by Tricia Mills
Lindsay took my hand and squeezed it. I opened my eyes, hating her for pulling me out of my sweet memories. I pulled my hand out of hers and stared out the window. Another day fading away. Another day without Spencer.
I didn’t even turn my head when Lindsay sighed and slid off the ottoman. A few seconds passed before she returned and took my hand again. She’d been running a bath.
“Come on.”
I followed wordlessly, thankful she’d skipped the platitudes. When she left me alone, I sank onto the closed toilet seat and stared at the steamy, foam-filled water, inhaling the lavender scent of the bath salts. I silently scolded myself—it seemed wrong to indulge in comfort when Spencer might never enjoy warmth and smell favorite scents again.
As if my body had a will of its own, I found myself slipping into the water. When the delicious warmth soaked into me, my chin began to quiver.
“Forgive me,” I whispered.
“Which one should I wear to the academic competition in Anchorage?” Spencer asked as he held up two shirts, one striped in various shades of blue and one sporting a hideous orange-and-purple check pattern.
“Hello, you’re twelve. Can’t you dress yourself?” I asked.
“Without your expert opinion. That would just be silly,” he said dramatically.
“The blue one,” I said, though I thought Spencer would look good in anything.
CHAPTER 5
On Friday, three days after the crash, Mom came to my room early. Dressed for work, she sat on the edge of my rumpled bed and took my hand. “I don’t feel right leaving you here. Maybe you could come with me. It might help to be with your friends.”
“Was that what Lindsay said?” I knew it was irrational, but the hurt and anger I felt seeped out anyway.
“Winter.” Her tone scolded but not strongly. “Everyone handles grief in different ways.”
I retrieved my hand and rolled over, turning my back to her. Part of me knew she was right, but I felt like my emotions were coming apart at the seams, flying in random directions. The anger seemed to keep some of the pain at bay. At least sometimes I convinced myself of that for a few minutes.
Mom sighed. “Call me if you need anything, then. Or even if you just want me to come home.”
“I just want to be alone.” This was a lie. I wanted Spencer there with me—kissing me, holding me.
I listened as Mom left the room. When I heard her voice outside, I dragged myself to the window. She stood in the driveway talking to Jesse Kerr, but I couldn’t make out their words. I saw him shake his head, and she got into her car and backed out of the gravel drive onto the street.
Jesse didn’t follow her. Instead, he looked up at my window. I gasped when his eyes met mine. The startling thought that he might try to come up and see me—offer me some empty comfort—made me step back from the window, out of view.
I sank onto my ottoman and dropped my head into my upturned hands. If a simple glance could unnerve me so much, no wonder my mom seemed concerned. I wondered if I looked as brittle as I felt.
The walls of my bedroom began to close in on me. I wanted to take the fake Oscar, which Spencer and Lindsay had gotten me two birthdays ago, and use it to bust every breakable object in my room. My movie posters no longer held wonder and dreams, and if I’d had more strength, I would have ripped them down and torn them to shreds. Dreams were now a thing of the past for me. And for Spencer.
I knew I couldn’t concentrate long enough to lose myself in reading or homework. My DVD collection could melt, for all I cared. When I looked at my sketch pad, I had to fight the urge to set fire to it. Part of me wished the walls would literally close in and squash me like a trash compactor. But that part of myself that forced me to eat—and had driven me to sink myself into the bathwater—wanted to escape this madness caused by my isolation.
So I emerged from my room like a prisoner thrust upon a world I no longer remembered how to live in. Like Morgan Freeman’s character in The Shawshank Redemption.
Dad was already gone, off tending to the infected and broken citizens of Tundra. I meandered into the kitchen and pulled a sleeve of Ritz crackers from the cupboard. I trudged from the kitchen to the living room, surveying the room like I hadn’t seen it in years. Suddenly feeling as if I couldn’t breathe indoor air another moment, I wandered onto the deck out back that faced the thinly wooded area at the back of our property.
I closed my eyes. Sounds and scents became sharper. The breeze carried the scent of firs and the faintest hint of the coming winter. Beyond the stirring of the air through the trees and the belch of Lane Berkley’s old pickup down the street, I heard boat motors on the river and the barely discernible lap of waves against the riverbanks.
Despite my fatigue, I headed for the river. It took me three times as long to reach it as normal. I wasn’t sure if it was because of my exhaustion or because I was afraid how I’d react to the spot where the relationship between Spencer and I had changed.
As I neared the riverbank, I didn’t cry. Instead, the memory of our first kiss made me smile.
The call of arctic terns overhead caused me to look up. I watched as their dark red beaks disappeared to the south.
I was so immersed in the sensory details around me that I jumped when I heard someone’s footsteps crunch on the gravel path. I expected one of my parents or Lindsay—not Jesse Kerr. The likelihood of him standing there, staring, was so unthinkable that I wondered if I’d begun to hallucinate.
“What are you doing here?”
“Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m not going to jump in the river—if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I was concerned.”
I jerked my gaze to him. Jesse’s expression really did look like concern. My world tilted a bit more on its axis.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and glanced down for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “I’m really sorry about Spencer. I know how you must be feeling.”
His words sent a surge of blazing anger through me. “You could never know how I feel,” I spit at him. How could someone like him, whose life didn’t seem to have any bumps beyond a fight with his girlfriend, possibly understand?
Jesse looked startled. He pressed his lips together as if to prevent himself from speaking. His eyes were troubled. For a moment, I felt bad that I’d snapped. It wasn’t his fault. I must seem like Jekyll and Hyde to him.
But hearing him speak Spencer’s name nearly made me cry, even though I knew I should be totally empty by now. I redirected my gaze toward the river, unwilling to show my vulnerability in front of Jesse. We stood like that for a few moments.
“Shouldn’t you be at school?” I asked, wishing he’d go away.
“School can wait.”
I looked away. It made no sense that Jesse was skipping school while Lindsay was there, walking those halls that were empty of Spencer. I stared out across the river to the tundra beyond, but Jesse didn’t make any move to leave.
When I glanced at him, he’d turned his gaze toward the opposite side of the river, too. Something passed across his features, but I couldn’t discern what.
“It’s not hard to figure out why you’re hurting. Spencer’s death hit you hard. That much was clear when you passed out the other night. You didn’t even wake up when you were carried upstairs.”
“Did my dad tell you that?”
“No.”
I let his words soak in for several seconds. Did he mean? . . . “You? You’re the one who carried me upstairs?”
He’d been in my room? No guy had ever been in my room except Spencer. It was wrong to think of Jesse there, seeing my things—privy to more of who I was than almost anyone, Spencer and Lindsay excluded.
Jesse met my eyes with his dark ones. “Yes. Your dad was exhausted, and my dad has a bad back.”
I looked away, unable to face him any longer. “I . . . I’m . . .”
“No
need to be embarrassed.”
I wasn’t embarrassed. Okay, so I was, but that wasn’t all of what I was feeling. The whole idea of Jesse lifting me in his arms and carrying me up the stairs to my room felt . . . odd, like something out of some other girl’s dreams. If I had ever dreamed such a scenario, I would have cast Spencer in the role, not Jesse. But Jesse hadn’t had to be at my house that night, especially after we’d run into each other at the cookout. But he had been, and he’d been decent enough to help when I’d needed it.
I turned to say something—maybe an unexpected thank you—but I’d waited too long. He was already walking away.
I couldn’t begin to explain why his departure left me feeling confused. And with an odd sense of longing.
Spencer looked out across the gym floor at our seventh-grade classmates at our first school dance. He shrugged and glanced over at me.
“Guess we might as well dance,” he said. “Since we’re here and all.”
CHAPTER 6
Walking into Spencer’s memorial service on Saturday felt like an out-of-body experience. Nothing seemed real—not Reverend Blake’s words as he greeted us at the door, not the many fragrant flower arrangements perfuming the air, not Lesa and Kristen, who had flown home from college to be with me and to say their own good-byes. They’d known Spencer all his life, had treated him like the little brother they didn’t have.
All the voices around me sounded muffled and very far away. I imagined that must be what it felt like to be high—disconnected from everything and everyone around me.
I spotted Monica Belanov hugging Lindsay near a large photo of a smiling Spencer. I remembered that picture. It’d been during Tundra Books’ midnight release party for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Somehow, the choice of that photo rang perfect, and also tremendously wrong.
“Come on, sweetie,” Lesa said, as she guided me forward.
I wanted to run away and pretend this wasn’t happening, this finality to Spencer’s life. But I didn’t have the strength. I’d probably trip in the black Nine West pumps I was wearing and fall face-first in the church vestibule.
My sisters must have sensed my hesitation as we headed for the front of the sanctuary, because they held on to me even more firmly as we walked.
When we reached Monica and Lindsay, Monica hugged me. I held on to her with what little strength I had. Lindsay had difficulty meeting my eyes, but after a moment’s hesitation, she pulled me to her. We clung to each other until Mom steered us toward Spencer’s parents.
I balked. “I can’t. I’m not ready.”
Mom tried to guide me forward, but I refused to move.
“Just give me a couple minutes.” I spun around and headed toward the restroom as if it were my salvation.
When I reached the rose and off-white sitting area for the restroom, I braced myself against the sink and tried to get my ragged breathing under control. I was concentrating on an exhale when Lindsay came through the door. Without a word, she wetted a paper towel and handed it to me. I pressed it against my forehead. In the mirror, I noticed the dark circles under her eyes: the red-rimmed evidence of earlier tears.
I shook my head slowly. “I can’t go back out there. I can’t face this.”
Lindsay’s look hardened as she met my eyes in the mirror. “You can, and you will. I know you’re hurting, but today isn’t about you. We have to be strong for Spencer’s parents. They’ve lost their only child.” Lindsay’s voice broke, but she cleared her throat in an attempt at hiding it.
Her words sank through my sorrow. Some tiny reserve of strength told me I could be brave for the next hour or two, for Spencer’s parents, who were like a second mom and dad to me.
My head spun as I walked slowly toward the door.
When I reentered the sanctuary and approached Mr. and Mrs. Isaacs, I saw the distraught look on Spencer’s mom’s face. In that moment, I hated Lindsay for making me do this.
Mrs. Isaacs wrapped me in her arms and squeezed me like it might bring Spencer back. “He loved you so much,” she said in my ear.
I ached that I’d never hear him say those words to me the way I’d wanted. I swallowed past the painful lump in my throat. “I loved him, too,” I whispered.
I sat through the service, listening to eulogies for the boy I’d loved with all my heart. I stared at his picture, half believing it would spring to life.
“Winter Craig has asked to say a few words,” Reverend Blake said.
I still couldn’t believe I’d offered to speak. But as I’d looked at my bookshelves the night before and realized that books written by Spencer would never be among them, I’d felt compelled to share some of his words.
My entire body shook as I rose to my feet. Through some miracle, I made it to the podium without collapsing. I looked out at all the faces I’d known my entire life and choked back a sob. I opened the paper I held and smoothed it atop the podium.
“Spencer wanted to do two things in life—fly and write. He wanted to fly around the world and write about what he saw from the air.” I swallowed past the giant lump in my throat and gripped the sides of the podium more tightly. “ ‘The Ribbon,’ by Spencer Isaacs.” I cleared my throat and began to read.
“ ‘The river, silver and shining, undulates like a ribbon in the breeze. It breathes its foggy breath and winks at me as the sun kisses its surface. It caresses the fish below its glassy surface and tempts the birds of every stripe to taste of it.’ ”
By the time I finished the passage, I knew everyone in the room would never look at the Naknek the same way again. Spencer had taken something we all saw every day and made it magical—the way he was for me.
It took me a moment to unclasp my fingers from where they’d been holding me upright and for my brain to tell my legs to move. By the time I reached my seat, I was utterly exhausted.
The sound of someone else’s tears made me glance around the room. Beyond Spencer’s Aunt Barbara, I spotted Jesse. He was watching me. I quickly returned my attention to the front of the sanctuary, where the choir began singing “Come to Jesus.”
I bit my quivering lip as the lyrics assaulted me. Lindsay gripped my left hand, and I blinked back the tears that wanted so desperately to break free. I stared at the flowers and photo, and my anguish finally spilled down my cheeks, along my neck, and into the top of my black dress.
When the choir sang, “And with your final heartbeat, kiss the world good-bye,” I squeezed Lindsay’s hand even harder. I felt her shaking with restrained sorrow.
God, help me through this.
The smell of fried chicken assaulted me as we approached the potluck spread provided by the ladies of the church, and I had to swallow hard to keep from being sick.
“He was such a good boy,” I heard the minister’s mother say to Mr. Henning, the school principal.
The potluck proved to be too much. I had to get out of the building, away from all these sad people, before I suffocated. I mumbled that I was going to get a slice of pie and headed for the far tables laden with desserts. Why was there so much food? How could people eat at a time like this?
I walked past the desserts, into the hall, and through the back door.
I started to fall apart well before I got home. By the time I rushed through the front door of our normally comforting log house, I was ripping at the buttons of my dress. I couldn’t get it off fast enough. It felt like it was sucking the life out of me, hiding it in the midnight weave of the fabric.
I tossed the dress on my bed and threw the black hose in the trash can. I screamed as I took one of the dark heels and threw it with as much force as I could at the wall, puncturing Keira Knightley’s face on my Pride and Prejudice poster.
I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and an old Tundra School T-shirt and collapsed into my corner chair. I stared at the black funeral dress. Rage bubbled inside me until I leaped from the chair and grabbed the dress. I fumbled in the nightstand drawer, searching for the box of matches I used to light can
dles.
I nearly tripped down the stairs in my haste to get to the backyard, to make this damned dress go away forever. Several feet away from the house, I dropped to the ground and lit a match. Twice, matches sparked, then died before I could bring them to the dress’s hem. The third only caused a bit of a stinking smolder.
“Damn it! Why won’t you burn?” Tears streamed down my face.
“Winter.”
I spun to see Jesse standing a few feet away.
“What are you doing?”
I surged to my feet. “Go away! You don’t belong here. This isn’t for you.” I returned to striking and cursing the matches, tossing them aside when they refused to cooperate. “Burn, damn you, burn!”
Jesse touched my shoulder, and I launched myself at him. “Leave me alone!” I hit his shoulder with my fist. “Just leave me alone.” My voice broke as I hit him again and again.
He used his strength to grab my hands and stop the assault. I continued to struggle until the last bit of fight died away. A horrible sob surged out of me. Jesse finally released my wrists and pulled me to him, pressing me against his chest. “Why did he leave me?” I whispered.
Jesse didn’t answer. He just held me, keeping me from collapsing as the world’s worst pain poured out of me.
“What’s that? ” I asked as I watched Spencer hanging a poster in Tundra Books.
“Mom wants these love quotes all over the store for Valentine’s Day,” he replied. He turned the quote so I could see it.
“There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved.
—George Sand”
I turned my attention to the rack of paperbacks next to me so he wouldn’t see how the words made my heart flutter.
CHAPTER 7
Things didn’t get any easier after the memorial service. First, the horrible, embarrassing breakdown with Jesse. Now, I stood outside the door to the school on Monday morning, wondering how I’d ever make it through the first hour, let alone the entire day. The familiar concrete structure felt like a foreign land as I stared at it.