Chapter 41
Morgan
Throughout the day, Zach comes to life in new ways.
Not literally, I regret to say. Not even the San Onofre shore or introducing his hapless friend to surfing could reverse death.
He remains tethered to me, as usual, which means when I manage to catch waves, Zach is there to whoop into the ocean sun while my momentum carries us toward shore.
In between the waves, though, Zach finds new life in the stories his friends tell.
The memories they share of Perfect Weekends past. Even though they can’t see him, everyone makes sure Zach’s presence is felt.
When the sun sets, the surfers bring out pizza and beer and move to one of the beach’s bonfires. Sawyer joins in easily, helping Ashley to build up the pyre. Fully lit, the fire leaps into the night while everyone sits around the crackling warmth.
I choose a seat across the flames from Sawyer. When I catch his eye, he smiles. We no longer feel like outsiders new to the group.
I know we need to leave to check into our hotel, but neither I nor Sawyer brings it up. We don’t want to. We’re enjoying ourselves too much, weightless in the pleasure of the weekend. It’s been—well, perfect.
Besides…I don’t know if leaving here will mean Zach leaves us for good. I’m not ready. The thought seizes me with panic.
So, with the fire full of life in front of me, I try to keep the thought from my head. I remember what Mr. Harrison said of his son. How Zach lived in the moment, without hesitation or dissatisfaction. On what might be his final night, I chase Zach’s spirit like we’re still riding those waves.
Sawyer seems to be doing the same. Watching him makes my heart feel like the bonfire. He’s looser, more calmly confident than I’ve ever seen. He sips beer and laughs while Layla reminisces about Zach in high school.
When Layla finishes, everyone looks to us. Zach’s surprise guests.
“How about you guys?” Rick asks. “Got any good Zach stories?”
Zach has perched himself on the beer cooler.
He’s played delighted invisible host to his own eulogies for the past memorable hour.
Now his eyes round, eager for Sawyer’s and my unique tributes.
“Oh!” he exclaims. “Tell them about how you used a Ouija board to communicate with me and thought I wanted anal.”
Sawyer and I both have to hide our laughter. I clear my throat behind my beer while Sawyer pretends to cough.
Wanting to share, I search my memories of my haunting—hardware stores and crystal shops, unfinished business and Shark Week. Honestly, where do I start? More importantly, how do I start without sounding delusional?
“He told me about the last date he went on.”
Sawyer speaking up surprises me. Everyone hushes, eager for the story.
I watch Sawyer, captivated. The fire makes light and shadows dance on his face. His hair is ruffled by the breeze, his short-sleeve shirt unbuttoned at the collar.
He looks like himself, only different somehow. Like Zach isn’t the only one who found new life on the shores of this weekend.
“This great girl he matched with online who he was willing to drive across the city to go rock climbing with,” Sawyer elaborates. The way he says great makes me feel like I’m still surfing. Flying, on wonderful precarious momentum.
Zach grins, knowing where Sawyer’s going with this.
“Zach rock climbs now?” Otto interjects. “Or I mean, he used to?” he corrects himself, his expression clouding.
Zach looks sympathetic, like he wishes he could comfort his old friend.
“Nope,” Sawyer replies chipperly, ushering the moment past. “He just did it for her. That’s the kind of guy Zach was. He was easy to share your interests in. We once stayed up for hours talking about pottery,” he shares, smiling softly.
His gaze pauses on me. My breath catches—I had no idea. I’ve considered Zach my curse, then my mission, then my friend. But of course Zach had his own relationship with Sawyer. Sawyer was half right when he said it’s the kind of guy Zach was. For us, it’s the kind of guy Zach is.
“After hooking up in her car—” Sawyer goes on.
Ben whistles. “Attaboy.” Everyone laughs.
Smiling, Sawyer gracefully finishes. “—they realized they were better off as friends. And they really did become friends, even roommates. He didn’t stop there, though,” Sawyer says, suddenly serious. “He introduced her to me.”
His eyes find mine over the flames. Now, he doesn’t just pause. He holds my gaze, his stare sculpted like a vessel to hold the memories of an impossible summer. I feel my heartbeat quicken.
“Every chance he got,” Sawyer continues, “Zach pressed me to ask her out because he wanted to see us both happy. He knew we could be good—great—together. But I was…stupid.” Sawyer shakes his head, real shame flickering on his expression.
“He even played wingman on a couple of memorable occasions, one of which involved cutting the hot water in my place when they both had to stay with me for a bit. This girl showed up dripping wet in her towel to complain to me,” Sawyer reminisces.
“Later, Zach made sure I knew how much I owed him.”
I laugh with the group, winking at Sawyer—only I know he means me.
“Everyone who knew Zach knew he was kind, generous, fun,” Sawyer says, sobering. “He was also wise, though.”
Even Zach looks somber now.
Sawyer’s stare finds the invisible ghost. To Zach’s friends, Sawyer must seem to be speaking only to the night. To the memory of Zach Harrison. I have this sharp, stabbing wish for them to understand how much Zach brought to the world not only in life but in death.
“I owe you, buddy,” Sawyer says softly. He raises his beer in a toast. “I owe you everything.”
I feel tears clutch my throat. Everything.
Zach, I notice, responds the exact same way. The ghost is overcome, and his eyes glitter in the firelight for only us to see.
“Dude,” Layla interjects. “You better ask this girl out. Don’t let Zach down.”
Murmurs of encouragement come up from the crew. I wonder for a moment whether Sawyer’s and my failed romance is going to get the reception Otto’s Colorado dreams did. I can practically hear the chant echoing over the night-shaded sand—until Sawyer shakes his head, looking slyly self-deprecating.
“I’m not sure I have a chance with her anymore,” he demurs.
I lean back, letting the flames warm my front. “I wouldn’t count yourself out just yet.”
Sawyer looks up, firelight in his eyes.
Everyone echoes my sentiment, even though they understand nothing of the context—our context. I hardly hear them. Heartbeats and roaring fire pass in Sawyer’s and my conjoined gaze.
Innocently and inconspicuously, someone moves the conversation onto the next story about Zach, and the supernatural grip of Sawyer’s and my shared past releases. I look away. The wind whispering over the ocean feels suddenly cold.
I find I’m…perfectly happy and so, so sad at once. I don’t want to leave here. I don’t want to say goodbye to Zach, my unlikeliest friend in more ways than just his unconventional relationship to mortality.
I don’t want to let go.
I don’t want to go home to LA. Just envisioning it makes me question the word. Home? What, my fifth apartment in six years? My roommate I never hang out with? My friendless city? It’s not like I have family there—shit, I’ve spent more time with Zach’s family lately than mine.
I hardly have more to hope for in Massachusetts, either, my vain cross-country effort to escape how much it fucking hurt to start to love someone. Every city, every new Morgan, is the same, even if I pretend they’re not.
And Sawyer. What about Sawyer? Here he is, calling me everything, confessing to the flames how he wants a chance.
Does he even mean it, or is he just giving Zach his final perfect day?
If he does, will it be enough? When it’s just us and life, without our ghosts, what will be left? What will hold us together?
It’s not like some powerful connection or epic story united us in the first place.
The wonders I’ve found in California would not have happened without pure chance.
If I hadn’t accidentally held on to Zach’s car keys on our first date, I wouldn’t even know Sawyer.
How fragile, how happenstance the biggest parts of my life are is utterly terrifying.
And yet…
That chance led me to happiness I’ll never forget. How many other connections have I let go and missed out on? How many memories have I never lived, how many loves forsaken, in my restless rush to escape my own insecurities?
It makes my heart hurt. I’m quietly a little drunk, and I feel my mood worsening. I don’t want to upset Zach’s Perfect Weekend.
Without explanation, while everyone is roaring with laughter over something involving Zach naked in a high school library, I inconspicuously excuse myself. When I retreat up the sand, I’m surprised how quickly the pinprick of friendly noise gets small, but I suppose I shouldn’t be.
My footsteps in the sand eventually carry me to Zach’s van, where I find his surfboard propped up on the beach. In the moonlight, I glance over the signatures, the dates, the scribbled illustrations, and—
New drawings.
Sawyer. This is his tribute. Rapt, like I’m Sawyer-starved, I examine everything he’s left. Henry’s dragon mug and the vines of Sawyer’s garden. Screwdrivers and surfboards. Every memory I almost never experienced.
I’m sniffling, struggling to hold it together, when I hear footsteps behind me.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable back there,” Sawyer starts, his voice hushed and low. “I was going for charming, but I’m rusty and—”
Then he notices how wounded I look. How ripped in half.
“Hey.” Gently, without hesitating, he wraps me in a hug. His solid, powerful frame is suddenly everywhere. “Hey, I’ve got you.”
Impressively, this only makes me feel worse. Morgan Lane, the ungrateful, wretched wonder. I step out of his embrace, unable to accept any more kindness. The chill of the night embraces me instead.