This is Not the End

by Chandler Baker

  Like I’m constantly on stage performing the part of great guy…maybe I’m just a phony….

  Instant nausea. Because, see, the thing is that the Will I know is the Great Guy, he doesn’t just act it. But if I’m being 100 percent honest, the scavenger hunt itself and all my birthdays before have a way of feeling like evidence of a performance now. I just always thought Will relished the showmanship. After all, parts of that personality were there before his dad left. He was outgoing and made everyone love him. Then Penny and I worried during the whole my-father’s-secretary-is-having-his-baby fiasco that he would become quiet, sullen Will. But he recovered, right? And Will Bryan was bigger than ever and he was mine.

  Here’s the truth: a guy that makes a show of being a great boyfriend is a great boyfriend. What I can’t wrap my head around is the fact that it might not have been genuine. And if it wasn’t, then I’m stuck right in the middle, following one of the stage pieces, playing out a scene that Will didn’t really want to be acting in any longer. “I haven’t exactly figured out the next clue,” I say. Then again, I think, maybe the last few days are just messing with my mind. “Ringo?” I say, and I already know that I’m not thinking through what I’m about to propose next. “Will you go to a shiva with me?”

  He raises his palms to me and shuffles back a couple of steps. “Ah, Lake, sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, I’m not really into kinky stuff like that.” But his eyes are squinted into moon-shaped crescents, so I know that he’s joking.

  I put my hands on my hips, tilting my head. “It’s a Jewish tradition for when someone dies. I don’t understand the exact details. It’s for my friend, Penny….”

  Ringo’s eyes don’t leave mine for a second. A lock of his hair falls into the lashes of one eye, and I have to clench my hand into a fist to fight the urge to gently push it back off the purpled skin and into place. Luckily, he does it for me. “She was Jewish?” he says.

  I feel a pang at the use of the past tense. I wonder how many times I’ve used it myself in the last few days. “Penny? God, no. She worshipped, like, Mother Earth, pretty much. But her parents are.” I get the distinct feeling that Ringo doesn’t want to go, which only makes me want him to more. “There will be food and drinks and—”

  “Lots of people I don’t know,” he interrupts.

  “Well, yes, that, but…” I deflate. “That was extremely weird, wasn’t it? Me just inviting you to a shiva. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t even know if shiva is a noun.” I run my hand over the top of my head. “Sorry.” But the idea of not having to go alone felt like someone throwing me a life raft, and the thought of going with my parents felt akin to going in a life raft—but one loaded down with two tons of cement and emotional baggage.

  Ringo rubs his chin, tosses his head and groans. “Sure,” he says.

  “Sure?”

  “Sure, I’ll go.”

  “To the shiva?” I brighten. “Because you know it’s basically a funeral, right?”

  “Not the traditional third date, but what the hell.”

  I blanch at the word date. “I didn’t mean it as a…” I say slowly, thinking, Will, Will, Will. Will the leaver of epic voicemails, Will the best hand-holder, Will the boy I love.

  Ringo lifts his eyebrow. “Lake, relax. I know. It was a joke.” My shoulders slide back down the length of my neck just a bit. “Flattering reaction, though.” He peers down his nose at me with a gentle smirk. Ringo accompanies me to my car, and I don’t even mind that he’s probably coming with me out of pity. It’s worth it to have him be there.

  Ringo drives. He insists, but it’s not like I put up much of a fight. He hums intermittently, and it’s a nice distraction from the road. In between he tells me about the Beatles and how when he was in middle school, playing their record Abbey Road was the only thing that kept him from wanting to blow his brains out. I can’t tell if he’s serious.

  But it’s when he lists the band members that I startle. “Ringo Starr is the drummer’s name? But I thought you got the name Ringo because of…well…”

  “Because of the ring around my eye? It’s okay, Lake. I’m aware that I have a birthmark on my face.” I flush. “And you’re right. That’s how I got the name.” He cracks his knuckles over the wheel. “But,” he says, brightening, “it’s also how I discovered the second-greatest Ringo in history.” He shrugs. “You know what they say, if you can’t beat them…”

  I don’t have time to process this because we’re pulling up to Penny’s house and the van we’re pulling up behind is my mom’s. I didn’t want her here. But she is here. And that means she has unilaterally decided I can’t handle this on my own and that instead she will come rescue me with her loaded boat of cement and painful words between us that go unsaid.

  Only I’m not on my own. I’m with Ringo. And I wish none of us had to be here.

  Penny’s house is two stories and made of yellow stucco. Unlike ours, the lawn is always perfectly maintained by Tessa, a natural gardener, and Simon, who put his techie senses to good use, installing a hypersensitive automated sprinkler system of which NASA would be jealous.

  A friendly welcome wreath adorns the pale-blue front door. The rest of the yard bears all the remnants of Penny. Her kooky wind chimes dangle from one of the branches next to a hummingbird feeder. At the corner of a well-maintained flowerbed, Penny built a rock garden. It’s only a few square feet, but Penny claimed it had perfect feng shui.

  I pass the Penny artifacts and every bone in my body goes flu-cold achy. I’ve been so caught in my fog of sadness that I haven’t quite fully realized how much of it was specific to missing Penny. Now that I’m here in the presence of so much Penny-ness, though, the loss is breaking into me like a wave.

  “You okay?” Ringo’s hand finds the small of my back and I worry that it’s the only thing holding me up.

  Outside the house there sits a pitcher of water. A man is entering right before us wearing a yarmulke. He bends to wash his hands in the pitcher and then lets himself inside. I look to Ringo for guidance.

  “We don’t want to look disrespectful,” he whispers.

  I nod and dip my hands into the cool water. Without thinking, I run my wet hands over my cheeks. It cools the heat rising in them and quiets some of the discomfort. I nod and we let ourselves into the home of Tessa and Simon Hightower.

  “I probably should have worn black, huh?” Ringo says into my ear. We both stare at his purple Clemons University T-shirt. He does stand out. And not just because of the T-shirt.

  In the foyer, black cloths cover the mirrors. I scan the mourners gathered in the living room for my mother but don’t see her. An elderly woman with silk pulled gently over her gray hair shuffles over to greet us. She extends a bony hand to me.

  “Lake, dear,” she says. I recognize the voice, though it’s been over a year since I last saw her.

  “Grandma Adler.” I take her hand, which is as cold as her veins are blue. I cup it in both of my own, hoping to warm them. Grandma Adler is Penny’s grandmother on Tessa’s side. My own grandparents had all died by the time I was five years old, but visits from Grandma Adler became a treat for both Penny and me. Seeing her brings tears to my eyes instantly.

  She reaches up with her free hand. The skin on her thumb feels papery thin as she wipes away the trickle running down my cheek and says something softly to me in Yiddish.

  “I would have come sooner if I’d known you were here,” I say, starting to turn to introduce Ringo but feeling the empty space behind me just before I do. He’s gone. The swell of panic has subsided now in the company of Grandma Adler, and I tell myself that I’ll find him. Later.

  She pats the back of my hand and begins leading me into the living room. I’m not sure I’m ready to go in, but I walk beside her, holding onto her elbow to support her. “I would have come sooner myself,” she confides. “Tessa is not honoring k’vod hamet. Penny should have been buried right away. But Tessa won’t hold a funeral. She won�
�t allow burial rites. We didn’t even know Penny…” Grandma Adler pulls a crumpled tissue from her pocket and dabs at her nose. “We didn’t even know she had passed away.”

  I try to keep my steps and breathing even. It’s nothing I couldn’t have predicted already, but to hear the lengths to which the Hightowers have gone, hoping for my resurrection choice, sends pain searing through muscle and bone, where it continues to burn.

  “It was her cousin Halina who saw the accident report on the news.” I’ve been avoiding the news for that very reason. “Rabbi Fisch informed the rest of the family, and I told Tessa we are sitting shiva and I won’t hear another word. Here”—she takes a torn black ribbon from a basket resting on a side table—“put this on. We have to honor Penny however we can.”

  I glance around for Ringo, worried that maybe he decided to leave after all. I’m trying to stand on sea legs and, suddenly, it doesn’t feel like an eighty-year-old woman is going to be enough to keep me upright. The Hightowers have turned their backs on the rituals of their faith. All because of me.

  As if by necessity, Mom appears next to me. Before this moment, the thought of her intruding on my space with Penny’s family seemed like it’d be a violation. But at the moment, I don’t think I mind. She has on her usual odd mash-up of clothing that she puts together whenever she’s forced into social situations—an unflattering peplum top six seasons old paired with slacks too baggy in the leg, and kitten heels. “Lake, honey.” She runs her hand over my hair. “Mrs. Adler, I’m so sorry for the loss of your granddaughter. Hamakom y’nachem etchem b’toch sh’ar availai tziyon ee yerushalayim.”

  I gawk at her in surprise. “What does that mean?”

  It’s Grandma Adler who translates for me. “‘May God comfort you among all the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.’” She nods. “Thank you.”

  “If you’ll excuse us,” my mom says to Grandma Adler and leads me away.

  “How do you know—I don’t know—Hebrew?”

  Mom’s smile is sweet and sad. “When you’ve experienced tragedy, Lake, you want to help others who are experiencing it in whatever small ways you can.” We weave through the other mourners. “Tessa and Simon are lucky to have a community surrounding them.” Her voice is wistful. I glance up long enough to see a canvas portrait of Penny propped up on an easel. I recognize the photograph. I took it. It’s Penny in our spot. The cliff overlooking the point where the three of us—well, at least Will and I—jump. Penny sits cross-legged on a rock, meditating with her eyes closed. Her pointer finger and thumb are pressed together, the backs of her hands resting on her knees. The pink sunset behind her turns her blond hair into a golden halo.

  I swallow hard, surprised that Penny’s family picked this picture to display. The Hightowers are kind people, but they’re very by the book—PTA, expensive Tommy Bahama shirts, that sort of thing. I always got the impression that her parents thought that the free-spirit, whale-saving, yoga thing was just a phase, a stop on Penny’s way to law school as opposed to a monastery in Tibet. I knew better.

  “Mom,” I say, careful to keep any anger out of my voice because I’m not—angry, that is. “I didn’t ask you to come.”

  “I know,” she says.

  I’m about to explain why when I notice a slim girl who I immediately recognize crossing the room toward me. Maya’s long graceful legs carry her to us in a few easy steps, causing me to lose my train of thought entirely. She weaves her fingers together and clasps her hands below her waist. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she says to me. Her dark hair is swept back by a shiny gold headband. She offers my mom a close-lipped smile, then dabs at her nose with a crumpled tissue. It could be my imagination, but I think Maya may have been crying.

  Mom beams down at her. “I’ll let you girls chat for a minute.” She shrugs and it comes across cutesy and falsely conspiratorial. I want to throw up.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “You’re not the only one broken up about Will’s death…and Penny’s,” she adds, almost as an afterthought. She crosses her arms, tucking the hand with the tissue beneath one armpit, and looks off to the side.

  Her comment annoys me for reasons that I can’t quite pinpoint. “You hardly even knew them,” I say.

  She sniffles. “I knew Will. Maybe not like you, but I knew him. Both of them, I mean,” she adds. The hairs on the backs of my arms prickle, but before I can reply, her eyes flit skyward and she says, “Relax, I go to Penny’s parents’ synagogue. I’m not here to lay claim to”—she sweeps her hand over the room—“any of this, okay?” Maybe I was being paranoid. “Look, Harrison told me you came to talk to him about that stupid ChatterJaw thread. And I just wanted to say that he means well. Harrison, I mean. Really, he does. He feels like he has to, I don’t know, watch over everyone.” I think of how seriously he’s been taking his lifeguarding duties and how I might have underestimated him. “It can be really sweet. But this wasn’t his place. He should have minded his own business and he certainly shouldn’t have posted about what he read on ChatterJaw.” At this she blows a long stream of air out from her jutted lips.

  I narrow my eyes. “He mentioned that you were against me knowing about that thread in the first place,” I say. “Why?”

  Maya pins a stray hair back underneath the metallic band. “I told you. He doesn’t have the full story.”

  “And you do?” I ask, not quite sure why I’m pushing Maya on this so hard, but feeling my bloodhound senses going ballistic.

  “No,” she says. “I don’t. Just like you don’t have the full story about us.” My stomach tightens. I assume she’s referring to Harrison and her, or…is it something more than that?

  That’s when I start to notice the uncomfortable amount of scrutiny I’m receiving from onlookers all around, casting furtive glances over plastic cups. Words die on my tongue. People are looking at me. I hear someone whisper, “That’s her best friend.”

  Is that what they said?

  Maya glances over her shoulder. She seems to sense it too.

  My ears prick at the mention of my name. Yep, that’s definitely what they said.

  My jaw clenches. Unexpectedly, Maya reaches down and squeezes my hand. “You’d better go find your mom,” she says. I nod mechanically. She lets go of my palm. I push through the crowd, but now snippets of conversation reach me with every step.

  “Resurrection…is there a chance?”

  “Apparently the girl’s boyfriend was…”

  “Any other hope?”

  That last one is followed by a sullen silence.

  My heart trips faster and faster. Out of a cluster of people, Mom yanks herself free and clasps both of my arms and stares into my eyes. “You doing all right, kiddo? You look a little green.”

  A smooth black dress interjects itself in front of me, followed by a charcoal-gray suit.

  “Tessa.” My voice cracks. I realize I have never stood in the same room as Mom and the woman who treated me like a daughter when my own mom was too busy with Matt. I wonder if my mom is coming to the same realization too. “Simon,” I say. I’m wishing that I’d come to visit them some other time, when I didn’t have to be here in front of all these people.

  “Lake, sweetie.” Tessa wraps her arms around me and pulls me into her breast. Her perfume smells like roses and cinnamon. “Your arm.” She unclasps me and latches onto the cast around my elbow. Her expression is pained. “Does…does it hurt?”

  I turn the cast over. The weight of it still rests in her hands. “No, not too bad, really. It’s fine.” I gently extricate it from her grip.

  “It’s kind of you to come,” Tessa says to Mom.

  Simon clears his throat and ever so slightly fills his chest with air to increase the heft of his presence. “We’re…uh…we’re sorry about that, Lake. And about Will, of course. We’re…very, very sorry.”

  And then it strikes me. They feel responsible to me, like Will’s dad said. Penny was driving. In everyone’s eyes, Penny
caused the accident. And yet, they hadn’t held the funeral, they hadn’t done the burial rites.

  I wish I could be anywhere but here. I look to each side, eager to feel Ringo hovering next to me like a security blanket, but he’s vanished and what I’m left with is a chill. And the initial relief I felt at first finding my mom here is evaporating.

  I crane my neck back to see if I can even catch a glimpse of Maya in the room, wondering if this would be a comfort. The whole experience in all its strangeness is already taking on the quality of a dream to me. But she’s faded into the black outfits too.

  “It wasn’t Penny’s fault,” I say, turning back and forcing myself to accept that what is happening right now is reality. I wish they could know how badly I want to bring their daughter back too.

  “Actually,” Simon says, imposing his figure in my path so that there’s no escaping even if I want to, “we were hoping we could talk to you about something.” The strain in his voice is unmistakable. He looks nervously to my mother.

  “Maybe now’s not the right time,” she says. If it’s possible, she manages to grow taller beside me.

  Where is Ringo?

  Penny’s parents share an “adult” look. “Lake,” says Simon, ignoring my mom’s protest. “We know how close you and Penny were—are—We never had another child, but you two were like sisters. Heck, you practically are sisters.”

  “That’s enough,” my mom says. “She’s only a child.”

  I stiffen and step away from her. “What?”

  “You’re only a child.” She turns back to the Hightowers. “I know you’re suffering, but this isn’t fair to put on her.”

  Anger hardens, scratching my throat like a ball of steel wool. “Since when has that ever stopped you?” I say.

  “Lake.” Her voice is a warning. She shouldn’t worry. I’m not going to spill the big family secret. But she’s just as bad as the rest of them. “I’m only trying to help.”

  I fold my arms across my chest and refuse to look at her.