Holly's Story

by Lurlene McDaniel

  “Thanks, but we can’t. I promised Carson I’d go to his ceremony tonight. Then there’s some big party at his house that his parents are throwing that we have to attend. At least Stephanie won’t be invited. Carson said she decided not to finish at Bryce. Her grades were in the toilet anyway. She went back to South America to recover from her accident. He said her parents are finally getting a divorce, and he doesn’t know if she’ll ever come back to the States.”

  “We won’t miss her, girlfriend, will we?” Raina said.

  The noise of the cafeteria surrounded them as there was a lull in their conversation. Kathleen ended the break. “Oh, before I forget, Sierra asked me if we’d be volunteering this summer. She said she’d love for us to work on the carnival with her. Any thoughts?”

  Holly remembered then that they’d all planned to help throw an anniversary carnival for the hospital and the patients. The summer before, Hunter had dressed as a clown and entertained everyone, passing out trinkets. “I don’t know,” she said listlessly.

  “Me either. I’ve been thinking about making some changes in my life,” Raina said mysteriously.

  “I can,” Kathleen said. “I’m working full-time in the gift shop, but I’ll be glad to participate. Think about it. We once said we would.”

  Holly pushed her tray aside. “I’m going up to Ben’s room. The nurses told me earlier that he had a bad day.”

  Raina caught her arm as she rose. “Are you sure this death watch is something you really need to do?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” Holly felt agitated, short-tempered.

  Raina stood too. “Then we’re coming with you.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “We’re coming,” Kathleen said.

  Beth-Ann looked relieved to see Holly. “Ben’s been asking for you. And his daddy and I need a quick break.”

  “I’ll wait by his bed.”

  Holly and her friends slipped into the dim room. Outside the window, the lights of the city sparkled in the inky night. “Hey, buddy,” Holly said, leaning over Ben.

  His breathing sounded shallow and his skin looked colorless. His eyes slowly opened. “Holly?”

  “Me and Raina and Kathleen.”

  He said something, but his voice was so soft, she asked him to repeat it.

  His lips moved. “I’m scared, Holly.”

  Her heart twisted. “It’s okay to be scared.”

  “No … I’m a big boy. I shouldn’t be scared.”

  She knew that Beth-Ann had prepared him with talk of heaven and happiness and no more pain, but he was upset and she longed to comfort him. “What are you afraid of?”

  “I’m scared of the dark.”

  She glanced around the room. The lights were turned down low. Raina shrugged. Kathleen reached over and turned up the light box on the wall behind the bed. “Is that better?”

  He shook his head. “It’s going to be dark inside that box they’ll put me in. It’s going to be dark under the ground, and I’m scared.”

  “I—it’s not that way,” she said slowly, her mind searching for a way to help him understand.

  “I don’t want everybody to go off and leave me alone in the dark.” His voice sounded pitiful and very frightened. Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes.

  Holly felt helpless. She had no way to make him understand that he’d have no awareness of the dark box or of being in the ground. She had no words to explain it. Nothing. And even if she did find the words, he wasn’t capable of understanding. He was only a child and the complicated mechanics of death, of ceasing to exist in time and space, could not be explained to him. Just as God had no way to explain to her why her brother had been murdered. Like a searing light, the insight struck Holly with such force that she staggered.

  “You all right?” Raina whispered, alarmed.

  But Holly barely heard her. The realization about God reverberated in her head like an echo in an empty room. It wasn’t that there was no explanation as to why kids died too young, or why people were murdered; it was that her mind was too limited, too simple to understand any explanation God could give her. God had not deserted her. He had been there all the time. She’d just been unable to see him through the fog of her pain and anger.

  She focused again on Ben. He didn’t need explanations, or platitudes. He needed tangible help. He needed something to calm his fears. “You know, Ben, I have an idea,” she said. “All you need is a way to make the dark light.” Suddenly recalling the donations that Hunter’s boss had made to the carnival the summer before, she turned to Raina. “Do you still have the glow necklaces Hunter told me he gave you for safekeeping?”

  Raina’s eyes brightened. “Hunter gave me a ton of the things.”

  “Go get them.”

  As soon as Ben’s parents returned to the room, Holly took them aside and told them what Ben had said and what she wanted to do for him. When Raina and Kathleen arrived, they carried a plastic box full of the flexible chemical lights. They all set to work snapping them around Ben’s arms, his legs, his neck and even his head. Within fifteen minutes, he was aglow with bands of neon color—red, blue, hot pink, green and yellow. None of them had dry eyes as they worked, but Ben didn’t seem to notice. He watched in fascination as the colors came to life on his body.

  When they stepped aside, a nurse found a large mirror and held it up. He stared at himself, then sent them all a beautiful, peaceful smile. He was happy. Beth-Ann mouthed Thank you to Holly. She nodded, her heart bursting with a satisfied sense of accomplishment.

  Holly saw Ben’s eyelids growing heavy. She leaned over and said, “I’m leaving the rest of the container with your mama, so if one goes out, she’ll put a new one on.” She steadied her voice, then continued. “When you get to heaven, look for my brother, Hunter. When he sees you wearing all these necklaces, he’ll come running to meet you. I know he will.”

  She and her friends left the room quickly, made it to a bathroom and there, holding on to one another, broke down crying. Yet as Holly wept, she realized that it didn’t matter whether death came unexpectedly, as with Hunter, or with plenty of preparation time. The living, those left behind, were never truly ready for it. It came all the same, making holes in people’s hearts and minds, pointing the way to eternity, where it could come for them no more.

  “Don’t forget, graduation’s in a few hours,” Raina said before she and Kathleen headed for home.

  “I’ll go home soon,” Holly told them.

  She looked in on Ben one more time in the early hours of the morning and was told that he’d slipped into a coma from which he would not awaken. On the bed, he lay wrapped in a hundred colorful lights, looking bright as a rainbow and bound for glory.

  twenty-three

  “I’LL BET WE’RE the only graduates to be doing this right after receiving our diplomas,” Kathleen said ruefully.

  She, Holly and Raina walked across the green lawn of the memorial garden in their lovely spring dresses, mortarboards and corsages in hand, toward the bronze plaque bearing Hunter’s name. They hadn’t discussed going; it had simply happened. After the ceremony and picture taking with their families, they’d looked at one another and in one telepathic thought knew what they were going to do. What they had to do.

  “We’ll be back in an hour or so,” Raina had told her mother.

  “But I’ve reserved the lounge at the pool house,” Vicki had said. “Everyone’s coming. You girls can’t be late to your own party.”

  Holly had backed Raina up. “Go on, Mom and Dad. We’ll be along soon. There’s someplace we need to go first.”

  Her father had locked gazes with her and Holly had known instantly that he understood.

  Raina had driven. The day was hot, brilliantly sunny, the eternal green of the grass shaded by live oaks dripping with Spanish moss. Birds chirped; the fountain in the center of the lake hissed water onto the calm surface, spreading falling rainbows as droplets caught the sunlight.

  Holly found Hu
nter’s grave and knelt in front of his plaque. Raina and Kathleen knelt on either side. “We made it, big brother,” Holly said. “Bet you didn’t think we would. I painted my nails bright orange too, and Dad never said a word.” She fluttered her hands toward the ground, as if to show them off. “I’ll bet you’ve met Ben by now. Isn’t he a cutie? Take care of him.”

  She and her friends were driving to Crystal River Monday morning for Ben’s funeral. Going would be sad, but she knew she’d make it through with her friends standing beside her.

  Raina gazed down at the ground. “I miss you so much, Hunter. I still love you.”

  “But we didn’t come here to be sad,” Kathleen quickly inserted. “We came to say hello and leave you these.” She placed her corsage on the metal plate. Holly and Raina did the same.

  Holly sat back on her heels. “Dad gave me what’s left of your college fund this morning. I’ve been accepted at the University of Miami—not too far away, but far enough.” Her friends looked at her. Holly shrugged. “I made up my mind this morning, but I wanted to tell Hunter first.”

  Raina smoothed her dress and kept her gaze on the ground. “I have an announcement too. I’m going to live with Emma and Jon-Paul in Virginia.”

  “When did you decide this?” Kathleen looked shocked.

  Holly just stared at Raina.

  “Emma invited me a while back,” Raina confessed. “I’ve thought about it for a long time, and I’ve decided to go. It’s sad for me here. Everyplace I go reminds me of him.” She ran her fingers over the raised letters of Hunter’s name stamped on the brass.

  “And your mother?” Holly asked.

  “She’s not crazy about the idea, but I’m eighteen and I want to know my sister better. She says she understands. But I don’t care if she doesn’t. It’s something I have to do.”

  “Well, blah!” Kathleen blurted out; then she grumbled, “Boring Kathleen is staying put, Hunter. Going to good old USF. Being a bridesmaid.” She looked at her friends. “You are planning to come to this wedding, aren’t you? You aren’t going to leave me alone to fend for myself, are you?”

  Holly grinned. “You have Carson.”

  “Oh, like he’s a big help. Who’s going to do my hair? Counsel me on my attitude?”

  “We’ll phone it in if we have to,” Raina said, patting Kathleen’s hand.

  Holly stood and so did the others. They lingered, staring down at Hunter’s resting place, at the crisply clipped fringe of grass around the metal plaque, at their corsages already beginning to wilt in the humid heat. Sunlight shifting through the trees cast flickering shadows on the grass. Holly breathed in the warm, soft air, felt the cold knot in her chest begin to melt. Chad was coming to the pool party. He was probably already there, waiting for her. “We should go.”

  “Probably so,” Raina said.

  “Carson hates to wait around,” Kathleen said. “The guy has no patience.”

  They glanced at each other. Holly said, “Ready?”

  “Ready,” Raina and Kathleen said in unison.

  Together they stepped out onto an open patch of grass, hurled their mortarboards upward and watched as they turned, spun and tumbled together against the clear blue sky.

  epilogue

  THAT NIGHT, HOLLY couldn’t sleep. The house was quiet, the parties over, the celebrations completed. She’d had a good time. She was a high school graduate, ready for the next phase of her life. And yet … and yet … She missed her brother. Hunter should have been there. He would have teased her, hugged her, ruffled her hair and, yes, prayed for her too.

  Holly got up, turned on her desk lamp, reached into her drawer and pulled out her old diary. She hadn’t written in it in ages, not since the previous summer. The blank pages stared up at her like black holes she couldn’t fill because there was too much to write, or to remember. Still, she could start fresh. She considered where to begin—with the last days of school? The graduation ceremony? The party? No, she decided, as her heart spoke to her. She found a pen and began to write.

  Dear Hunter,

  All right, so I know you’ll never read this, but I’m writing it anyway because it’s not really for your sake, it’s for mine. I never got to say goodbye. I just had to accept the fact that you were gone and never coming back. That’s been hard. Even now, months later, I still expect to bang on the bathroom door and tell you to vacate because it’s my turn. I expect to see you at the dinner table. I expect to grab the remote from you, make popcorn for us, cry on your shoulder when Dad and I disagree (which is happening less these days … aren’t you proud of me?).

  I never got to tell you a lot of things I meant to tell you but now can’t. Maybe writing to you this way will help me face the rest of my life without my brother.

  You were (I hate that I must write in the past tense) a pretty good brother … okay, a very good brother. I know I never told you that when I could, so I’m saying it now. You were always there for me, and I miss you a lot. I want to ask you for your take on things—like Chad, for instance. He says he loves me, Hunter. I like him. I really do. But love? I’m not ready for that. I tell him so, but it’s like he doesn’t hear me.

  You loved Raina. And even though you and she were worlds apart on some things, you knew you loved her. I want to ask you, How did you know? Mom tries to give me advice, but it sounds corny. “Don’t worry, you’ll know.” What kind of an answer is that? (Sorry, didn’t mean to get sidetracked.)

  There’s just so much I want to talk to you about and tell you. Raina has had so much to deal with and has had a really hard time facing the world without you. There were days when I didn’t think she would pull out of the black cloud that covered her. Yet she has. Sort of. You’re a hard act to follow, H. I think it’s going to be a long, long time before she falls in love again.

  Mom had a rough time too. For a while I thought she would break apart. She was really mad at God. So was I. We’re mostly over the being mad part, but Pastor Eckloes says that it might come up again, especially when the man who murdered you goes on trial. I know we’re supposed to forgive him, but how? I’m not there yet.

  Dad’s managed best, but sometimes I see him with a faraway look on his face and I know he’s thinking about you. Sometimes I see tears in his eyes. Then I have to look away because I can’t stand seeing Dad cry. Everyone misses you. Sometimes your old friends stop by the house just to visit. I didn’t like it at first, but now it’s easier to talk about you and hear their stories about you. (Did you really do a home video in Jeff Johnson’s garage in the eighth grade of an air boy band?) And Kevin brought over a video of a Bible talk you gave at camp one summer. That one almost unraveled Mom and Dad, but not me. I needed to hear you say those things about love and faith.

  Well, Hunter, it’s getting late and I’m finally winding down and getting sleepy. I promised Kathleen and Raina we’d have a day at Raina’s pool tomorrow, just like old times. Raina’s moving in six weeks to live with Emma, a good thing, I think, now that I’m used to the idea. She would have moved sooner but we’ve promised Sierra that we’d be Pink Angels again this summer and help her with the carnival set for July Fourth weekend. It’s going to take a ton of hard work, but it was my idea, and my two best friends are willing to help me. (What are friends for?)

  In truth, this won’t be the last letter I write to you. I know this because just doing it has made me feel a whole lot better tonight already. So until next time, this is your favorite only sister signing off, still missing you, but feeling like you’re a whole lot closer than the mansions of heaven. Please ask the angels to watch over us.

  Holly

  About the Author

  Lurlene McDaniel began writing inspirational novels about teenagers facing life-altering situations when her son was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes. “I want kids to know that while people don’t get to choose what life gives to them, they do get to choose how they respond.”

  Her many novels, which have received acclaim from readers, teach
ers, parents and reviewers, are hard-hitting and realistic but also leave readers with inspiration and hope.

  Lurlene McDaniel lives in Chattanooga, Tennessee.