Only One (Reed Brothers)

Nick

Carrie’s mom died on Sunday. Carrie and I sat on the deck for hours afterward, not saying a word. She was devastated, but it was a good kind of loss, the kind where you have to be thankful because someone is no longer in pain. The kind that guts you, because you will never have them again, but it makes you relieved to see their pain end, when relief is the opposite of what you want to feel.

The Reeds hang out with us, bringing food and greeting guests. Matt and Logan sit down beside us on the porch finally as the sun is about to set. “It was a beautiful service,” Logan says.

Carrie nods. Carrie’s a little choked up, because her dad just gave her the video diary, and she’d played the “on the day I die” video. There’s a video for all sorts of occasions, and Carrie is determined she’s not going to look at them until she gets to those mile-markers.

But in the “on the day I die” video, Patty admitted something to Carrie.

I guess I can tell you now, since I’m gone. But I wished for you to be able to see me in the un-ordinary. You remember when we were lying by the lighthouse on that last night, and the shooting star flew by? I wished for you to see me in things not typically found. In the rainbow after a rain. In the twinkle of a star. In the butterfly that lands on your shoulder. In the breeze as you walk down the beach. See me. Feel me. Because I will always be there.

Matt heard the message too, and he got all choked up. Suddenly, Matt sits up. “Well, would you look at that,” he breathes. Then he realizes he said it out loud and he looks a little chagrinned.

“What?” Carrie asks. Then she sees it too. There’s a yellow swallowtail on the porch rail. It opens its wings and closes them. “Wow,” Carrie breathes.

I am dumbstruck. Absolutely dumbstruck. The butterfly flitters around and lands on Carrie’s shoulder. She sits absolutely still.

Logan takes a notepad out of his pocket and starts to draw. The butterfly stays there long enough for him to capture the image in pencil. Carrie sits there with the butterfly on her shoulder, completely still the whole time. She looks so peaceful. And so does the butterfly.

Logan tears off the page and hands it to her. She thanks him, and I feel like my heart is in my throat. But it always is when I’m with Carrie.

“Matt, do you think you could tattoo that on my shoulder?” Carrie asks.

He nods. “I believe I could.”

The next day, he puts the image on her shoulder. Logan drew it, and it’s a three-dimensional image that looks like it’s lifting right up off her skin. It’s one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.

Aside from Carrie, that is.

###

Carrie left on Friday. And I’m afraid she took my heart with her. She has to go home to pack her college things before she heads to the dorm. Her dad is still here, because he’s closing up the house. I look around at my memories and I know what I have to do.

I have to go. I have to sell the house. I just have to.

I go to visit with Carrie’s dad, because I know he’s a realtor. I’m hoping he has some suggestions about how to start.

“So, you want to go to school?” he asks.

“Yes, sir,” I say.

He raises his brows. “You want to go to the same school with Carrie?”

“I applied last year. Just on a fluke, you know. And I got a deferment. But I called and they said I can go. I just need to come up with the tuition.”

“And you think you need to sell your house to do that.” It’s not even a question.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you want this badly enough to do that.”

“Yes, sir. More than anything.”

He goes to the kitchen drawer and pulls out a checkbook. He starts to write, and then he rips it off and hands it to me.

I look down. There are a lot of zeros. “What’s this?”

“I’m buying your house. Then I’m giving it back to you. Rent it out to pay for the lot rent and the insurance while you’re at school.”

“I can’t take this,” I say. I try to hand it back to him.

“Patty and I talked about this before she died,” he says.

I freeze.

“She wanted you to have every opportunity.” He laughs. “I think she meant every opportunity to get closer to our daughter, but I like to think she just meant regular opportunities like an education.”

I don’t know what to say.

“I…I can’t—”

He walks away. “I’m not taking it back,” he calls over his shoulder.

Holy shit.