I cleared my throat, pressing my palms against the surface on either side of the letter I'd written to my father.
"This piece of paper sat on my desk, blank and mocking me for days before I was able to write a single word. It was empty, and I'd been tasked to fill it with an explanation of what he meant to me, what he meant to everyone he knew. A description of his accomplishments and platitudes about how he lived.
"To say he lived would have been untrue. He didn't just live — he breathed life.
"I could have talked about his years at Columbia and the influence he had there. I could have told you about the books of poetry he wrote, or about his love of words or gifts as an orator. I could have told you how he liked his eggs or took his coffee, or which of his sweaters was his favorite, or how he always slept on one side of the bed, as if my mother were still sleeping next to him. But that wasn't who he was.
"How could I answer that question? How could I put into words who he was and what he meant? Because that story is different for every one of us. Each of you sitting before me knows in your own way what he meant to you, and that's why you're all here.
"Maybe it was because he supported you — it was one of his favorite things to do. He believed in all of us, an unflinching hope that we would all see our potential realized. Maybe he taught you things that you'd have otherwise never known. I know that for me, that was true. He taught me how to tie my shoes and how to read. He taught me how to love unconditionally and how to forgive, though those lessons were lost on me later in life, when they mattered the most. But even in the end, he taught me grace and compassion, even tried to teach me how to grieve him. Of everyone, he knew how impossible that task was, but he believed in me even then.
"In grieving, he asked us to celebrate him. He asked us to remember him. He asked us to live because in living, we would honor him. I am not his only legacy. His legacy will live on forever in every heart and every mind in this room. So live, and live well. Take all of the things that he taught you and keep him alive too."
I finally looked up, and my eyes found her as they always did.
Emotion bent her brows, her lips hidden behind her handkerchief, her eyes pinched closed, the line of her long lashes against her cheek visible from even afar. But that wasn't what clamped my throat closed. It wasn't what set my pulse galloping or the heat climbing up my neck as tears from my words burned my eyes.
It was Jack's arm around her, her body curled into his side, his face, which didn't hold sorrow but something else, something sinister as he watched me watch them with defiance flickering behind his eyes.
She'd given herself to me, but it hadn't changed anything. We were here again, in purgatory for eternity.
I scooped up my letter after a split second of shock. But I couldn't sit down, couldn't stop moving. Jeannie held Sadie, nodding at me once as I passed — she'd take care of them, because I couldn't.
I rushed down the stairs and out the side door, not knowing what I was doing, not knowing where I would go. I only knew I couldn't stay there. It was too much. My father in a box made of oak and satin. My sisters crying, dressed in black. Elliot lost, lost to me as she ever was. Me, lost to myself.
The snow crunched under my feet, hand in my pocket around my hat, and I was halfway across the courtyard when I heard my name from her lips.
I turned, my chest rising and falling with shallow breaths — I couldn't get more than a sip at a time, like I was suffocating — the air puffing from my lips in foggy bursts.
"Wait," she called, her face touched with pink, nose and cheeks and chin. Her eyes were big and dark, shining and shimmering. "Where are you going?" The words were broken, lilting with emotion.
"I can't do this," I answered and turned to walk away, but she grabbed my arm.
"Wade, please. You can't leave, not right now."
I turned to face her, my words cold and hard, like my hands, like my heart. "There's no reason for me to stay."
I tried not to watch the snowflakes that fell on her cheeks and melted, the specks of white in her hair and on the shoulders of her black dress, on her rosy lips that parted, trembling with the words she was afraid to say. They were words I couldn't wait for, words I'd never hear. So I walked away, leaving her standing in the snow, the darkness of her marring the blanket of snow like the gash of my heart.
19
Ground Zero
The quiet point
Of impact,
The sooty blankness,
Tells tale of all
That was lost.
* * *
-M. White
* * *
Elliot
I stood in Rick's library, surrounded by the chatter of dozens of people in black and the sound of Bach filling the spaces between, my eyes across the room on nothing, my ears straining to hear the front door in the hopes that it would mark his presence. But he never came.
Hours had passed since I'd seen him, hours that gave me no relief. And rather than speak to the guests who had come to pay their respects, I followed Sophie like a shadow, offering myself as support when she needed, even if it was just in the form of a warm hand or a word of encouragement as she handled the party by herself, without her brother by her side.
She kept a cellophane lid on herself, thin and transparent to me who knew her so well, but to everyone else, she seemed the picture of strength, accepting condolences and offering those of her own. She shepherded her sister, who was morose, attention turned inward, keeping her away from those who would pry, who would speak clumsily. Sadie's best friend had shown up just after the wake started, and the girls disappeared. I was grateful for that, because Sophie needed me. So there I was.
My family lurked around the bar, eating and drinking and gossiping until the kids finally had had enough. And with their exit, my burden was lighter. Jack hung back, asking me again if I was all right with his hand on my arm like I was his, and I let him because I didn't have the strength to fight.
Jeannie and Lou managed the gathering itself, their presence another blessing, Ben at Lou's elbow all day or answering the door, the honorary usher, everyone keeping things running while Sophie did her duty, even though I knew it took everything out of her, even though she wanted to be alone.