“Really,” she said.
Miles went inside to get more bowls and spoons. He dished up the jam and handed each of us a bowlful. I turned the spoon upside down in my mouth so I could get it all. It tasted sweet and full. Like summer.
We ate every bit of the jam. I took the jar inside to wash it out. When I did, the sunlight caught the facets of the jam jar and it was like a prism, sending bits of rainbows around the room. Like my broken diamond window used to do.
I went upstairs and found the things Miles had left for me—screwdriver, toothbrush, map, wooden spoon. I took them downstairs and put them in the jam jar and brought it out to the backyard.
“There,” I said.
“What are these?” Mom asked.
“Ben objects,” I said. “Miles found them. He’s been leaving them for me.”
“Oh, Miles,” my mom said.
Miles had jam on his face.
“We need something for Dad,” I said.
Mom stood up and went out to the yard. She came back with a splintered piece of wood. At first I thought it was part of the deck but then I realized it was from the fallen tree. One of the old trees that my dad would have loved. It stuck out above the toothbrush and spoon and screwdriver and map like the tallest flower in a bouquet.
12.
We put the jar in the cup holder of our car to bring it home safe with us.
“I wonder if the vultures will come back to live in our yard when everything’s cleared up,” I said as we backed out of the driveway. I craned my neck, looking out my window. Trying to see the birds in the sky. Or Leo in his yard.
“Maybe,” my mom said. “I hope so.”
The baby birds died in their nest.
Lisette died in a hotel room.
My dad and my brother died in an accident.
The end is what people talk about. How they died.
Why does the end always have to be what people talk about? Think about?
Because it’s the last thing we knew of you. And it breaks our hearts because we can picture it. We don’t want to, and we know we might get it wrong, but we do. We can’t stop. Those last moments keep coming to our minds, awake, asleep.
At the end, everyone is alone.
You were alone.
But other times you were not.
You clomped around onstage, your face red with embarrassment, your knees knobby in your cargo shorts, and you looked back at your wife and kids who laughed and cheered.
You rolled down a hill. You had been crying but now you smiled. There was grass on the back of your shirt and in your hair and your eyes were bright. I put my arms around you.
Your last moment was the worst moment, but you had other moments.
And people were with you for some of them.
I was with you for some of them.
There were times when we were all, all around you.
EPILOGUE
Leo wrote to me and told me that Harley got out of her box. Celeste got kidnapped by someone in the Mafia and so no one knew about Harley in the grave and things looked really dire and Harley kept getting weaker and weaker, but then Rowan had a dream that told him exactly where to go and how to find Harley. He rescued her and also resuscitated her and also kissed her, and then everything was okay. It took until November before that happened and Leo stopped watching Times of Our Seasons as soon as she was free. Zach still records it to watch when he gets home after school.
Leo’s mom and dad gave him the last of the plane ticket money as an early Christmas present, so Leo and his dad did go to London and see Barnaby Chesterfield in Hamlet. Leo called me when he got back. “How was it?” I asked. “To witness greatness?”
“Amazing,” he said. “But the best part wasn’t the play. It was the day after we went to the play. We had no plans. We spent a whole day walking around London looking at things and eating stuff. We never ran out of things to talk about.”
“That does sound great,” I said, and even though I was happy for Leo my heart hurt because I wanted a day like that with my dad.
Leo cleared his throat. “But the play was pretty awesome too,” he said, in his best Barnaby Chesterfield voice.
“I hope he sounded better than that,” I said.
“He did,” Leo said.
Miles and my mom and I move the jam jar around. Sometimes it’s on the kitchen table like a centerpiece. Sometimes on a bookshelf. Sometimes one of us takes it into our room for a few days. When I take it into my room, I put it on the windowsill.
Meg sent me a postcard the festival had printed up to commemorate the opening of the Costume Hall. They used the Lisette costume as the picture on the front of the postcard. On the back, next to the information about the exhibits and the hours, Meg wrote, Hope you will volunteer again next summer. We’ll keep you away from the jewelry.
That made me laugh.