I hang up, and Noah must’ve heard, because he’s walking over as soon as I set the phone down.
“You’re leaving?” he asks.
But I look at my uncle. “My parents’ funeral is the day after tomorrow,” I tell him. “She’ll try to get me a flight tonight. I hate to ask, but can you give me a ride to the airport?”
“You sure you want to go?” He narrows his eyes. “You don’t have to do anything. You can stay. Or I could come with you.”
“You can’t,” I say. “The McDougall customization is behind. I’ll be okay. It’s fine.”
He pauses, the wheels in his head turning.
After a moment, he walks to the wall and grabs a set of keys.
He pushes them over the counter to me. “Take one of the trucks,” he says. “Park it at the airport, so it’s there when you come back.”
I stare at the keys.
There’ll be things to deal with at home. The house, the accounts, Mirai, the condolences, obligations they had with charities and fundraisers and…
“You’re not coming back,” Jake finally says when I don’t take the keys.
I open my mouth but nothing comes out. My throat fills with a softball-sized lump that hurts so much. I don’t want to leave, but I don’t…
“I don’t know what’s going to happen. For sure.” I finally look up at him. “There’s a lot to deal with there. I can’t say how long I’ll be.”
He stares at me, and Noah has nothing to say for the first time since I’ve been here.
Jake sighs and picks up the keys, shoving his beer over to Noah before walking off without another look in my direction. “Let me know when you’re ready to leave.”
Tiernan
It’s not raining.
I thought that was how it was supposed to be during a funeral.
Like in the movies. It always rains.
The shadows of the trees glide over the windows of the black limo as we ride through Glendale, on our way to the cemetery. I lean against the door, Mirai sitting across from me as the procession carries my parents to the chapel first, our car following.
Of course, it’s a beautiful day. The sun never failed to shine on my mother.
But then I roll my eyes behind my large, black glasses, letting out a quiet sigh. Yeah, I should totally say that in my eulogy. I’ll have the whole congregation rolling with laughter at all the cheese.
Jesus.
I stare out the window, rubbing my gloved hands together, but still, nothing comes to mind. Not in the thirty-six hours since I’ve been back in California. I can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t sound like a lie.
I mean, they weren’t without talent and beauty. Why can’t I muster a single heartfelt word to offer up at that podium to fulfill my final duty as their daughter?
I should be able to do that.
But no. Every sweet, saccharine lie makes me feel like a fraud, and I can’t utter the words, because I’ve lost the stomach to live in a way that isn’t genuine.
“You’re tan,” Mirai says.
I turn my eyes on her, seeing her sunglasses dangle from her fingers, her hair pulled back in a tight, low ponytail.
I love how she looks. She wears a black pencil skirt and a black jacket, a shiny black belt secured around her waist with high heels. Our personal shopper, on the other hand, seems to think I’m still twelve in the dress they prepared for me. I’m covering it up with a long black coat, and since I have gloves on, Mirai must be talking about my face, the only visible skin.
I nod.
“Did you like it up there?”
“Yeah,” I murmur.
I liked them.
The empty seat next to me weighs heavy, and I wish Jake was here. He offered, didn’t he? I had to open my big mouth and refuse.
I haven’t eaten much since I arrived, either. The food here tastes different.
“I spoke to him on the phone while you were there,” Mirai tells me. “Your uncle, I mean. I was afraid he’d be a jerk.” She laughs a little. “He had a real attitude.”
I smile to myself, looking back out the window. “Yeah, he does,” I whisper.
But I’m full of pride. I like him that way.
“I invited them,” she says. “I offered to bring them out.”
“They’ll never leave Colorado.”
Noah, maybe. Jake, unwillingly. And Kaleb…I can’t see him anywhere else.
My breathing turns ragged as I think about what time it is there and what they’re probably doing right now. Noah would be off doing his test runs, wasting way more time than he was allowed, and Jake will yell at him when he gets back before ordering him inside to help me with lunch…
But no. I drop my eyes.
I’m not in the kitchen. Noah will make lunch himself.
Or run to town for cheeseburgers.
I wonder if he got that stain off the seat. Knowing Noah, he just left it. He’s so lazy about some things.
“The reverend will speak first,” Mirai speaks up, “followed by me, George Palmer, Cassidy Lee, and then Delmont Williams.”
I sit back in my seat and look out the front windshield, past the driver, to see the hearse carrying my parents. First to the funeral. Then to the crematorium.
My throat swells.
“The reverend will then ask if anyone else would like to say something,” she continues in a slow, soft voice. “If you decide you want to speak, feel free to go ahead then, okay?”
Her voice is like she’s explaining this to a child. Like she’s afraid I’ll wake up screaming if she’s too loud.
“You don’t have to do that,” I tell her. “You don’t have to talk like that. I’m not asleep.”
She stares at me, drawing in a deep breath as her eyes start to glisten. And then she turns away, so I won’t see.
“Do you remember your night terrors?” she asks, staring out the window. “We talked about them when you were little.”
They came back in Colorado. I haven’t told her that, and I won’t.
“It happened every night,” she explains. “We would wake you up, stop your screaming, and then put you back to sleep.”
I vaguely remember it. I was so young.
She swallows. “One night, I just waited for you to fall asleep,” she says, “and I crawled in next to you.”
She looks back at me.
“Nothing. No terrors,” she tells me. “And the next night, the same thing. No terrors when I slept with you.”
My chin trembles, and I clench my jaw to stop it.
A tear falls down her cheek as she can only manage a whisper. “You just needed what everyone needs,” she tells me. “A home.”
I tighten my fists, trying to keep my breathing steady.
“It’s not a place, Tiernan. It’s a feeling.” Her voice shakes. “Even when you grew out of the terrors, you still only managed four or five hours of sleep a night in that house. With them. That’s why I wasn’t upset when they sent you away to school when you were only eleven.” She sniffles, a sob escaping as she looks away. “Maybe, finally, you’d sleep.”
The car stops and the door opens, Mirai quickly putting on her sunglasses and wiping tears away as she climbs out.
It takes a moment to get my limbs moving.
It’s a feeling.
A feeling. Not a place.
I close my eyes a moment, feeling the sun on the peak on my face. And my arms around my uncle as I sit behind him on the horse.
I step out of the car, barely registering the cameras and the chatter from the reporters as I blindly follow Mirai up the steps of the church. People are talking to me, taking my hand and giving it a little hug with both of theirs, but I can’t think.
I don’t feel good.
Why did I come back? I thought I needed to do this. Be here. It’s only right, right?
I swallow the sickness rising up my throat.