Beyond the Point

by Claire Gibson

  “I’m thinking we should take Hannah on a drive,” Avery said quietly.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Dani replied. And with that, the two of them called Hannah out of the kitchen, and led her out the door, the banner still hanging from the ceiling behind them. Welcome Home.

  THE WEATHER WAS unseasonably warm for late November. As they drove off post, the road shrank to two lanes and the scenery morphed from strip malls to cotton fields. The plants had dried into dark brown stalks, and some of them still held bright white bulbs of cotton, the ones the harvesting machines had missed. Dani looked out the passenger-side window. Every few minutes she heard Hannah sigh, as if she had to remember to keep breathing.

  It should have been me. I want it to be me. Those were the words that Hannah had sobbed into her pillow the night before. And she was being serious. Dani had never sat with someone in so much pain for so many hours. And while she sat there, listening to her friend cry, all she could do was listen. Tim’s life wasn’t the only one that had ended. The life Hannah was going to have, the children she was going to raise—all of that had ended, too. Like they’d come to a fork in the road with God in the center. He’d pointed Tim and Hannah in separate directions, their momentary love lost forever.

  Avery pulled the car off to the side of the road, under a canopy of large oak trees.

  “Let’s just stop here,” Avery said, putting the Honda Civic in park. “I have no idea where I’m going anyway.”

  They all opened their doors and started walking along a gravel road, surrounded on both sides by fields of cotton. Hannah was wearing one of Tim’s old sweatshirts. She looked so young, Dani thought. Her hair was bleached nearly as blond as Avery’s from all the days she’d spent under the desert sun. Somewhere buried below the sadness, Dani knew, the old Hannah was still there. Despite the sorrow, there was still a clearness in her eyes. Dani looked around and started to chuckle.

  “What?” Avery said, turning to look at her.

  “This is where you take me?” Dani laughed. Looking at Hannah, Dani whispered dramatically, “Did she bring me out here on purpose?”

  Avery looked at Hannah with furrowed eyebrows. “What?” she asked. “What did I do?”

  “You take us out of the house to cheer us up, and this is where you take me?” Dani said, putting a hand on her chest in disbelief. “Taking me on a walk through a cotton field? All you white people! Should have known all along.”

  Avery started laughing and so did Hannah. Dani, feeling the momentum of their release, frolicked through the cotton field, bending over and inspecting each plant for blooms. She stuck her butt up high into the air.

  “Do you want me to start picking? Is that what you guys brought me out here to do?”

  Deep in the brush of one plant, she found a white puff, covered over with leaves. She held it up in the air and then threw it at Avery, who ducked, unnecessarily. The cotton flew only a few inches from Dani’s body. The laughter was real and deep, and seeing Hannah smile for the first time since she’d arrived back home touched a place inside Dani’s heart that hadn’t moved in a long time.

  “Ahhhh, my gosh,” Avery sighed, grabbing her cheeks. “I’ve missed you girls.”

  “Bringing me out here to pick cotton. As if that’s gonna cheer me up,” Dani said, but her words were cut short when the phone in Hannah’s jean pocket started to ring.

  Hannah held it in her hand as though she were trying to compute a difficult math problem. She walked over and handed it to Dani. It had been this way ever since Hannah had arrived home a few days earlier. She couldn’t deal with people calling to offer their sympathy. She didn’t know what to tell them when they asked how they could help. So, she either ignored the calls or passed the phone to someone else to answer.

  Dani couldn’t blame her. In the week since she’d left London, she’d received more than fifty work e-mails, none of which she’d had time or energy to answer. What did it matter now if Gelhomme sold thirty million or forty million razors? If life was this short, Dani wasn’t sure that she could spend hers in an office with Laura Klein. How could she go back to London and care about a commercial or a digital banner ad ever again? How could she go back to making money but no impact in the world?

  Standing in a field of cotton, thinking about how her ancestors had fought to free her from this place, she realized that she couldn’t repay their sacrifices with a purposeless life. It was clear to Dani that God had sent her to West Point so that she could know these women. So she would be right here, right now. Beyond that, nothing was certain.

  Dani took the phone from Hannah’s hands and answered the call.

  “Hello? Yes. . . . Okay. . . . Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  After the call ended, Dani held the phone in her hand like she’d just spoken to a ghost.

  “That was Arlington,” she choked out. “They only have one opening in the next six months.”

  The whites of Hannah’s eyes were whiter than the cotton in the field, her irises bluer than the sky. Dani couldn’t bear to see her friend bracing for disappointment, but there, in that moment, she saw Hannah’s shoulders fall.

  Avery stepped closer and put her hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “Oh, Hannah, I’m so sorry.”

  “No. The opening . . . ,” Dani replied, her eyes welling with tears. “The opening they have is December fifth. He said we could have it.”

  32

  December 2, 2006 // Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  The Saturday before the funeral, Avery walked down to Hannah’s house at noon with her fingers wrapped in the sleeves of the same sweater she’d worn the night Noah picked her up for their very first date. Could you call it a date if the person picking you up was engaged to someone else? Could you grieve a relationship that should never have even happened?

  Her sadness about Noah paled in comparison to what Hannah was experiencing. And for that reason, Avery was grateful for her proximity to Hannah’s sorrow. The sheer size of the mountain Hannah had to climb overshadowed the hills of Avery’s life. When you allowed yourself to enter someone else’s trauma, there were so many benefits: a righted perspective, a deeper sense of friendship, a holy devotion to the sacredness of now. Avery hadn’t gone running once since Hannah had returned home. At the moment, nothing seemed more important than being present and available for her friend.

  The temperature had fallen overnight to below freezing but was supposed to climb into the high forties by midday. Tree branches, bare and gray, sliced through the sky like witches’ fingers. She shivered. Emily had agreed to go to the mall with Dani to find Hannah something to wear to the funeral, which left Avery to volunteer for a much different job. She didn’t feel ready.

  Hannah placed herself heavily in the passenger seat of Avery’s beat-up Honda Civic. Tim’s parents sat in the back, and the four of them drove across Fort Bragg to a redbrick building near the hospital. When they’d walked through that cotton field a few days ago, Hannah’s face had momentarily regained its color—red cheeks, dimpled like God had touched her when her skin was soft as dough. But as they drove, Avery could tell that a tsunami of grief had wiped her out again. Margaret reached her hand around the headrest to rub Hannah’s shoulder, but she pinched her shoulders up by her ears, refusing to accept the touch.

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Hannah?” Margaret asked once they’d parked.

  “I don’t have a choice,” she said dismally. “I have to see him. Otherwise . . . I—I just have to.”

  “I’m going to go in with Hannah first,” Avery said, hoping she wasn’t overstepping. But Hannah looked back at her with gratitude, like she’d just saved her life. “Captain Huerta said there’s a waiting room. I’ll send him to get you after.”

  “I hope it will give you some closure,” Tim’s father said. “Even just a little.”

  The night before, Avery and Dani had slept on the floor next to Hannah’s bed. Every few hours, they would wake up and find Hannah in the bathroom, or on the f
loor, or in the closet. She kept saying the same thing over and over again, every time they helped her back into bed: “If he’s really gone, wouldn’t I feel it? Why don’t I feel it?”

  Avery felt her breath catch as they stared at the front doors of the mortuary. She couldn’t imagine what Hannah was feeling, knowing that in just a few moments, she would walk inside that building and see the lifeless body of her husband.

  Avery reached for Hannah’s hand.

  “Are you ready?” Avery said. Hannah’s eyes welled with tears and she nodded, thankful and brave. In that moment, Avery was certain she’d never seen a more beautiful woman. Magazines airbrushed celebrities. Television romanticized relationships. They showed sex and flirtation and forbidden moments of passion. But they never showed this. This love without makeup and without pretense. This love that forgives. This broken gray bravery in the face of loss. And that was part of love too. To be willing to see it die.

  Tim’s parents found the waiting room, while Avery and Hannah walked down a hallway lit by fluorescent lights. With each step, Hannah’s breathing grew more irregular, her grip on the silver cross around her neck more intense. At the front desk, a woman asked Hannah and Avery to show their military IDs, then pointed them to the elevator.

  A momentary loss of gravity filled Avery’s stomach as the elevator ascended. When the elevator doors opened, they walked down another hallway, to Captain Huerta’s office. He navigated them through a maze of hallways to a heavy door that required his fingerprint to open. And then, he unlocked a smaller door with a key. Inside that room was a closed casket made of dark stained wood. Classic. Just like Hannah.

  “Take your time,” said Captain Huerta, closing the door behind them.

  Now it was Avery’s breathing that grew fast and shallow. Hannah took three steps forward. Several hot tears streamed down her cheeks, one after another, and her cries sounded like whimpers, caught far in the back of her throat. As Hannah lifted the casket lid, Avery tilted her chin down, wishing she could melt into the walls and disappear. But when Hannah collapsed on the side of the casket, sobbing loudly at her husband’s side, Avery rushed over to hold her steady.

  “It’s okay,” Avery said, though she wasn’t sure she believed that was true.

  Holding Hannah’s broad shoulders, Avery let her eyes wander to the open casket. She held her breath, hoping to see what she’d always seen in the movies. A perfect Tim, quiet and at peace.

  But the man in the casket was a shadow of the Tim she’d once known. His hair was the same dark brown; his nose held the same straight line. But his lips were a stiff shade of blue. His face was ashen, misshapen. The right ear seemed larger than it ought to be. And his eyes were closed and sewn shut—so shut, it almost seemed as if he were clenching his eyes closed. She found herself willing him to wake up, to shake and bring the color back to his face. But he stayed perfectly, tragically still. Avery fought her own breakdown so she could keep holding Hannah up. The green service uniform had his NESMITH nameplate above the right pocket, but aside from that, there was nothing left of the man she’d known. His spirit was gone. Only his body had been left behind.

  Breathless, Avery walked Hannah toward the door, where there were two chairs waiting for them to sit.

  “It’s okay,” Avery said, stroking Hannah’s back. “It’s over. You did it.”

  “It’s not him,” Hannah cried. “Tell me it’s not him.”

  33

  December 5, 2006 // Arlington National Cemetery, Arlington, Virginia

  Eight officers stepped up to a black hearse in two rows. They wore dress blue uniforms: dark jackets, light blue pants with a golden stripe down the side. The bills of their caps and the shine of their shoes reflected a gray sky. A carriage waited just ahead of the hearse, with seven dark horses standing perfectly still. This, Hannah knew, would go slowly.

  And that was what she wanted. That was what Tim deserved. To have the slowest funeral procession ever recorded. For years to pass and the grieving to never end.

  On the opposite side of the road, a full military band raised their instruments and seven riflemen raised their guns. The band began to play a hymn as one of the eight officers walked between the two rows toward the back of the hearse. Hannah looked through them, beyond them, feeling a cold gust of wind cross her cheek. She wore a brand-new dress—something Dani and Emily had picked out at a department store—but because the weather was threatening snow, she’d had to put on her down jacket and a scarf. She’d refused to wear sunglasses and hadn’t put on mascara either. Her eyes were unadorned and looked tired, but at least they were still open.

  Grief unimaginable coursed through her veins with every slow, painful step. They removed Tim’s casket from the vehicle with exacting precision, as though they wanted to give his widow time to process each moment of the end. In unison, all eight officers stepped away from the hearse. They took another step away. Then another. And soon, the casket had turned several degrees, until it pointed toward the band. The American flag of the color guard waved in the breeze just behind the instruments.

  There were no tears in Hannah’s eyes, but she held a handkerchief in her hand just the same. Wendy Bennett had sewn a band of lace around a square of delicate white fabric and had given it to Hannah a few days ago, when she stopped by the house to see her for the first time. Knowing Hannah had been inundated with decisions and visitors, Wendy had waited in the wings, finishing the cooking that she and Dani had started, picking up people from the airport, and probably praying. It was an unselfish person that could arrive at a funeral and serve without expecting a single thing from the grieving widow. It was strange to see Wendy, just as it had been strange to see every other extended family member and old friend arrive in Virginia. Hannah still couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that they were really here for her—they were here because Tim had really died. But at least nothing hurtful had come out of Wendy’s mouth. Hannah’s grandparents and cousins felt they needed to comfort her with thin platitudes: Everything happens for a reason; You’re so brave; God has a plan. Their words grated on Hannah. She was grateful they’d come but wished they would leave her alone. For some reason, it was different with Wendy. Wendy’s service, with no strings attached, felt like real comfort. The dichotomy of her emotions was something she’d have to dissect another time. For now, she gripped the handkerchief, thankful for its presence in her hand.

  The sound of the officers’ shoes hitting pavement filled the air. When they reached the horse-drawn carriage, the men lifted the casket, then slowly moved it from their hands to the platform on four spoked wheels. With the casket secured, the horses began their steady, melodic walk to the grave, as if coaxed by the wind.

  Hannah followed twenty-one paces behind the carriage, taking in the sights and the smells of the cemetery. She kept reminding herself that this wasn’t a dream. That her husband was in that casket, being carried by those horses, to a grave that would bear his name. Hannah couldn’t take it all in. The beauty of this place. The deliberate honor the officers were showing her family. The police escort that had shut down the Beltway for their procession to Arlington National Cemetery. The hundreds of souls that followed her up this hill. Mark and Wendy Bennett. Locke’s new wife. Every basketball teammate she’d ever had—including Sarah Goodrich, who’d flown in all the way from Hawaii. There were old professors, Tim’s parachuting team, and hundreds of others she hadn’t had time to see or greet. Every step they took was sacred. Tim would have wanted it this way, she knew. He deserved it this way.

  When they reached the graveside, Hannah lowered herself into a foldout chair, trembling. If it hadn’t been for the birds, the hushed sniffles, and the phantom breeze, it would have been completely silent.

  Seated in the cold, the image of that stretched, strange face in the casket resurfaced in Hannah’s mind, and she clenched her eyes closed. She didn’t want to remember Tim that way. Recalling a different memory, her mind expelled the image of Tim in the casket and r
eplaced it with his smile as he stood at the center of Cullum Hall.

  That night, their senior year at West Point, the doors had been propped open by two large lanterns, flickering against the darkness. When Hannah passed through the entrance, a glowing line of candles had directed her path through the darkened building to a wooden door. The ballroom was behind that door—the place where she and Tim had first danced, awkward, bumbling, and happy. Nervous, her hands shaking, Hannah had reached for the metal handle, pulled the door open, then burst into tears.

  Tim stood at the center of the room, dressed in jeans and a white polo shirt, surrounded by hundreds of candles, dancing their golden light against the walls. Yellow rose petals had been strewn across the floor, lining a curved path between them. She walked across the petals slowly, her hands clasped over her mouth, in shock. She knew what this meant, and yet, she couldn’t believe it was true. He wanted her. Forever.

  He’d had tears in his eyes when she reached him. “Hannah,” he said calmly. “You are beautiful, inside and out. You are smart and courageous and strong. You are forgiving and kind. And patient—Lord knows you’re patient. You love your friends so deeply and I’ve been the grateful recipient of that love, even when I didn’t deserve it. I’ve loved you for the last three years, but if you’ll let me, I want to love you for the rest of my life.”

  He’d lowered down to one knee, pulled out a small box, and before he could even ask the question, Hannah was laughing and trembling, down on her knees right next to him.

  “Yes,” Hannah had said, wrapping her hands around his face. “Yes!”

  He’d opened the box, slipped the platinum ring around her finger, just as the door to the ballroom opened again. Before she could turn to see what was happening, Dani and Avery had run up to scream and jump and hug her, as if they’d been listening with their ears pressed against the door. Then Hannah’s family walked in—her parents, Emily and her husband, her grandparents. Mark and Wendy. All of Tim’s friends from the parachuting team. Everyone filed in, and without hesitation, they all were dancing and hugging and celebrating. Unselfishly, Tim had known that she would want to share that moment with everyone she loved most. Turning back to look at him, she’d seen joy in his eyes, as he watched her relish her moment as the center of attention.