Mom laughs. “Oh yeah, we’re going to get along just fine.”
? ? ?
Mom, Joni, Hope, and I meet Alan and Mabel at the turnoff to the one-lane road that leads to the dirt road, and they follow us in their car as we drive farther and farther into the woods until we reach the point where we have to go on foot. The beach at this time of year—bare and chilly, the water uninviting—reminds me of the last time I was here with Meg. We huddled together under a blanket, watching the water as if we weren’t on a deadline. I can’t believe that was nearly a whole year ago.
Mom squeezes my hand. “This is really beautiful, bud,” she whispers.
I nod. Now that we’re here, the anticipation has disappeared, leaving only nerves and a slightly sick-to-my-stomach feeling in its place.
I get the candles out of my bag, and Mom helps me put them in the sand and make it look all pretty. Then Mabel removes a shoe box from the shopping bag she brought with her. Inside the box is a gallon-size Ziploc bag. And inside the bag are the ashes. Mabel holds it out to me, like she’s actually expecting me to take it, like it’s nothing. “I left the box where it was on the windowsill,” she explains. “My parents will never look inside.”
“What do you mean?” Mom asks. “Your parents don’t know you took them? Oh, I don’t know how I feel about—”
“It’s okay,” Mabel says. She sounds really sure of herself. “I left some behind. For them to scatter themselves, if—when—they ever decide to.”
She’s still waiting for me to take the bag, but I can’t move. That’s Meg in there. All that’s left of her are millions of tiny gray flakes, one indistinguishable from the next, like the stuff that comes out of our vacuum when we empty the canister.
My gut lurches, and I force my feet to move. I barely make it to the edge of the woods before I throw up. I stay there, heaving, until there’s nothing left to come out. I feel a hand on my back. “It’s okay, Ryden,” Mom says quietly. “We don’t have to do this if you’re having second thoughts.”
I right myself and wipe my mouth with the tissue she’s holding out to me. “No. Let’s do it.” Everyone is waiting over on the beach, looking solemn. The bag of ashes is sitting on the sand now. Mabel is holding Hope.
I clear my throat and walk slowly back. “Sorry, guys.”
“Don’t apologize,” Alan says, staring at the bag of ashes. “I feel like doing the same thing.”
“Okay, well…” I say. “I guess we should start. Who, uh…who would like to say something?”
One by one, we talk about Meg. The good stuff: the stuff we loved about her, the stuff we’ll miss most about her. There are lots of tears.
Mabel goes first. She talks about birthdays and Christmases and family vacations and how she feels like she doesn’t have a family anymore now that Meg’s gone. Mom says how she didn’t know Meg long but she’s so honored to have been part of her life. And she thanks her for her amazing granddaughter. Alan talks as if Meg’s there with us and tells her the entire plot of the most recent Korean import he saw. It’s what he doesn’t say that’s the most clear though—he misses talking to his best friend about random everyday stuff. Joni doesn’t say anything but places her hand on my arm to let me know she’s there, and that’s all I need.
When it’s my turn to talk, I pull the pink notebook— Ryden—out of my bag. Here’s what I figure: anything I say in my own words won’t do Meg justice, won’t even begin to articulate what she meant to me, what we went through together. Alan, Mabel, and Joni haven’t read the pink notebook yet. What better way to say good-bye than to read her last words aloud?
I take Hope out of Mabel’s arms and hitch her on my hip while I hold the notebook in my other hand and begin to read.
I take a deep breath. “Dear Ryden…”
? ? ?
The only thing left to do is let her ashes go. The six of us stare at the bag for a ridiculously long time, each waiting for someone else to make the first move. The candles have mostly flickered out, and it’s getting cold. Hope is fussing in my arms. She’s probably hungry. I smooth a hand over her hair. Time to get this show on the road.
They’re just ashes. It’s nothing to be afraid of. I pick up the bag and wordlessly walk to the waterline. I close my eyes, rest my head against Hope’s, breathing in the combination of her baby smell and the fresh lake air, and then look up at the sky. “We’ll miss you forever,” I whisper and open the bag, holding it out to the wind.
In less than a minute, all the ashes are gone, carried away on the breeze, on their way to becoming part of the sand or soil or a bird’s nest or the waves, working their way into the earth until they’re nothing but a memory.
Chapter 37