Chapter Forty-One
Chapter
Forty-One
I still see Dom. Not every day, or even every week, but we work for the same company. Our paths cross, and he greets me like a coworker with a polite smile and a “Hello, Maddie.” But my name sounds like irresponsible language in his deep voice and his intense stare holds mine, promising more the moment I ask.
Also, Dom was right about his town house being walkable from my apartment.
I may have walked by it.
More than once.
But I never knock on the door.
And even though I give him nothing more than a death day hug for over half a year, he doesn’t leave.
The man stays.
Maybe I should break through the wall I’ve placed between us and tell him how much that means to me. But I don’t.
I told Dom I need to figure some things out on my own, and I meant it. After visiting three different therapists, I finally find a middle-aged woman with a kind face and a way of asking me questions that doesn’t have me pasting on my customer service smile or snapping back with sarcastic humor.
Mary hasn’t fixed my life or my emotions—that’s a lot to expect from a person, even a paid professional—but it’s surprisingly nice to talk to someone who has absolutely no investment in what I choose to do.
But even finding a good therapist doesn’t take away the sick anxiety curdling in my gut as I clutch my backpack to my chest and step onto this final leg of my brother’s journey.
The flight to Pika Glacier.
Josh’s coordinates put us squarely in the Alaskan wilderness, on a stretch of frozen land reachable only by airplanes. It’s June, five months since the day Dom showed up at my condo asking for a hug. After he left, I started planning. Researched the coordinates, booked our flights, and found a small cabin for us to stay in. Two bedrooms.
The whole way out here, he’s been cordial to me, as if we’re at work.
I don’t know if I appreciate his approach or not. Part of me wants Dom to keep his distance, as my entire being feels made of cracked glass, ready to fracture at even the slightest touch.
But then there’s what’s just past that fragile shell. I miss Dom so bad, sometimes I forget why he’s not waking up in my bed. And when I try to stitch together the arguments I made against being with him, they are flimsier each time. The excuses slip further from my grip the more I meet with Mary and articulate my fears of intimacy and work through where they originated.
At our last meeting I made what felt like a breakthrough.
I told Mary I want to trust Dom.
That may be a far step from actually trusting him, but it’s a step nonetheless.
But here we are, on an airplane headed into Denali National Park, and all my hard-won confidence and self-assurance is crumbling under the hefty fear of what this day is.
There are about sixteen seats in the aircraft, and we’re all snug together with only a thin aisle between seats—one on each side. As we board, I worry Dom might get lodged in the tight space like he did in Dismals Canyon. But he maneuvers his wide shoulders at just the right angle to slip into his seat. The other passengers load on the same time as us, the family of six claiming the seats farther back and leaving me across the narrow aisle from Dom.
And I find I want him there. Inches from me. So close I swear I can feel his body heat even through my layers of clothes. Close enough that I can smell his cedar scent and see the grain of his facial hair that he shaved off before we left the cabin this morning.
As the pilot buckles in behind the controls, I clutch my backpack hard against my chest, feeling the small round container that contains the final piece of my brother.
That last bit of Josh.
Multiple times on the way out here, I noticed Dom rubbing his chest, and I wondered if the man might have heartburn. But then his coat parted when he crouched to retie his shoe, and I saw the flash of a corner of an envelope.
The final one.
My brother’s last words living close to his chest.
The plane’s engine roars to life, and Dom’s body goes rigid beside me. I wonder what it’s like being a control freak and yet having to put your life in someone else’s hands whenever you board a plane. The reality must be hard to ignore in an aircraft this small.
As the plane slowly rattles over the asphalt to a runway, my hand loosens on its own accord, fingers peeling away from the fabric of my backpack. Like a snake, my hand creeps across the less than a foot of space between us and settles over the back of Dom’s where his tendons stand out like tight guitar strings.
Unable to acknowledge what I’m doing, I choose to stare out the window at the Alaskan landscape. Only this touch connects me to him.
Against my palm, I feel Dom’s tense grip slacken. Then he flips his hand and laces our fingers together.
We hold on without a word as the plane lifts into the air, and we keep a firm grasp on each other for the forty-five minutes it takes to fly to the last destination Josh left for us.
We’re going to say goodbye.
The thought tightens like a cluster of rubber bands around my lungs. I utilize the breathing exercises my doctor gave me, and turn my mind to other comforting things.
Like Mary telling me I’m strong for wanting to take this step in the process of dealing with my grief.
Like how I successfully trained both my boss and a backup on how to perform the necessary tasks of my job. Training started slow, but now they can do it, and I can take time off.
Like the engagement ring Carlisle asked Tula’s and my opinions on.
Like the puzzle table that Adam planned to surprise me with next month for my birthday but was too excited about to wait. He and Carter are road-tripping out to visit in a few weeks to deliver it.
Like Dom’s hand. The feel of his familiar fingers in mine. How I can still remember exactly how his touch felt against all the intimate parts of me even though it’s been close to a year since we were last together that way.
He’s what comforts me. Better than anything or anyone else. His gentle thumb brushing over my knuckles. A solid presence beside me when this plane seems so insubstantial. The one that will stand steady beside me for this moment that is sure to be all kinds of painful.
Don’t think about it. Not yet.
But all that can keep my mind off my brother is his best friend. The man I fell in love with twice.
Was it a mistake both times? Will he hurt me again?
Will the pain be worse than it is now, living without him?
Focusing on my missteps in life scratches at my airways and threatens my oxygen, so I go back to distractions.
Holding my hand out in a dark cave lit by glow worms and watching Dom’s long fingers twine with mine.
Admiring the sunlight filtering through a snowy window and how it fell across his skin.
Burrowing into a soft sweatshirt hug and knowing the heat on the other side of the material was his broad chest.
My stomach dips, and I realize we’re landing, the plane approaching a massive white expanse that must be the glacier. The pilot has been speaking to us through our headsets this whole time, but I haven’t heard a word. Dom’s hand tightens on mine, and I grip him back just as hard as I resume my breathing exercises.
Last goodbye.
Don’t think about it.
Last of Josh.
Don’t think about it.
The plane lands without issue and the other passengers start chattering in excitement.
This is fun for them. Of course it is. This place is gorgeous. A once-in-a-lifetime experience.
And Josh’s life ended without him seeing it.
On wobbly knees, I climb out of the airplane. Dom keeps his hand on my elbow, as if sensing my unsteadiness.
“How are you doing?” he asks, and I realize it’s the first thing he’s said to me all day. We’ve barely exchanged a handful of words on this trip.
“I…” No more words come. I’m terrified to even try naming how I feel in this moment. There’s a fragile shell of numbness that’s keeping me together. A delicate surface that could fracture at any moment. I must move carefully to keep from falling apart.
Dom gives a curt nod, as if he understands.
Maybe he does.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he says. “We have some time.”
Not forever, though. The guide directed us to return to the plane in twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes, then it’s all over.
Twenty minutes until my brother is gone forever.
Dom helps me slip my backpack onto my shoulders. I didn’t realize I was still clinging to it. Clutching Josh close while I have him.
Last goodbye. This is the last goodbye.
The air is cold here. Dry. It makes the inside of my nostrils raw as I suck in deep breaths that do little to soothe me.
As we walk away from the group, I keep my eyes on the toes of my boots. I should raise my head. Gaze around to admire the beauty of this place.
But a part of me is terrified that the moment I fully take this in, this last place my brother wanted to visit, everything that mattered about Josh will be over.
Dom stops walking, and so I do, too. He sets heavy hands on my shoulders, turning me to face him.
“Look at me, Maddie.”
With more effort than it should require, I force my head up as far as his nose. It’s all I can manage. He doesn’t push for more.
“Do you want to read the letter?”
I shake my head. I can barely breathe, let alone read.
“Okay.” He rubs my shoulders. “Do you want me to read it?”
Yes! I want more of Josh!
No! We must keep him forever!
Yes…no…yes…no…
The internal argument goes on and on until I give a quick jerk of my head that’s almost a nod. Enough of one that Dom slips his hand into his jacket and pulls out the envelope. The tearing sounds overly loud on the vast landscape.
He clears his throat.
I try to inhale but only manage a thin stream of air.
Dear Maddie and Dom,
This is the goodbye letter.
Pain. Sharp and jagged. A rusty serrated knife piercing my heart and lungs all in one go.
I think you two were meant for each other.
Dom stumbles over the words, seemingly shocked by them. I might have been, too, if all my capacity for feeling wasn’t overwhelmed by panic.
He clears his throat again.
Don’t give up on that.
Love you both forever,
Josh
He stops reading.
No. He doesn’t stop .
He finishes .
He’s done.
That was all.
My brother is gone.
Forever.
Gone.
I stop breathing.
“Maddie!” Dom’s roar is barely louder than the pounding of my own heartbeat in my ears. My eyesight flickers from glorious white to black.
—
There’s the familiar press of my inhaler against my lips and the slightly sweet taste of the medication as it passes my tongue on the way to my lungs. I’m not the one spraying, so the timing doesn’t line up quite right for me to breathe it all in. But my hands are too busy clutching my brother’s remains to my chest to take over.
“Breathe,” Dom demands as if he plans to reach into my chest and work my lungs for me if I don’t. “In. Out. In. Out. Nod when you need another dose.”
I nod. Dom, whose lap I realize I rest in, brings the inhaler to my lips again. “Pressing in three…two…one.”
This time we get it right, but it’s still a good five minutes and another spray before I’m not gasping like a dying fish.
“Ashes,” I wheeze, knowing we have to get on the plane soon, though my episode might have bought us some time. I don’t want to look over Dom’s shoulder to see if we have an audience.
“Fuck the ashes. Fuck this,” Dom snarls, holding me closer, while careful not to compress my rib cage. “I’m not going to have you dying of an anxiety-induced asthma attack to keep to some arbitrary schedule.”
I blink up at him and spy a scowl that others might interpret as furious.
But I can see the fear.
Look at that. I can finally read his face again.
And I know he wants to control this. But he can’t. All he can do is hold me.
When our eyes meet, Dom gentles his voice while remaining firm. “We can come back here every year for fifty years, if that’s what you need. If that’s how long it takes to do this without it tearing your heart out. You keep that piece of Josh as long as you want. Hell, keep him forever. Leave your own will directing some other asshole to trek up here and spread you two together. But that’s not going to happen for a long while, because you will keep breathing, and you will not give up on me, Maddie Sanderson. Do you understand? You told me to just keep living. And I did. Without you. And I’ll live as long as you tell me to. But you’ve got to live, too. For me. For you. For Josh, who didn’t get to. Just keep living.”
Dom holds my gaze and cradles my body so close I can feel him shaking.
I stare into his terrified eyes.
And I start crying.