Has to Be Love

by Jolene Perry

  “Wow.” I know this part of him. “Losing someone you love steals parts of you that you’ll never get back.”

  “My parents are sort of okay. They have these staunch beliefs where they say he’s in a better place, but all I can think is that he should be here. He shouldn’t have gotten sick. He should be here.” Pain and anger infuse his voice. “I’m sorry. It’s my brother’s birthday today. Every year I think it’ll be better, and every year it’s not. I’m not as okay as I want to be.”

  He tells me this like I’m old enough or worthy enough to hear it. And maybe I am. I have things to say. To share. His legs slide back down, and he rubs his hands up and down his thighs a few times.

  The rain clatters on the roof and makes plopping, plipping noises as it hits the soft dirt outside. I breathe in the sweetness of the hay. “I think that about my mom sometimes.”

  “I bet.”

  “Losing family affects us in ways other people can’t understand.”

  He nods slightly as he strips apart another piece of hay with his fingers.

  Most people I know have lost someone, but very few people have lost someone from their immediate family. It’s not the same. “When a person …” I’m not sure if I can say this right, but I feel the need to try. “When a person is unquestionably a part of your every day, and then they’re gone … My house is still hollowed out and emptier without Mom. So is my heart. Always will be. Without believing she’s somewhere better, I’m not sure how I would have survived the loss.”

  “Hmm.”

  I chew on the end of a piece of hay, still just looking for a way to keep busy. “My dad, you know. I mean, we’ve always gone to church, but after we lost Mom it became everything to him.”

  He leans back against the stall and faces me. “And do you push back?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “It works for me. I like our church. I like what we believe, but …” But everyone doubts sometimes. Maybe I’ll always doubt a little, but it’s definitely not something I’d share with Rhodes. Or Elias. Or even my dad. I’m a firm believer in faith being personal, and that’s gotten me out of a lot of awkward conversations.

  “Your scars—” he starts but pauses. “I look at you and I’m reminded of how very lucky I am. Your internal scars are probably related to your external scars, and it’s not like you can hide those. Mine are easily hid.”

  “No,” I agree. “I can’t hide.” And for the first time I think someone understands a part of why I hate my scars. It’s something I’ve never been able to put into words in such a simple way.

  “I’m glad we’re friends,” he says as his eyes float over my face, spending a few extra seconds on my scars.

  I snort like the very attractive person that I am. “Is that what we are? Because I’m pretty sure you’re my teacher.”

  He leans toward me until our shoulders bump before moving away, but just slightly. “In six months, we could end up in the same college class, Clara. I feel much more connected to that idea than the fact that I’m student teaching. I’d love to be a teacher, but I have more school I’d like to finish first. I’m student teaching now because it felt like a good opportunity to spend time in Alaska, and I’ve never been. I think I’d like to be a teacher later because I love learning and I love the school schedule. I’d have a lot of freedom for travel. Well … if I ever stop going to summer school.”

  “Oh.” The divide between us shrank with the story of his brother and shrank with him slumping next to me, and he’s right anyway. When I start college in the fall, it is possible that we could end up in the same class. Not likely. But possible. I hold my breath as the reality of how close we could be sinks in, and then I want to ask him about all the places he’s been. Is that something I’ll do? I’m not sure. New York still feels like an insurmountable wall.

  Rhodes shreds a few more pieces of hay with his fingertips. “You and Elias have been together a while.”

  I nod but don’t speak. Talking about Elias with Rhodes feels like another kind of unfinished poem—awkward in a way that makes me unsure of how to move forward.

  “It’s just …” He frowns a bit and shakes his head.

  What Rhodes thinks shouldn’t affect me. It shouldn’t matter. But the weight of his obvious disapproval rests on my mind.

  “You think it’s silly or something? I’ve known him since I was little. He’s one of my best friends. Having that close friendship turn into dating is a pretty awesome place to start a relationship.”

  He leans closer to me, just enough that I notice, but not enough that I pull away. “Don’t you want to experience more?”

  “Yes.” I want Columbia. Maybe a little bit of you … Guilt hits my stomach like a brick. I shouldn’t have even let the thought of Rhodes formulate. I shouldn’t have answered yes to his question. Elias deserves better.

  He jerks his head my way, his eyes widened in surprise. “Then why …?”

  “I got into Columbia,” I blurt out and then slap my hand over my mouth.

  “What?” His whole face lightens. He pushes off the stall and scoots until he’s cross-legged and facing me. “You got in to Columbia? From here?”

  I nod again. The reality of me having a chance to go to that school is just …

  Rhodes laughs. “We could be in the same classes!”

  I shake my head before closing my eyes.

  “What’s that, Clara?” he asks. “How are you not jumping up and down? Is it a money thing?”

  I shake my head. “I know it would be tight, but Mom and Dad have always saved for me. I think, with some student loans, it could be doable.”

  “Clara. I mean …wow.”

  I finally open my eyes. “I can’t go. Not this year.”

  Rhodes snorts. “Uh … why not? Why would you jeopardize your chances? Not all deferments are accepted, you know. You have to have a really good reason.”

  “I’m …” I swallow. I don’t know how to tell Rhodes that there’s no way I can go there looking the way I do. “I just have things to do first.”

  “Does this have to do with Elias?” he asks with so much disdain and contempt that I push to standing.

  “No!” I press my hands to my heated cheeks. “No. You wouldn’t understand.”

  Rhodes is in front of me, bent forward to look in my eyes. I want him to look smug or annoyed, but instead his brow is all wrinkled with worry. “Clara?”

  I blink because I’m once again standing in front of Rhodes in the barn and now I’m almost crying. “I have homework.”

  He frowns. “I wish you’d tell me what the hang-up is so I can help. Columbia might not be for everybody, but Clara … I think I know you well enough to know how much you’d absolutely love it. Think about what it would be like to go to school with people who do the required reading for fun.”

  Amazing.

  “I have to go.” I step around him and start for the barn door, heart pounding.

  “It’s a big deal to get in, Clara. Someone saw something in you. Don’t let them down.”

  It’s too much. I have Elias. I love him. I have a dad to prepare for my departure. I have a face to fix …

  Someone saw something in you … Don’t let them down …

  My stomach tightens as if it’s trying to squeeze me in half. I should have never applied a year early. I turn and face him. “I’ll figure it out.”

  He cocks a brow like he’s not sure what to do with me. “If you say so.”

  At least he says “if you say so” when that’s what he means.

  “I do.”

  Rhodes shrugs. “Okay then.”

  Okay.

  Only something tells me this is going to come up again, and I may need a better answer.

  11

  The rows of wooden pews at my church have started to blend together as my blinks get slower. I’ve been playing sick for enough days that I’m not about to ask Dad if I can skip. Elias has been so busy at work that we’ve barely spoken since my near pass-out at
his house. I’m afraid to think of what it might mean if he’s avoiding me, even though I’m “sick” to avoid him—at least while I try to sort out what I’m feeling.

  I stare at the second hand of the clock that sits high on the wall, achingly traveling from one number to the next. The speaker today is one of the old, white-haired guys. He’s nice enough and I’m pretty sure their family is loaded, but he always looks like he took a trip through the washing machine in his suit before coming to church.

  I’ve flipped through the hymn book, slid through the pages in my scriptures, tried counting the number of people sitting in the pews but got bored at fifty, and anyway, there are a lot of little kids moving around.

  How is Dad even focusing? Better question. Why didn’t I pull the girl-problem card and stay home today?

  I glance at Dad to see if we can give a mutual eye roll at a talk I feel like I’ve heard a million times, but Dad’s blotting tears from the corners of his eyes.

  What am I missing?

  Don’t get me wrong, Dad tearing up in church isn’t all that unusual. In fact, it’s a near-weekly occurrence, but for this? All I know is that I’m pretty sure Jesus’s name was mentioned and I think there was a story about a hunting trip the guy took. The rest sort of went over my head.

  I’m dying.

  Seriously dying of boredom. I lean my head down to cover my face with my hair better and try to scan the room to see if anyone else is as bored as me. Sadly, the only company in my boredom is very small children. I wish Cecily were here. This is when I should pull out my scriptures and read, or try to think deeply about my life and the decisions I have to make, but it seems like all I’m doing is making decisions, or at least being faced with them. This meeting is normally my break and reset time, but today it’s just not working for me.

  I stare at my feet and tap the toes of my ballet flats together. Then twist my hair with a finger. Suddenly I hear the words that signify the end of his talk.

  “Amen.”

  Whew. Survived. Still awake.

  Sunday school is Old Testament studies, and instead of following along in the lesson, I read in Psalms. The rhythms of the words and the interesting thoughts bounce in my brain, settle my heart, and help me remember why I come to church in the first place.

  “You seem distracted,” Dad says. He holds the passenger door open for me after church. He’s done this since I was a kid, and I went through a phase where I thought his overt politeness was stupid. But Suki pointed out that Dad lost his wife, and I’m his little girl, and sometimes we let people do nice things because it makes them feel better. It isn’t always about the person on the receiving end. I guess she has a point.

  “Maybe a little distracted.” I give him a noncommittal shrug.

  “A lot distracted since you and Elias went out the other night.” Dad walks around the front of the car, and I notice his graying hair and growing belly in a little different light. My dad looks … older. Noticeably. Like I can remember a time when he barely had any gray, and it doesn’t feel like that long ago.

  A fluttering panic beats in my chest as Dad slides in the driver’s seat. “Well?”

  “Senior year. Just busy. Getting over being sick.” Fake sick. I blink a few times, wishing for his age to fade.

  It doesn’t.

  Dad looks at me sideways as he turns on the car. “Don’t think for a minute I don’t know you use ‘just busy’ as an excuse.”

  Well, crap. “I’m good, Dad.”

  He gives my knee a quick squeeze. “Well, okay. I wanna stop by your mom’s grave today. You up for that?”

  No, I’m not up for that. She’s gone. She’s gone and I don’t get to talk to her or get her help or …“Yeah, of course.”

  Dad slides the car into reverse and we move out of the parking lot. “I wanted to ask you …”

  I wait. And wait. And tap my fingers against my skirt and then stare out the window …

  “Two things, I guess.” Dad’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Mr. Kennedy is …”

  The car clunks over the uneven pavement as we wind through the trees, and Dad doesn’t speak.

  “Get it out, Dad. You can do it,” I tease, wondering if I should have kept my mouth shut or had a pretend coughing fit to avoid the conversation.

  “I want to know if you and Elias are being careful.” The words blur together in Dad’s nervousness.

  I can totally feel my brows rising, and I’m once again holding my breath—sort of counterintuitive when I’m trying to make myself sound relaxed. “Um … shoulders to knees and everything in between, Dad. Elias and I are okay.”

  And I’m still not sure how I feel about that.

  Dad shrinks about three inches as he relaxes. “I also want to know if it’s awkward for you to have your teacher over at our house so much. I just remember being that young and on my own, and he’s in a town he’s never been to before so I thought it would help if he felt like he had people.”

  “I know why you’ve invited him over.” It’s so like my dad to take in the new stranger in town.

  Tapping my fingers on the window, I watch the trees blur by as we wind our way up the road to the cemetery.

  “So … Kennedy?” Dad asks. “Is it okay, or should we slow down the dinners?”

  My heart does a fantastic ka-thump. “Why do you ask?”

  “When you leave for the barn, he stands up so fast that he nearly knocks his chair over. Don’t get me wrong. I really like Rhodes. I just want to make sure that nothing is awkward. I also might be seeing things that aren’t there.”

  “Oh.” Huh. “No, um. No weirdness. I mean … like you said, he’s my teacher, and he’s hanging at our house a lot, but it’s fine. I mean …” Why must my brain be farting out now? How many times have we tossed out the fact that he’s my teacher? “I mean it’s totally fine. He lost his brother and likes to talk, so he follows me. That’s all.” Is it?

  “Relax, honey.” Dad flicks on the stereo. “I was just curious. I’m glad you’ve found a friend in him because it might be good for you to know some people who aren’t from here. I’m just giving you a hard time.”

  And there’s no way to hide the rush of my relief breath, which earns me a sideways smile from Dad. He sees way too much.

  “You and Cecily decide on Anchorage or Fairbanks for school in the fall?” he asks.

  Oh. Right. “Cecily’s going to New York.” This fall. Like a traitor to our plan.

  “Sorry, hon.” Dad pats my knee. “I wrote out a few checks for out-of-state college applications. You heard back from any of those places yet?”

  I hold my breath. I could tell him about Columbia. I totally could. He’d be proud. We’re about to go visit Mom. Timing is good. “Nope.”

  Dad nods in this odd, distracted way. I’m not sure what he’d say to my acceptance. He’d probably panic.

  We pull into the small, empty parking lot of the cemetery. The grass is still yellowed from winter, and the leaves have tinged the branches slightly green, but the drab brown covers the landscape. At least the headstones aren’t buried in four feet of snow and drifts like they are for most of the winter.

  We move slightly uphill until we pass the third bench, then we take a right onto the grass. Dad grasps my hand and gives me a squeeze. “You have to miss her,” he says.

  I swallow, my palms sweaty. I take back my hand. “Of course.” I also wish I could tell her that I got into her school. In person.

  “Especially now.”

  Folding my arms, I ask, “Why especially?”

  He chuckles. “Because I’m not a good sounding board for clothes and boys and all that.”

  “I have Cecily.” But I’m swallowing the familiar lump of emptiness, sadness, and that horrid pit of loss. “And I don’t care about clothes.” There’s no point in dressing nice when what I wear can’t change my face.

  We stop. Her simple stone stands about waist high, and seeing the words of her name, her birth, her death … i
t’s as if someone’s etched them into my skin. Like every time I’m faced with this place.

  I. Hate. It. Here. My heart is once again stuffed into that too-small box.

  Dad closes his eyes and touches the cold stone, like he does every time we come. I’m pretty sure I should feel something more than the gut-wrenching, heart-squeezing I do. Some sort of peace or closeness, but I don’t. Never have. She’s not here.

  I wait for Dad to finish, for him to blot his eyes and take my hand again. “You’re unusually quiet.”

  “Am I?” I ask.

  We walk back toward the car in silence. The blue sky stretches to the mountaintops, and the faint rush of the river reverberates through the trees. When the inevitable breeze blows, it hits the back of my neck, making me shiver. The glacier air is biting, even in summer.

  Dad unlocks the car and I slide in, letting out a breath I didn’t know I held. I’ve been doing that a lot lately, which probably says something about my stress level.

  “Do you ever …” But I stop. What if Dad’s answer is yes? If it works for him and not me?

  “Ever what?”

  “Ever hear her. Mom. Like … feel like you can talk to her.”

  “No. Maybe sort of.”

  I press my hand to my chest as the relief leaves a numbness in my body. “Oh.”

  “I remember the feel of her. Of being around her.” He makes a frowning sort of smile. “So sometimes I probably pretend I can talk to her without realizing it. I talk to her out loud when I’m working on the plane sometimes. It helps.”

  “I remember the feeling of her too.” I wish I could close my eyes and feel that, but it doesn’t happen often. Maybe because I don’t take the time to. Maybe because it hurts too badly when I’m done. I’m not sure.

  He pulls me into a sideways hug. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Clara.”

  And he won’t have to worry about doing without me—at least not for a while. I glance at the face that seems to be aging even as I watch. No, it was good I didn’t tell Dad about Columbia. I need to figure out what I’m doing first, then we can talk.