain.