“Hey,” Elin says from behind me.
I turn to see her. Her eyes are puffy.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, reaching out and cupping her cheek.
She sighs. “I felt like I should go through that envelope from the hospital,” she says. “And I found this.”
She holds up a piece of paper that stills me. It’s white notebook paper with smears of black.
“Cord wrote this while you were underground. And it has my name on it,” she whispers.
I fold her into my arms and rest my chin on her head as I remember us writing them. I had no idea he was writing to her, but I can’t say I’m surprised. “Does it say anything important?”
She pulls away. “I’ll read it to you:
“Well, this sucks.”
She laughs at the little stick person in a state of obvious frustration that was clearly drawn for her amusement.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think down here. I’ve thought about a lot of things, but I keep coming back to what you said about everyone’s life having a purpose. I’m sitting here in this hole the size of a small room with water freezing my toes off and your husband and brother making me crazy with their bickering and I’m wondering—how in the hell did I get here? Maybe my purpose in life is to be tormented by them assholes. Both of them.”
Another stick person makes her giggle and she looks up at me, then clears her throat before continuing.
“In all of my life, you made the biggest difference.” She looks at me, needing a second to gather herself before continuing. “Even growing up, as kids, you showed me how to fight for people, how to stand up for what’s right. You never knew it, but a lot of who I learned to be was by watching you and the empathy you had for people, even in times that were hard. You’re going to be an amazing mother.”
Her voice cracks and I grab her hand and squeeze it.
“I want you to know that I’m going to do everything I can to deliver your family back to you. And if I don’t make it out of here, I don’t want you to be upset. I mean, cry, because that feeds my ego a bit, but realize that maybe this was my purpose in life, like you said. And if that’s the case, I’m okay with that. I really am. Remember that story I told you once about “insane decisions”? This one was premediated. Remember that. Always.
Life’s not for the faint of heart, that’s for damn sure. But what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and this, my friend, won’t kill you. But I don’t know how much stronger you can get.
“There’s a winky face,” she says, sniffling back tears.
“Thank you for taking an interest in the kid from foster care that pulled an attitude on you in the cafeteria line in junior high. I don’t know why you did, but it proved to be the luckiest day of my life. It was the start of a family I never had.
“Thanks, Pit Bull. I’ve never really said this to anyone, but I love you guys.
“Cord.”
She breaks into tears and I hug her tight. “I had no idea he thought of me like that,” she sniffles. “No clue.”
My tongue is tied, the idea of my friend being gone too fresh to discuss. Hearing his last words, the words I watched him write on that piece of paper read out loud, is haunting.
“We need to go,” she says, reaching for my tie. “We can’t be late for his funeral.”
She works getting my jacket situated when I look at her. “He knew you were pregnant, didn’t he?”
Her hand stills. “Yes.”
“And I didn’t know?”
She looks into my eyes, tears filling them. “It was Cord that told me I was pregnant.” She goes back to work on the tie, clearing her throat. “He would’ve been a great husband and a great father someday.”
I force a swallow and look away, blowing out a breath. “Did you read the letter I wrote you?”
She shakes her head. “No. I couldn’t. I mean, I tried. But it started with ‘I guess I didn’t make it’ and I couldn’t read on.” She finishes working my tie, pats my chest and steps back. “There you go, handsome.”
I nod, thankful she didn’t read the letter. Maybe we’ll read it together at some point and maybe we’ll let it sit in a drawer. I don’t know. All I do know is that I’m grateful she didn’t have to read it.
ELIN
I swore I’d never set foot in here again. After the funeral service for my parents, I could barely drive by the little building on Main Street without breaking down. Yet, just a few years later, I stand in the very same place, giving another eulogy for someone I love.
The microphone hisses as I adjust it. I vaguely wonder if I can just shut it off, but that seems more of a hassle than it is worth.
Taking a deep breath, my lungs fill with the scents of a hundred flower arrangements surrounding the casket of my friend. Yesterday was calling hours. Ty, Jiggs, Lindsay and I stood at Cord’s side and watched as mourners lined up down the aisle, out the door, and around the corner. They stood on the sidewalk in the pouring rain until it was their turn to enter to pay their respect to a man that deserved it.
I can’t look over there. My feet are glued behind the podium, stuck in place by the gazes of people filling the seats facing me. The director brought in every chair they had in storage and it still isn’t enough. Through the windows, I can see shadows of people standing on the sidewalk outside, listening to the service through speakers. It’s almost too much to take in.
My hands tremble as I lay a piece of paper on the wooden stand in front of me. I constructed words as beautifully as I could late last night, wanting to say the perfect things as a goodbye to my friend. I can’t see any of it.
Head bowed, lip quivering, I choke back the sob that shakes my chest. Lindsay rushes to my side, a handkerchief clenched in her hand. Her arm stretches across my shoulders and I turn to her.
We cry. Even when I’m sure there aren’t tears to be spilled, they come out in waves. Before I can start to pull myself together, Ty and Jiggs are pulling us into one giant embrace.
We stand, the four of us, our fifth wheel missing, and feel the loss of him more than ever before. Arms entwined, heads touching, tears mixing—we grieve the loss of a person that is simply irreplaceable.
I glance up, wiping the tears from my face. A small gasp escapes my lips. Half the people facing me are standing, the other half on their way to their feet. Chins tucked, hands folded in front of them—it sends chills through me.
Jiggs slips his wife under his arm and guides her back to her seat. Ty presses a soft kiss to my forehead and asks me with his eyes if I’m okay. “I’m fine,” I whisper. He seems unsure as he rubs his fingers down the cuts just starting to heal on his cheeks.
Finally, he takes his seat in the front row and I’m left watching the townspeople take theirs as well.
“I want to thank you all for coming today,” I say, my voice heavy with emotion. “I know none of us want to be here. I’d rather be home, listening to Ty and Jiggs and Cord argue over who is the better mechanic.”
A few chuckles roll through the room. My eyes find Ty’s and he smiles, urging me on.
“Cord left me in charge of his affairs. When the paperwork was handed to me, I wasn’t sure how to take it. Me?” I point to myself. “Why me? Then I saw how messy his house was and I realized it was some form of payback.”
Lindsay’s grin relaxes me and I take a deep breath. “Cord was a complicated guy in some ways and, in others, he was so simple. On one hand, he frustrated me like no one else on the planet. He wouldn’t do what I told him and he called me Pit Bull,” I say, rolling my eyes, “even though I hated it.”
The words end as I choke back the tears. “That’s a lie,” I sniffle. “I didn’t hate it. What I will hate is not hearing it again.”
I glance at the casket. My breathing ragged, my shoulders vibrating with the emotion that threatens to spill out across the parlor. He looks so peaceful, like he might sit up and give us his easy smile at any minute. It’s devastating.
“They say p
eople don’t remember words. They remember how you make them feel. I disagree. I will remember so many things that came out of Cord’s mouth.” A smile tickles my lips as I taste the salty tears streaming down them. “I’ll miss him bossing me around and giving me advice, even when I don’t want it. I’ll miss the way his laugh sounds in the middle of Thoroughbreds on a Saturday night. I’ll miss the way he’d get me to do what he wanted without me realizing it.”
I try to find Becca in the sea of faces. I know she’s there. I saw her earlier, but the tears make everything smear together. “This is so unfair,” I say, squeezing the words out between sobs. My gaze meets Ty’s and I have to grab ahold of the podium for support when I see the anguish on his face. His hands are clasped together on his lap, his gaze fixed on the casket at the front of the room.
“I wish I could talk to him just once more. To tell him . . .” I take a second to catch my breath. “To tell him thank you for sending Ty and Jiggs back to me. To tell him he was right about so many things. To tell him how much we all love him.”
My tissue is completely soaked, the white material breaking apart in my hand. I press my palms against my eyes. I know I look like a complete disaster, but it’s nothing compared to how I feel.
“What happened in the mine was a tragedy. I’d give anything to go back to that day and keep them all home. But I can’t.
“Even though he didn’t admit it and maybe he didn’t even realize it, but Cord McCurry loved more purely than anyone. His love didn’t come with strings. There were no contingencies with his friendship. If he liked you, that was it. I think we can all learn something from that.”
I stand tall, clear my throat, and feel a sudden burst of clarity. “Cord’s life was cut unfairly short and I refuse for it to be in vain. His death will not be something we cry about today and go to work tomorrow and forget. I won’t allow that.”
“Cord gave his life for my husband and brother. His bravery, his selflessness is unparalleled. I challenge each of you to live your life the same way.”
Adjusting the microphone again, I find Becca. She’s watching me with rapt attention, her eyes swollen from crying.
“One of Cord’s most annoying traits was that he was always right. It didn’t matter if it was about Jiggs’ truck or my marriage, he had an uncanny way of knowing what the right answer was.” I glance at my brother. “Sorry, Jiggs.”
The crowd chuckles again.
“His little snippets of guidance taught me many things, but the most important were about relationships. That sometimes you have to take a step back and breathe. That you can’t make insane decisions when your head is a mess. That even when you can’t walk in someone else’s shoes, you do have to try them on.”
Glancing at the casket again, I smile. “It’s not just the words we speak in a moment, but the weight of words over the course of time that matters. The words you choose every day add up. You are the words you speak, whether that’s constructive or destructive. Cord was a light. His legacy, the heft of the words and actions he left behind, are proof.”
“We need to live like Cord,” I implore. “We need to treat the people in our lives, whether it’s our spouse, parents, or friends, with care. Give them the benefit of the doubt. Lend an ear. Be sensitive to the trials they might be going through that we can’t see.”
“We can let our friend live through us in the way we treat one another in the good times and in the bad. Relationships can get messy. My own marriage was in shambles not too long ago.” I look at Ty as his face tightens. “It was Cord that reminded me to fight for what I wanted, even when I was scared. To live and love bravely. It takes courage to love. But to have someone to love and to love you back is worth every bump in the road.”
I smile at my husband and watch his features soften. “Life isn’t easy. Love isn’t for the faint of heart. You have to just put your fears aside and go for it. I learned that from Cord, the man that thought he couldn’t love,” I laugh. “Cord never quit on the people he loved, even when things got hard. Even when he was deep in the Earth. Even when he knew the end.”
Leaving the podium, I walk across the burgundy carpet and peer into the casket. My hand rests on his as I give Cord one final smile. “We love you. So much.”
I look back to the crowd. “You are all here to pay your respects to one amazing man. Don’t let it stop when you walk out the door. Love fully, even when it gets hard. Give forgiveness, even when you aren’t sure the other guy deserves it. And in every friendship you’re in, don’t forget to actually be friends.”
I gaze across the sea of faces until my gaze lands on Tyler Whitt. He smiles the same smile he gave me the morning he asked me for a piece of gum so many years ago.
As I start to take my seat and a hymn begins to play, a peace settles over my soul. Ty takes one of my hands and Jiggs takes the other. I squeeze them both, the warmth in their palms comforting me.
Six months later . . .
ELIN
“Are you sure I’m not too heavy?” I start to lean off Ty’s lap, but he pulls me down again against his Arrows’ shirt.
“Will you stop it? You aren’t too heavy.”
“I’m huge,” I say, rubbing my swollen belly. “This baby is going to be ten pounds. I know it.”
“You’ll be the prettiest ten-pound-baby-carrier I’ve ever seen,” he teases, rubbing my nose with his.
I settle against him as we sit in a loveseat in the nursery. The sun streams through the windows, the tree outside casting shadows on the golden walls.
Baseball decorations adorn the walls and crib, and sure enough, a signed picture of Lincoln Landry on the closet door.
It’s the perfect room for little Cord, even if it is a little cheesy. But Ty’s gusto to decorate and his enthusiasm for his vision—how could I say no?
We rock gently back and forth, feeling the late afternoon sun on our skin.
“Did you get your homework done?” I ask him.
“Yes, Mother,” he mocks, kissing me on the shoulder. “I’ll be glad when my homework is done and I’m giving it out instead.”
“Wait until you have to grade it,” I point out. “Not so fun.”
“Remember how fun grading papers is with me?” His eyebrows waggle and I laugh. “Besides, you’re not going to do that for me? It’ll be geography papers, and I hate to say, much more interesting than your cut and paste sheets.”
“Maybe you can take them over and get Jiggs to help you. That nine-to-five job of his at the power plant isn’t enough to keep him occupied. Lindsay is ready to murder him,” I laugh. “She was saying yesterday that it’s a good thing they didn’t move to Florida. Without you to entertain Jiggs, she’d be out of her mind.”
Ty rolls his eyes. “You’d think he’d have that truck working by now with all the time he has on his hands. Maybe Delia can help him when she gets older.”
“Speaking of Delia,” I say, grinning, “I told Jiggs we’d watch her tomorrow night so they can have a date night. Jiggs had me make reservations for them and order flowers and everything.”
“It doesn’t count if you do it for him.”
“Yes, it does!” I laugh. “I just hope you want to cater to me like he does Lindsay after I have Cord.”
“Don’t I already?” he says, kissing my cheek.
“You do. Just remember me when your little sports buddy arrives in the world,” I laugh, hearing the back door squeak. We wait as heavy footsteps walk through the house and the nursery door opens.
Dustin’s head pops around the corner. Yogi bursts in at the opportunity and plops down at our feet. I reach down and scratch her behind the ears.
“Hey, can I go play some ball with Jason?” Dustin asks.
“Yes. Dinner is at six-thirty, so make sure you’re back by then,” I say, smiling at my new foster son. He returns the gesture, a softness in his eyes that’s just begun to settle in.
The Case Manager from Child Protective Services said Dustin had lived in five
different homes since being turned over to them. That helped explain his attitude and behavior issues. Once we passed the foster care courses and pulled some strings, he moved in and things have changed.
His grades are markedly better. His disciplinary record at school much cleaner. And the lightness in his step much easier.
Dustin told me he’d never had a room of his own and never went shopping for his own shoes. The day he picked out his own bed and basketball shoes was one of the happiest days of my life, just because of the joy on his face.
It’s the little things. I knew that before the accident, but I know it more now. It’s not about money, it’s not about cramming in a week’s worth of work in one day. It’s not about getting from point A to point B and it’s surely not about getting irritated over the little things in life. As a matter of fact, that’s what it’s all about.
Life is about stopping to chat with Ruby at the counter at The Fountain while she makes my Bump. It’s about planning the Thanksgiving menu with your sister-in-law and arguing about who is hosting it this year, burning dinner because your husband won’t keep his hands off you. It’s about setting up Becca with every man I meet so she finds her happily-ever-after even though I don’t have time and arguing with your foster son about his curfew and making a scarecrow every fall.
Some of those things might hurt. Life does pack a punch. But it’s the scars that make us who we are, that tell the story of the life we lived.
“What are you making for dinner?” Dustin asks.
“Baked chicken and pasta. Maybe an angel food cake.”
I look over my shoulder to see Ty beaming at me. He takes my hand in his and strokes my knuckles with the pad of his thumb.
“Awesome!” Dustin grins and closes the door behind him. His footsteps beat down the hall again and he leaves, the door squeaking.
“Are you ever going to fix that door?” I ask.
“Nope.”
I look at him and make a face. “And why not?”
Written in the Scars Page 26