“Dr. Wolfe, thanks for coming.” He gave her a hug. “Nikki adored you. She learned so much about herself in her sessions with you.” He had short red hair and hazel eyes that were shot through with broken blood vessels. He was a couple of years older than Kate, but so deferential and full of goodwill that he made her feel ancient.
Other introductions were made, more kind words were exchanged, and then Kate followed the other mourners into the church. A rose-draped cherry-wood coffin was propped in front of the altar, in between an arrangement of balloons and a large glossy photo of Nikki—her high school picture. Kate happened to know that Nikki hated this picture, which she claimed made her look like an artificial person.
Kate found a seat next to some of Nikki’s cousins, while the minister took his place behind the carved mahogany pulpit and said, “We’re gathered here today to celebrate a precious life, one that was taken too soon from this world…”
He spoke for twenty comforting minutes, before introducing Nikki’s creative writing teacher, a middle-aged woman who spoke about Nikki’s great gifts as a writer. Next came Nikki’s best friend from high school, a pink-haired girl with kohlrimmed eyes who told stories about her BFF’s sneaky sense of mischief. More friends and relatives spoke, and then it was Kate’s turn.
On her way to the podium, she thought about Nikki’s fondness for licorice whips and Minecraft. She liked to say “fuck-a-duck.” She liked to dress all in white with blood-drop earrings, like Dracula’s bride. Kate knew a few things about Nikki that she couldn’t share with this audience: she’d taken ecstasy more than once; she’d called her mother a cold, uncaring bitch; she blamed her stepfather for drinking too much. She loved them both, but they wouldn’t let her be herself. She felt like a loser half the time. The other half, she felt like Miss Universe. She had self-destructive mood swings. One week she’d post a hundred selfies on Instagram but the next week she’d cancel her account.
Kate couldn’t publicly reveal what had caused Nikki’s initial break with reality eight months ago. Last year, she’d developed a crush on a boy at school who didn’t love her back. For months, Kate had been piecing together the girl’s shattered psyche while explaining that sometimes our love wasn’t reciprocated.
Now her mind went blank as she took her place behind the podium and looked at the congregation. The pressure was intense. Two-hundred-plus people waited for her to cough up an explanation. Finally, here’s an expert who can tell us what went wrong. Finally, someone with all the answers.
But honestly, what could Kate say? She had no idea why Nikki had chosen to end her life at such a time, in such a way.
She took a deep breath. “The worst thing I can say about Nikki is that her illness finally won. The best thing I can say about her is… well, there are so many best things. Her smile lit up half the planet. She radiated a wonderful self-possessed energy. I’ll never forget the day she came into my office, soaking wet. It was early September, one of those warm Indian summers, and she’d forgotten her umbrella. I offered her my sweater but she refused. She told me that she loved the feeling of being so close to nature that you were immersed in it. That day we talked about her future… she was so excited about the countless possibilities ahead of her. We made a lot of plans. She dazzled me with her enthusiasm.
“Part of what made Nikki so special is the same thing that took her down—her illness. She had visions, good and bad. She had up-days and down-days. The down-days were rough. But the up-days were remarkable. Not too long ago, she came into my office holding an imaginary kitten. And by the end of the session, I was holding that kitten in my lap.” Kate smiled. “Of course, I gave it back. Reluctantly.”
Smiles rippled through the congregation. Standing at the back of the church was an older man who nodded as she glanced his way. He seemed awfully familiar, but she couldn’t seem to place him.
“One day, Nikki came to me with a school assignment. The students in class were supposed to come up with their own epitaphs. She already had hers. ‘Here lies Nikki McCormack— there was nobody braver.’ And she was. Brave. Funny. Fearless. Bold. Smart. Sensitive. Inquisitive. Courageous. And maybe we can all honor her memory today by being just as brave as she was. At least, I’m going to try.”
Kate felt emotionally raw as she picked up the rumpled pieces of paper and made her way back to her seat. A group of Nikki’s classmates got up to sing “Angel” by Sarah McLachlan. When it was over, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
The minister thanked everyone for coming. The ceremony was over. The heart-shaped balloons were taken outside and released. Kate had done her very best. She only hoped it was enough.
19
OUTSIDE, THE CROWD DISPERSED as people got in their cars and drove across town toward the cemetery. A winter storm was moving in swiftly. Clouds rolled like a herd of buffalo along the horizon.
The burial was deeply moving. People sang and recited poetry. Soon it began to snow—the angels were weeping, Nikki’s cousins all agreed. At the end, Nikki’s mother broke down, weeping uncontrollably and sitting cross-legged in the snow. Nikki’s father and stepfather escorted her back to the embrace of her family, where she was engulfed and smothered into silence.
A catered luncheon was served at the McCormacks’ postmodern home in their exclusive Newton neighborhood. Kate couldn’t help but notice the sturdy cedar beam that ran across the living room ceiling where Nikki had hanged herself. How were they ever going to live underneath that beam?
She wandered around the house, finding all the proof she needed that Nikki’s parents had doted on her—expensively framed childhood drawings, family photos trapped in Plexiglas cubes, bookshelves dedicated to Nikki’s honors and awards, ribbons for perfect attendance and certificates of achievement, trophies for soccer and track-and-field. Hanging on a peg in the mudroom was Nikki’s red vinyl jacket, and underneath the Shaker-style bench were her battered Converses, knotted together at the laces like an old married couple.
Nikki’s stepfather, George, was a tax attorney who had spared no expense for his only stepchild. It was painfully obvious that her parents—all three of these hurting people— cared deeply about Nikki, despite the ugliness of the divorce.
Outside, the snow flew about as if in celebration. Inside, people gathered together in small groups, talking softly. Kate found herself involved in a revolving conversation about loss and grief. She followed her attorney’s advice and let the McCormacks take the lead.
She eventually found herself in the family room, which a handful of teenagers had taken over, texting and playing video games. One of the boys picked up a red rubber ball so cracked with age it looked like a huge blood-soaked eyeball, and tossed it to one of the girls. They all ignored Kate, so she left and wandered down another hallway lined with pictures of Nikki at various stages of development—pudgy toddler, skinny tomboy, gawky tween, beautiful swan. Kate took out her phone and texted James. Very sad. Lovely people. Great eulogies. Did my best. Spoke from heart.
Lunch was served. People stood around eating quarter-sandwiches and arugula salad off of paper plates, awkwardly balancing their wine glasses and plastic utensils.
James texted her back: Bedlam here. Miss you.