Capture the Wind for Me

by Brandilyn Collins

  From sheer exhaustion, I fell asleep. I awoke with a start an hour later, an implacable knowledge filling my head. There was something I must do for Derek. For me. Compelled to my feet, I shuffled out to tell Robert that I was going to the Kings’ house, then I needed to drive to Albertsville. Would he please take care of Clarissa?

  Many had gathered at Derek’s house, bringing food. It reminded me of the gathering at our own not two years before. I made the rounds, hugging Derek’s mama and daddy, unable to look them in the eye. I gave Katherine a perfunctory hug and could have sworn I sensed a chill between us. I knew I had to keep her at an emotional distance. She knew my heart too well.

  As soon as possible, I edged down the hall, pretending to go to the bathroom, and slipped into Derek’s room.

  Memories of Derek instantly pounded me. He’d stood right there the day I first saw him without his glasses. I’d sat there as he scanned a photo of me to send to Greg. I leaned against his dresser, waves of sadness sifting me like sand. After some time, I pulled open his top drawer, staring with hollowed intimacy at its contents. With a deep breath, I reached in to search for the reason I’d come. One orange sock and one green. I flattened and hid them underneath the waistband of my denim skirt, said my goodbyes to Derek’s parents, and escaped to the car.

  At the Albertsville Funeral Home, I sought the director, closing my mind to the unknown mourners who’d gathered for the viewing of their own. I could not let their grief seep into mine. “I need to give you something for Derek King,” I told him. He graciously ushered me into his office.

  From my purse, I pulled out the socks. “Please. When you dress Derek, would you use these?”

  He looked from the socks to me, smoothing all reaction from his expression. Funeral directors are good at that. “Derek’s mother has already given me the clothes she would like to use.” He paused. “Are you part of the family?”

  “I . . . not really.”

  The man shook his head. “I’m sorry. But I always comply with the family’s—”

  “Please.” Tears sprang to my eyes. “They won’t know. Who will ever see? No one else ever needs to know, but I need to do this for Derek!”

  He hesitated, then raised a reluctant hand for the socks. Before he could change his mind, I shoved them into his palm. “Please tell me you’ll do it.”

  His gaze fell again to the ugly, mismatched colors. “I need to know who you are.”

  “Jackie Delham.”

  He repeated the name. “A friend of Derek’s?”

  I hugged my arms to my chest, searching for an answer intimate enough to give this perfect stranger. He studied the tears in my eyes.

  “We . . . he loved me.”

  The man’s eyelids flickered, and in that tiny movement I saw his empathy over the death of a boy he had not known, and all that could have been. His hand lowered.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  He nodded.

  Greg and LuvRush sent a flower arrangement to the funeral home. The largest one around Derek’s casket.

  Two things got me through the next few days: prayer, and focusing on my secret, symbolic gift to Derek. When the guilt rose as I laid my palm against his cold, hard skin, I thought of the socks. When we stood at the grave site, Katherine sobbing into Daddy’s chest, his own eyes filled with pain, I remembered the socks. I said a final goodbye to Derek as the chink chink of metal gear lowered him into the earth, and I pictured the socks. What a hit they would be in heaven. How the angels would grin.

  No theology or logic in that, I know. But at funerals, you do what you can to survive.

  chapter 51

  Raleigh, Charlotte, Charleston. Jacksonville, Orlando, Tampa. LuvRush continued their tour through the south, then began looping back toward the west as the Indian summer of September gave way to the chill of fall. Greg was busier than ever, studying in earnest on the bus and in hotel rooms now that his own “school” was back in session. “Hung Up on You” would stay number one on the charts throughout September. When it fell to number five, “All Is Enough” took its place at the top. Every concert proved a sellout.

  Greg, now aware of his frailties, spent even more time reading his Bible and praying. “I have to,” he told me. “I am so weak without that.”

  He remained loyal to me and loving, comforting me over the loss of “my friend” Derek. In my sorrow I needed to hear Greg’s voice daily. I ached to see him. Yet I wept with the knowledge of the profound change between us. I had secrets now that I could never share. A part of myself that forever would remain locked away from him. I know he sensed this. Sometimes when Greg and I talked on the phone, the questions hovered almost tangibly between us. But never again did he voice them. I think he was afraid to hear the answers.

  In those days I thought often of Pastor Beekins’ sermon. That God could work through the mistakes of our past for his own glory. And I prayed that somehow, some way, God would do that for me.

  Derek’s parents held up amazingly well in their mourning. At least it appeared so from the outside. But then, what else can you do? Life goes on, even when your insides feel like they’re wasting away. I prayed for them every day. I knew what pain they endured.

  Katherine struggled terribly under the weight of her grief and remorse. Emotionally she flailed herself for her perceived failings with Derek. Amidst her own pain, the distance between us grew. Guilt bends one’s perceptions as surely as water bends light. I thought in her disgust of me that she had drawn away. Now I know how wrong I was. Now I see that when she needed me most, I refused to help.

  She and Daddy continued to plan their wedding, set for Saturday, December 12. But Katherine’s enthusiasm had gone. At first we merely thought the obvious—Katherine’s pain over her brother’s death overshadowed her joy. Then I really began to worry. All the stress made her and Daddy short-tempered with one another, particularly Katherine, the smallest of things tripping irritation across her brow. I’d catch Daddy gazing at nothing, anxiety lining his face. Sometimes he had little appetite for supper. I fussed at him like a mother hen, telling him he hardly needed to lose weight. Clarissa took to pushing around the vegetables on her plate that she didn’t like.

  “Eat ’em,” Daddy commanded her.

  “Well, you’re not eatin’ yours.”

  “This is not a suggestion. Eat ’em.”

  One month after Derek’s death, Katherine and Daddy had a major argument. Thank goodness it was Sunday afternoon, with both Robert and Clarissa at friends’ houses, because I certainly heard an earful. I balanced on the edge of my bed, biting my lip, the door cracked open, listening.

  “All I want to do is go to Lexington for overnight, Bobby. I could get Saturday off work. You and I need to get away.”

  “Like I told you, I don’t think we should go anywhere overnight,” Daddy said. “Separate hotel rooms or not, it just wouldn’t look right to the folks here.”

  “Who cares what the ‘folks’ think?” A pause. “Fine, then, maybe we could at least take a drive for the day. Go somewhere.”

  “Katherine, please. We’ve talked about this enough already. I just don’t want to go anywhere next weekend. Let’s do it later in the month.”

  Next weekend? I thought. She picked a fine time.

  “I need to go soon. I’m stifling here! Nothing but grief and pain in my parents’ house. Everywhere I go, people are asking how we’re holding up. I’m tired of the questions.”

  “I know.” Daddy’s voice softened. “I know how hard it is, believe me.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  Daddy sighed loudly. Then said something I could not understand. I eased back my door and crept out to hover in the hallway.

  “I don’t—” Something rattled, like newspaper under a hand. “Why don’t you want to just have fun for a day?” Katherine demanded.

  “I have fun every day, with you around.”

  “Oh, stop it. Stop trying to play Mr. Perfect.”

  “I though
t I was.”

  “Bobby, I’m serious, I’m going to walk out the door in a minute.”

  “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

  A pause. “Will you take me next weekend?”

  “Katherine.” Now my daddy sounded peeved. “I thought I just said let’s do it another day.”

  “Why?”

  “Katherine. It’s not a good weekend.” Daddy emphasized each word. Silence.

  “I just don’t understand you sometimes,” she declared. “I know you don’t like big cities, but Lexington is hardly L.A. I haven’t been to Lex since the concert.”

  “Well, maybe you should go to another one.” Anger edged Daddy’s voice.

  “Maybe I should.” The newspaper rattled again, followed by footfalls pacing the carpet.

  Daddy said nothing. I pictured his face, lips pressed and eyes darkening. Katherine most likely glared back at him.

  “Maybe I should go to Lex all by myself for overnight. And see a concert and a movie, then go shopping and out to dinner. Oh, supper, as they say in Bradleyville,” Katherine added with sarcasm. “Excuse me.” “Katherine. Stop it.”

  “I don’t want to stop it.” Her voice tightened. “I want to do something, go somewhere. I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal, just getting you out of Bradleyville!”

  “How old did you say you were?” Daddy shot back. “You’re actin’ like a whiney teenager.”

  Katherine sucked in air. “Well, that’s just fine, Bobby. This teenager’s out of here.”

  I heard her stomp around the couch. I jumped back toward my bedroom, ready to slip inside.

  “No, you’re not,” Daddy commanded. “You’re not leavin’ this house mad.”

  “I’ll leave this house any way I want to!”

  “Katherine!” The couch squeaked.

  “Let go of me!” Clothes rustled.

  “Will you stop it?” Daddy tried to keep his voice down. “Will you listen to me?”

  “I’m tired of listening to you! All you’re thinking about is yourself.”

  “I don’t think that’s quite fair,” Daddy retorted. “I think I’ve done an awful lot of thinking about you in the last month.”

  “And well you should. It hasn’t exactly been a great month for me.” Katherine sounded near tears.

  “I know that.” Daddy lowered his voice. “And the next weekend isn’t a great weekend for me. I need to stay here with the kids.”

  “Why?”

  I closed my eyes.

  “Do I really have to remind you, Katherine?”

  No answer.

  “Saturday’s the twenty-fourth. The day Melissa died.”

  Silence.

  “Oh, Bobby, I’m sorry. I . . . had forgotten.”

  “Obviously.”

  “But I . . . maybe that’s all the more reason to go. To get away, together.”

  “I just don’t think so,” Daddy said quietly.

  “You’d be in good company.”

  “I know. But,” he added reluctantly, “I’m thinkin’ of the kids. They just might need me.”

  “Of course. The kids.” There was no mistaking the hurt in Katherine’s voice. “And you too. Remembering how things were. How they should be now. Why should you want to be with me?”

  “Katherine—”

  “What else would anyone expect? Of any of you.”

  No response. I imagine Daddy didn’t know what to say.

  “Well.” Her tone mixed defensiveness and bitter disappointment. “I picked a bad day, no way around it. We’ll just . . . do it another time. Maybe next month. Maybe next year.”

  Her footfalls hit the wood floor leading into the kitchen. I stepped into my room, listening through the cracked open door.

  “Katherine.” Daddy sounded miserable. “Where are you goin’?”

  “Home.”

  “Please don’t.”

  I heard her keys slide off the kitchen counter. “I’m not mad anymore. See?”

  “I know you’re not, that’s just—”

  “In fact I’m . . . nothing.”

  Before I knew it, she’d hit the hallway, mumbling, “I’m nothing at all.” Daddy’s footsteps followed behind her, then stopped. I moved to shut the door but too late. Katherine saw me down the short corridor. She slowed momentarily, then tossed a look over her shoulder at Daddy. Pulling in a deep breath, she headed for the front door. I heard it open. Close.

  Not another sound from Daddy.

  Concerned for him, I crept toward the entryway hall. He stood staring at the door, face pinched. When he saw me, he turned away.

  I bristled in delayed reaction. “What’s wrong with her?”

  Daddy shuffled back to sigh onto the couch. I pursued him, indignation rising. “Really, Daddy, doesn’t she—”

  “Hush, Jackie.”

  “But—”

  “Hush.” He clasped his arms wearily, staring at the coffee table. “You shouldn’t have been listenin’. Again.”

  “I didn’t have to try very hard.”

  He gave a little snort. “Guess not.”

  I eased down next to him. “Is she goin’ to be okay?”

  “She’ll get over it.”

  “But, I mean, is she goin’ to be okay?”

  He pushed his tongue under his upper lip. “She’ll be fine.”

  Of course, she would. It had only been a month since Derek’s death. Katherine was still mourning. For heaven’s sake, what were they doing fighting when they needed each other more than ever? They obviously were both on edge and worn. Weren’t we all. “Yeah,” I whispered. “She will.”

  As I rose from the couch, Daddy flicked on the television with the remote and stared sightlessly at the screen.

  Greg phoned me that night, and we talked for over an hour. The group had a couple days between concerts and were resting in a hotel in Little Rock, Arkansas.

  “This is where Celia lives all the years she and my brother are apart,” he said. “You can believe it? Seventeen years. What a waste.”

  “I could never be apart from you that long,” I breathed.

  “I could not either.”

  I spilled out my concerns over Daddy and Katherine’s argument. Greg soothed my worries, reminding me what a tough time Katherine had gone through. Was still going through.

  “You try to help her?” he asked. “She is hurt over that fight. She thinks she is not loved like your mamma was. You have to show her she is needed.”

  I hesitated. “I know, but she’s . . . we’re not as close as we used to be.”

  “Why? She needs you now especially.”

  “She acts like she doesn’t want to be around me. And frankly, she’s been so irritable that I haven’t wanted to be around her.”

  “You have to give her extra patience. She is very sad over her brother.”

  “I know that, Greg,” I replied testily. “I know she’s hurting. We’re all hurting. But she’s just being so unreasonable.”

  Greg sighed. “I need to be with you, help you through this. A little over two months, and you and I can be together.”

  For one week. A blessed week, ending just one day before Daddy’s wedding. But after that how long would we have to wait? How many weeks, how many months?

  “Jackie?”

  “I’m here. I can’t wait to see you, Greg. I just . . . I hate bein’ without you. And once you leave, then how long do we have to wait till the next time?”

  With the success of the LuvRush tour, the group’s manager and record producer had told them he wanted the group to work with fury on cutting their next CD. They all believed it would be a major hit. The final songs had to be chosen. The group had to practice them, then record. Months of work, all done in Los Angeles.

  “I will be in Greece not long,” Greg told me. “Then we go to L.A. I will visit you all I can, just even for a long weekend. That will be so good for us. Poor Mamma, though, she has to leave Greece so soon. She does not want to do it.”

 
; The group had been talking for the past few weeks about a move to L.A. They knew they couldn’t stay in Greece much longer, at least not year-round. As much as they loved their home, it was too far removed from everything they needed to do. L.A. was certainly closer to Bradleyville than Greece, I had to admit. Still, it seemed a world away.

  Greg’s parents were not thrilled with the idea of his moving. He would not be eighteen for another year. Still, what to do? Break up the group now, just when they were rising to fame? Last week, his parents had told him what they had decided. Until he turned eighteen, during the months the group lived in L.A., Greg’s mamma would stay with him.

  “You hear, Jackie? We will not be apart for months anymore. It will not be more than . . .” He thought a minute. “Two months. How is that? Not more than two months apart. I promise.”

  I slid his ring on my chain. “You really promise that?”

  “I do.”

  “Okay. Two months, Greg. We can do that. Two months at a time is worth it—for you.”

  chapter 52

  Daddy’s face looked thinner. For good reason—he’d lost eight pounds. Folks at church started to notice. “You losin’ weight?” Pastor Beekins teased. “Maybe you’re plannin’ ahead to all that fine cookin’ Katherine’s goin’ to do for you.”

  Months later I would ask Daddy—When did you know? When did you allow yourself to admit that something was really wrong?

  It was the weekend before Thanksgiving, he would reply. When Katherine announced that the owner of GreatWear Boutique was moving to Lexington to open a larger shop and wondered if Katherine could come for three to four days every month to help her run it.

  “Sylvia’s moving into her two-bedroom apartment next week,” Katherine said. “The Gardens, right near Turfland Mall. I can just stay with her when I go.”

  When I go. It wasn’t a question. No discussion about whether or not this would be a good choice month after month, once she shared the responsibilities of a house and three children. Just—when I go.

  Wedding plans were fully laid. The tuxes were chosen; Miss Jessie had made the dresses, including one for herself. Clarissa would look darling in hers as a “mature” flower girl, as Miss Jessie put it. I liked the term. Any reason for “mature” to be tacked onto my sister’s name sounded good to me. Perhaps the sound of the word would goad Clarissa into finally growing up a little. Robert would escort her, and Miss Jessie would be on Lee’s arm. Lyle Roth, one of Daddy’s friends from childhood, had been asked to take Derek’s place to escort me.