Love Always, Kate

by D. Nichole King

“What’s this?” I ask.

  My dad takes a few moments before he answers. “I think this helped you grieve last time. Maybe it will again.”

  I stare at the door, close my eyes, and swallow. My hand automatically goes to the pocket of my jeans. I pat what’s inside and open my eyes.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Maybe.”

  Dad winks. “And you can do it legally this time.”

  I reach back into my pocket and pull out the pendant I’d given Kate. “I want this,” I tell the artist.

  He takes it from my hand, studies it, and nods. “Yeah. No problem.”

  I slip my shirt off and lie on the table. As I feel the burning sensation sink in over my heart, the memory of the night I’d given it to her makes me smile.

  ~*~

  A strange feeling pierces me on the morning of my graduation. It doesn’t have anything to do with the diploma I’m receiving. No, it’s Kate. She’s the reason I’ll be walking across the stage, not only because I promised her I would, but because she believed in me.

  That’s not what hurts today, though. Me graduating had been her fourth wish. She had five. And as I dress in my orange cap and gown, I realize that I’ll never know the fifth. She took it with her.

  I shoot one last look in the mirror and grab the keys my dad has given back based on good behavior.

  “See you after the ceremony, son,” Dad says, hugging me. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble and walk out the door.

  The ceremony drags on, and I count a thousand other places I’d rather be. Passed out on my bed with a bottle of Jim Beam tops the list.

  The putz handing out diplomas starts calling names. Those with their last names beginning with the letter A make their way to the stage. Their worthless slip of paper is handed to them, then a lady at the end gives them a red rose. Lame.

  I stand with the Ls, oblivious to the crowd of happy parents around me. I know I should be excited; I’m doing this for Kate, after all. But I feel empty.

  “Damian Lowell.”

  I walk up the steps and shake hands with the guy in the suit.

  “Congratulations, Damian,” he says.

  “Thanks,” I mumble. That guy doesn’t care.

  The lady hands me the red rose with a smile. I take it and stare at the petals. Somehow, it didn’t dawn on me until then that the red rose was Kate’s flower. I’d always given her red roses to match her diary.

  “You can step down now,” the lady says.

  “Uh, yeah,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat.

  At the bottom of the stairs, I lift my head to the sky. Of all the flowers in the world, I hold a red rose on graduation.

  Thank you, Katie.

  I choke back a sob and notice all the other students in their seats already, clutching their diploma and their rose. My gaze rises, and I scan the crowd. I see her on the bleachers, third row up.

  Taking Kate’s flower with me, I jog around my fellow classmates. I cross the track and unlatch the gate. Eyes from the crowd follow me, but I pay no attention to them. Taking the bleacher stairs two at a time, I finally stand in front of Marcy Browdy.

  I kneel, and she wraps her arms around my neck. Jason grins at me and pats my shoulder.

  “You did good, son,” he says.

  “Kate would have been so proud,” Marcy says through her tears.

  I nod and hand Kate’s flower to her. “I know.”

  Chapter 32

  I sit beside Kate’s tombstone after graduation. Placing my cap on top of the light gray marble, I imagine it on her head and smile.

  I trace my fingers over her name. Kathryn “Katie” Browdy. Under it, the Celtic heart knot for hope is etched to match the symbols on the stones beside hers. Kate’s parents had loved the idea, and we all knew Kate would have wanted nothing else.

  Tears roll down my face when my fingertips reach the words under the dates of birth and death. You are worth it, Katie. No regrets cross my mind.

  “I did it, Katie,” I choke out. “I graduated. So now what?”

  My gaze hangs on the marble as if it will answer my question.

  “You said you had five wishes. That I had to wait until I finished each one to get the next. I’m ready now.”

  A breeze blows through the elder tree behind me. I bow my head, tears spilling onto the new slivers of grass poking out of the dirt.

  I look up when I hear tires crunch the gravel. My dad parks his car behind mine and steps out.

  “I figured you’d be here,” he says and sits beside me. He takes in a deep breath, raising his head to the sky. “After your mom and brother passed, I came here every day. Sometimes, I slept out here between them.”

  I stare at him, waiting for him to get to the point.

  “It’s hard, son, but it does get easier. Though the pain never completely goes away, it lessens over time.”

  I don’t know if I believe him. We sit together in silence for a few more minutes. Then he pats me on the back and rises to his feet.

  “Come home when you’re ready,” he says.

  “I will,” I mumble, watching him walk to his car.

  He drives away, and I turn back to Kate. I shift my hand on the grass and feel a wrinkle beneath my palm. A white envelope lies on the grass. I glance up at the dust left behind my father’s car.

  Swallowing, I pick up the envelope. I recognize the girly handwriting that had scrawled out my name. My stomach lurches as I rip it open. I unfold the paper, and my heart melts.

  Dear Damian,

  Congratulations! I always knew you could do it. Just like I know you’ll do well in college and pick some amazing career. Maybe you’ll be a musician; I love hearing you sing.

  This letter isn’t easy for me to write. If you’re reading it, it means I’m gone. I know you’re hurting. And I’m sorry. I wish I could take it away somehow. But then again, I don’t. Pain has a purpose. It makes us stronger. More compassionate. Able to love more deeply than we thought possible. If we let it, it makes us better people. That’s my hope for you.

  You know, I used to think that being strong meant not getting emotionally involved. Becoming separate and passive. Unattached. Damian, I was wrong.

  Being strong means allowing yourself to cry over the things you can’t change; laugh when things are funny; smile when you’re happy. It means understanding where your breaking point is, and yet, going further and still remaining whole. Strong people push themselves to the limits of pain and joy. They fall to their knees in agony, then they lift up their faces to find the beautiful morning rays shining down on them, and they rise to their feet. Being strong means never giving up, no matter how crushed you are, and finding happiness in the smallest parts of life.

  I learned that being brave is the hardest thing in the world. That it hurts. That it tests everything you believe in and more. I realized how unbrave I actually am and how that’s okay. I’m so glad you are next to me right now. You give me courage.

  I’m scared when I think about you reading this. I imagine you in your room, in your cap and gown, in two weeks. That’s as far as I can see, though.

  But, Damian, I was wrong about something. I thought death was a journey I’d have to take alone. You have no idea how happy I am to know it’s not. I see your face, feel your touch, and I know how much you love me. Because of you, I’ll never be alone.

  I promised you five wishes; do you remember? I said you’d get the last one after you graduate. So here it is. My fifth wish.

  This one might be the hardest one because it may seem like you’re doing it alone. You won’t be; I’ll be with you.

  My last wish, Damian, is that once you’ve read my diary, you’ll put it in a box. Place it in the attic somewhere and leave it there. Let it collect dust.

  That’s not all, though. You have a whole life in front of you. Don’t waste it. Don’t dwell on the past. Move forward.

  Life isn’t about merely surviving. It’s about living.

  D
amian, my love, my final wish is for you to let me go.

  Love Always,

  Katie

  The End

  Acknowledgements

  Behind every great writer is an amazing team of support: family, friends, beta readers, CP's, editors, marketing people, cover designers, formatters, submissions teams, and everyone else at the publishing house. This is my chance to say 'thanks,' and I sincerely hope I don't leave anyone out!

  First and foremost, I thank God, for without Him, none of this would be possible.

  Secondly, my family. To my husband, David, for his encouragement to chase my dream, his analytical thoughts when I had problems figuring something out, his willing ear, and the fire he lit under me to start sending out query letters. I couldn’t have done this without you!

  To my children, David Michael, Brennan, Natalie Anne, and Abigaylle, for making me smile when the story wasn’t moving like I wanted, and for finding things to do while Mommy worked. You four are the best!

  To my parents, siblings, and-laws for being among the first readers and for being there when I had good and bad news to share. Thanks for letting me count on you!

  Thank you to my friends and various beta readers who read through my stories with a keen eye. Your thoughts have been very helpful, as well as your encouragement and kind words. Holly Hendrian, Tonille Burrows, Heather Jelsma, Kim Jackson, Landon King, and I hope I'm not missing anyone, I appreciate you all very much. Your insights have been invaluable.

  A special thanks to Heather Jelsma and Angela Rothfus for helping me put together my website! Seriously, I wouldn’t have one if it weren’t for you!

  I've been blessed with some amazing critique partners (CP's), and I can't even begin to express my thanks for the hard work they put in making my stories shine their brightest. Sunniva Dee: You were the first non-family/non-friend to read my work, and not only did you fall in love with it, it spawned a great friendship. Your honesty and thorough eye has made me a better writer, editor, and has made my manuscripts look more polished than I could ever have done on my own. Temperance Elisabeth: You know how to ask the right questions in the right places to make my stories come alive even more. I appreciate your fine eye for details. Your comments always make me smile! I'm so grateful for our newfound friendship! Laura Carlson: I don’t know how you do it, but you seem to always know what my story needs to make it sparkle! Thanks for loving LOVE ALWAYS, KATE so much. You are a gem, friend. Virginia Pierce: You've inspired me! And your comments on LOVE ALWAYS, KATE were perfect! They meant the world to me, and I look forward to growing as friends and writers.

  Thank you to my editor, Toni Rakestraw, for going through this novel with a fine-tooth comb! It’s much appreciated!

  Thank you to Limitless Publishing for taking a chance on me! Jennifer O'Neill, Jessica Gunhammer, Dixie Matthews, Olivia Oswald, and everyone else who had a hand in getting my book out there, you're all amazing!

  And of course to the readers! Without you, there'd be no books! So a huge, sincere, round of applause for each and every one of you! You're the best!

  Love Always,

  D.

  About the Author

  Born and raised in Iowa, d. Nichole King writes her stories close to home. There’s nothing like small-town Midwest scenery to create the perfect backdrop for an amazing tale.

  She wrote her first book in junior high and loved every second of it. However, she couldn’t bring herself to share her passion with anyone. She packed it away until one day, with the encouragement of her husband, she sat down at the computer and began to type. Now, she can’t stop.

  When not writing, d. is usually curled up with a book, scrapbooking, or doing yet another load of laundry.

  Along with her incredible husband, she lives in small-town Iowa with her four adorable children and their dog, Peaches.

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