The Heartbeat Hypothesis

by Lindsey Frydman

  I couldn’t decide on a gift he could use, so I decided on one that meant something. And it was black. Total bonus.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Art is always a good gift.”

  My insides turned warm, seeing him smile and knowing I’d managed to do something right.

  He returned to gazing at the bowl, and whatever he was thinking, he didn’t share with me.

  “I’ll help you clean up the confetti-slash-glitter,” I said.

  “No. Don’t worry about it.” Jake turned around, and I followed him with my gaze as he went to the coffee table and set the bowl on top.

  My chest constricted when I thought of the box under the coffee table and what I’d done.

  “Is it still raining?”

  I cleared my throat, shoved those feelings to the back of my mind. “It stopped for the most part.” I inched toward the couch, still staring at his back.

  He walked to the window and pulled the blinds open, peering out.

  “What, you didn’t believe me?” I laughed.

  “I believed you.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  A few moments passed, and I grew more curious as the silence continued. Then he said, “Looking for that.”

  I frowned until he turned his head, motioning for me to look. When I got to the window, Jake stepped away and pointed.

  And there it was—a cascading waterfall of colors shimmering in the distance.

  “A rainbow,” I said, feeling like I’d just witnessed a miracle, rather than a naturally occurring phenomenon. My fingers released the blinds, and I turned around.

  “You want to go?”

  I laughed, a burn creeping up my neck. It was one of Emily’s done-its. She claimed to have chased the end of a rainbow, though I wasn’t quite sure what that meant. “I don’t think there’s a literal end to a rainbow.”

  He shrugged, a grin pulling on one side of his face. “How do you know? Have you ever tried chasing the end before?”

  I stared at him as my chest tightened, the air in my lungs becoming useless.

  If you’ve never tried it—you don’t know.

  Kat had been right.

  “Let’s do it,” I said.

  Jake parked his truck on a side road near Union Street, only a few minutes from his apartment.

  “So,” he said, looking at me, then back toward the rainbow high in the sky, “I guess we start walking then?”

  I didn’t have a better idea.

  We walked down the graveled road, toward a more open area. There was no wind, and the late-October weather was perfect, despite the rain. I didn’t know anyone who didn’t love fall—it was the best season.

  “Did you know there’s a word for the way it smells after it rains?” I asked. “The way the dry earth smells so hot and humid you can almost taste the raindrops on your tongue.”

  “Oh yeah? What is it?”

  “Petrichor.”

  “Interesting word,” he said, sticking his hands into his jeans pockets.

  “I think it’s kind of a sad word.” My gaze wandered from the multicolored trees to the mountains in the distance. “But the smell doesn’t make me sad.” It made me feel nostalgic—and those two words didn’t fit together in my head.

  “I think it sounds angry. Not sad.”

  Words held a lot of power, I supposed. Twenty-six letters could be combined in countless ways. I’d be willing to bet words had the power to do almost anything—destroy universes even.

  But words couldn’t bring back the dead.

  Jake stopped moving and lifted the camera strap off his neck. I watched as he aimed the lens at the sky.

  “Rainbows are pretty clichéd, huh?” I said.

  He lowered the camera and smiled, linking his free hand with mine. Warmth flooded my palm, raced up my arm, and spread through my chest. “Pictures of them are, sure. But the actuality of a rainbow? No way. All you need is the combination of bright sunlight, suspended droplets of water, and the proper viewing angle, and you get to witness one of nature’s most famous masterpieces.”

  I liked that answer.

  We continued walking, talking about random things. Pumpkin seeds and sheet music and annoying professors. I lost track of the time, and we moved like we knew where we were going, but neither of us had a clue.

  “What do you think she meant by chasing the end of the rainbow?” I asked as we crossed over a bridge.

  “Maybe she was trying to say…be optimistic.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like a metaphor.” He shrugged. “When it’s dark, look for stars. When it rains, look for rainbows. Something like that.”

  “Poetic. I’m impressed.”

  Jake grinned. “Ah, I’m taking that as a compliment.”

  “It was meant as one. I’ve been trying to figure it out for as long as I’ve had the list. And maybe it is a metaphor. Rainbows are temporary, right? Nothing in life is permanent. All of it will eventually disappear.” People would eventually disappear. “Maybe we’re supposed to know that…accept it, and live our lives differently because of it. Rearrange our priorities based on the finite number of heartbeats we have left.”

  I could feel all the words Jake didn’t say in the way he squeezed my hand tighter.

  Walking in comfortable silence with him might’ve become my new favorite thing—except for the kissing. That was still winning.

  Then I got to thinking—and the realization flattened me, deadened my senses before they returned swiftly like a vengeful knife. Today was Jake’s birthday. Tomorrow was Emily’s memorial.

  She died the day after his birthday.

  I looked at his profile, at the strong jawline I wanted to trace with my fingers, at the curve to his lips, and a new crack formed in my heart for him.

  No wonder he didn’t like celebrating his birthday.

  He glanced at me, unaware of the fresh fissures breaking my soul into pieces. I tried to smile, because what else could I do?

  “I think it’s fading,” he said.

  “What?” I blinked, panic clawing at my neck.

  He pointed out at the sky. “The rainbow.”

  I looked at the muted streaks of reds, greens, and blues, strained to make out all the colors. “Oh…it is fading.”

  “In a few minutes it’ll be gone.”

  I stared at the disappearing kaleidoscopic of hues. “Then I guess in a few minutes, we’ll have chased the end of a rainbow.”

  He slowed his step, smiling at me. “Well, look at that.”

  Smiling back, I didn’t understand the pressure behind my eyes. Jake’s warm palm still pressed firmly against mine. It was a picturesque afternoon, complete with the rainbow I didn’t know I needed so badly to find. I was happy. But all I wanted to do was cry.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I couldn’t decide on black or gray—and I was freaking out like it was the most important decision on earth. A memorial service wasn’t a funeral, but were you still supposed to wear black? Or were you supposed to wear colors because it was a celebration of sorts? Obsessing over unimportant details kept my thoughts from derailing.

  I decided on gray because it wasn’t black, but I could not be the only person wearing orange or purple.

  As I drove, I kept the music off and focused on details. On the plan I had. It’s not like I was going to a social mixer, so I wouldn’t have to worry about strangers introducing themselves to me. I wouldn’t be out of place at the service, and I’d have open access to everyone who knew Emily.

  Maybe someone knew more than Jake did. Like Dana. A girl wasn’t going to tell her brother everything, no matter how close they were. Or maybe Jake was wrong, and Emily did commit suicide. If that ended up true, at least he would know. He could find the closure he needed—though he would never admit he needed anything. If he knew the truth, he could learn to accept it, and her death would no longer be an open wound.

  But I didn’t know which possible truth was more terrifying.<
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  I arrived at the small church, watched a few people mingle toward the doors. It was Sunday afternoon, and Emily’s memorial was the only thing going on. I counted ten cars in the parking lot besides mine.

  Stepping inside, I realized how wrong I’d been. All my planning went to waste in the short time it took for the double doors to shut behind me. I was incredibly out of place.

  Small groups of people stood or sat, talking quietly with one another. No one paid me any attention, but I may as well have been under a spotlight. My skin burned like too many days spent in the sun, and my feet longed to take me flying out of the room. But I’d come this far. No point turning back now.

  I took a few hesitant steps toward the row of benches, scanning the crowd for the only face I knew to look for.

  “I didn’t realize you knew Emily.”

  My heart leaped at the voice—so not Dana’s. I turned around and blinked at the guy standing behind me, taking in the dark hair and a frame similar to Jake’s. He’d shaved the slight beard off his face since I saw him the day before. “Micah.”

  When he smiled, two perfect dimples pressed into his cheeks. “Audra,” he said, stepping closer.

  “Uh, hey.” I attempted to shake off my surprise, twisting my bracelet with one finger. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking when I saw you walk through those doors.” His brows lifted in a question.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat and lowered my voice, not wanting anyone else to hear me. “Well, I kind of…didn’t know her.”

  “Oh?”

  My gaze flittered around the room. “It’s a long story.”

  “How about the short version then?”

  I inhaled slowly, focusing back on his face. “I have her heart.”

  Micah’s brows lowered, pulling together as confusion colored his features.

  “Literally.”

  All traces of the smile he’d given me were gone. “No shit?”

  “No shit.” When he turned his head, obviously uncomfortable, I said, “Hey, you wanted to know.”

  “It’s not that. I—ah, Jake didn’t tell me.”

  And I didn’t normally go around telling people I owned someone else’s heart, so no surprise there.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two girls coming through a door—the bathroom, most likely. I recognized Dana’s shining blond hair from the Facebook photos I’d stalked. The other, shorter girl looked familiar, too. They whispered quietly to each other as they walked past me.

  “Are Jake’s parents here?” I asked, returning my attention to Micah.

  “I haven’t looked for them, but I doubt it.”

  So much for that. “I’m going to find a seat. It was good seeing you again.”

  He nodded, and I spun away, heading in the direction the two girls went.

  I found them sitting at the end of an aisle, still whispering to each other. Hesitantly, I walked their way and sat nearby. Tucked my feet beneath me. Pressed my palms together.

  After a few minutes, I worked up the courage to talk to them, introducing myself.

  “How did you know Emily?” Molly, the shorter one, asked. “You didn’t go to high school with us, did you?”

  I shook my head, twisted my hands in my lap. “No. I didn’t. She was like a second cousin,” I said, reconfirming what I’d told Dana.

  “Oh, okay.” Her smile was soft and easy, like something she practiced a thousand times a day.

  “I’ve never been to a memorial service like this before.” I ran my sandpapery tongue across my teeth. Swallowed nothing but stale heat. “I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

  “Molly and I decided to do it last year. And then again this year,” Dana said. “It’s mostly people from school.” She shrugged. “We thought it’d be nice to get together and remember her.”

  I swallowed, forcing my head to bob up and down. “It is nice.”

  A year from now, should I be holding a memorial service for Kat? The thought caused a heavy pressure in my chest. Would I still be as sad then as I am now, or would that pain ease? Would I have to carry this ache, reliving her death every year until I was dead?

  Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself. It was now or never—to ask for what I wanted, to say the things I wanted, and to do what I’d come here to do.

  “I don’t really believe she killed herself.” I whispered it, hoping my voice sounded okay and not like crackled static the way it did in my head.

  Molly shifted, twisting her auburn hair around one finger. It reminded me of Kat, sending a fierce slice of agony through my chest. My open wound was oozing blood, sorrow, and regret, but no one could see it, no one could feel it but me. I quickly locked down my memories, storing them for some other time.

  She exchanged a glance with Dana, whose eyes had widened for the briefest moment. “What do you mean you don’t believe it?”

  My cheeks blazed, and I ignored that, too. “I think something else happened to her.”

  They both stared at me like I’d just grown horns.

  “Uh.” I fidgeted, wrapped and unwrapped my fingers. “Maybe I’m crazy.” I was seriously considering that as an option. “But what if something else happened? I mean…I can’t see her doing…what she did.”

  Every new word I spoke tasted like a slow poison sizzling over my tongue. They weren’t lies, but they felt like lies in my heavy chest and burning throat. At this rate, I would croak by the end of the day.

  Was I destroying Emily’s memory?

  Was Jake wrong?

  The two girls stared at each other for a while, exchanging looks I didn’t understand. Finally, Dana leaned toward me and said, “We never wanted to believe it, either. It’s been really hard for us.”

  My heart thumped when her face crumpled. I couldn’t help but think I was doing more harm than good. The bracelet on my wrist felt cold and heavy, but seared my skin as though it were laced with acid.

  “So you believe that she…you think that’s what happened?” I asked, looking between the two of them.

  They exchanged another glance. Dana’s face turned neutral again before looking back at me. “What are we supposed to believe?”

  I gazed toward the front of the chapel when their stares became too much. “I don’t know.” I forced in air, forced it out again. “Jake thinks their parents might have…maybe they had something to do with it.”

  “Jake?” Molly’s soft voice raised an octave.

  “Yeah.” I turned back to them.

  “We haven’t seen him in two years. Not since before Emily died,” Dana said.

  Molly wound hair around her finger, staring wide-eyed while she pulled hard on the gorgeous strands. “He thinks they did something?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, my heart pounding between my ears.

  “Their parents were really weird.” Now Molly was talking to Dana, rather than to me, and I had to lean closer to hear.

  “Yeah, but…” Dana’s voice trailed off, her eyebrows pinching together. “What does Jake think they did?”

  My stomach tightened, fingers twitching. “I don’t know.”

  There was silence between us as we sat awkwardly, all lost in our own thoughts.

  Molly shook her head, gaping at her linked fingers. “Emily was always so happy.”

  More people were filling into the seats around us, shuffling down the aisles. The service would start soon. I only had a couple minutes left to talk to them.

  “People can lie,” Dana said. “Maybe the happiness wasn’t real.”

  “You don’t really think that, do you?” Subtle anger laced Molly’s tone. “You think we didn’t know her? Our best friend?”

  She paused, cleared her throat. “No…we knew her—we did. Maybe…maybe I don’t think she killed herself. But if not, I don’t have any idea what happened.”

  Molly nodded, leaning a little closer. “All Emily talked about was graduation and some boy she’d been seeing—we nev
er got the details about him, but apparently he was in college and her parents would’ve killed her if they found out. She—” Her features collapsed. “I didn’t mean—it’s just…if we had suspected anything, we would’ve spoken up.”

  Dana nodded her agreement. “Definitely.”

  My stomach turned over. I was more confused than before. “Thank you. For answering my questions. I wanted to get those things off my chest. I want Emily’s memory to be an honorable one. And maybe it doesn’t matter…because she’s not here anymore. But I think she deserves the truth to be known.”

  I wanted the truth for Emily and for Jake.

  After the short memorial, which mostly consisted of stories about Emily, I said good-bye to Molly and Dana and started toward the exit.

  I wasn’t ready to leave—wasn’t ready to admit I’d learned nothing, that all my efforts had been in vain.

  My steps slowed and I found a wall and leaned against the wood paneling. I shut my eyes, breathing in deeply. When I opened them, Micah stood in front of me.

  “Wow, you like sneaking up on people.”

  He grinned. “On occasion.”

  “It’s not nice, you know.”

  His grin only widened. “I know. So why did you really come?”

  I gaped at him, taken aback by his directness. “Why were you at Jake’s?”

  “He’s my friend.”

  “Then where were you before yesterday?”

  The grin faded, and he squinted at the floor. “What?”

  I resisted a groan. “Nothing. Look, I’m sorry, I’m…I don’t know.”

  “Upset? Pissed off?”

  “I’m not pissed.”

  “You look pissed.”

  I turned away, watched people filing out of the church just as quietly as they’d arrived. “I’m upset, I guess.”

  “At least you’re admitting it.”

  I wasn’t sure how to feel about his comment.

  “So you wanna tell me?” he asked. “Why you’re really here?”

  I turned back to him. “You want to tell me what you were really doing over at Jake’s?” There had been something going on between them when I showed up—I was sure of it.