Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
KANSAS, “DUST IN THE WIND”
The phone rang nonstop, so I yanked the cord out of the wall. My family knocked at my door incessantly, so I put on my headphones and listened to music.
I sat in the same spot, staring at near darkness as the moon was barely a sliver that night. The bed was too far away. Moving felt impossible when breathing took everything I had left. So I eventually leaned to the side, resting on the floor in a ball, staring at black figures under my bed. They were boxes and boxes of pictures and yearbooks. Heather and Joanna were in those boxes.
Short spells of sleep gave me moments of reprieve between the endless tears. When the first morning light pierced through my shades, I winced while sitting up. My head felt heavy, and my eyes were painfully swollen. The desk was in front of my door, which meant it wasn’t just a bad dream.
Heather and Joanna were gone, and I needed to pee.
I slid the desk just far enough to unlock my door and ease it partway open. My mom lifted her head from the pillow on the floor. She was in her robe, covered in an afghan.
“I can’t talk,” I whispered.
She stood with the blanket draped over her shoulders and hugged me.
No words.
No explanation.
She wrapped me in her arms, and it was the closest thing I could imagine to God’s love. Only I knew my mom would never have let my friends die if she were as almighty as the deity my father praised every Sunday.
I pulled away and shuffled my feet to the bathroom. When I returned to my room, my mom was sitting on the edge of my bed, facing the window.
“We thought it was you,” she whispered, “in the vehicle with Heather. And I died a little in that moment.”
I sat on the opposite side of the bed so our backs were to each other. My emotions were too tangled to make sense of them.
Pain.
Denial.
Regret.
So much regret and remorse.
“Heather’s funeral is tomorrow. Joanna’s isn’t until Thursday when her grandparents can be there.”
I closed my eyes. It wasn’t real.
“Where were you?” Her voice cracked .
I couldn’t respond, so I lay on my side, my hands tucked under my cheek on the pillow.
My mom was everything a mom should have been, but I needed space for my thoughts and emotions—space for the truth to shape my new reality.
That’s not what I got.
With two knocks at my bedroom door, Dad poked his head inside. “Matt’s here, honey.” He eyed the desk and slipped through the crack to move it back into place, using a piece of paper to sweep the broken lightbulb out of the way.
“Sarah,” Matt whispered, sliding his hands into his pockets as he stepped into my room.
“We’ll be downstairs,” Mom said, taking my dad’s hand and guiding him out of my room.
That was the first time Matt had been allowed in my bedroom.
“Where were you? Everyone thought you were …”
Dead.
Everyone thought I was the one in the car with Heather.
My gaze affixed to the chipped corner of my nightstand. I couldn’t look at him.
“Sarah?” He sat on the edge of my bed, resting his hand on my arm. “Talk to me.”
“I can’t talk about it,” I whispered, releasing a tear with a heavy blink.
“Why? Our friends are dead, Sarah. And you?—”
“I know!” I rolled onto my back and covered my eyes with the heels of my hands. “You have to leave. I don’t want you here. I just want everyone t-to leave m-me alone.” I sobbed.
“Sarah—” Matt touched my leg.
I jerked away. “Just. Go!” Emotion ripped through my body in crashing waves, each one slamming into my heart as I held my breath to suppress my crying.
A few seconds later, the door clicked shut.
I’d never thought about grief on a deep level, probably because I hadn’t lost anyone close to me. It was like sex. I had this idea in my head from watching movies and reading books, but the reality didn’t match. Or maybe it did for some people, just not me.
Anger suffocated all the sadness. My emotions were layered.
Anger.
Guilt.
Grief.
And whatever came after that.
Whatever that was felt unreachable, like chasing a mirage in the desert that would never quench my thirst for clarity and reason.
“Do you want me to curl your hair?” Eve asked as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at my lifeless reflection.
Black was my least favorite color, but Mom made sure my sisters and I always had one basic black dress to wear to funerals. Since my dad was the preacher at the only church in Devil’s Head, we attended many of the funerals. But most of the time, we barely knew the deceased (predominantly elderly people).
Eve didn’t wait for my answer. She plugged in the curling iron and brushed through my hair. “You can tell me,” she said .
I glanced at her reflection, and she shrugged.
“Anything. You can tell me anything. I can keep a secret.”
“I don’t want you to have to keep my secret,” I mumbled.
She began curling my hair. “Your friends died. Mom and Dad are so relieved you weren’t in the car. I don’t think you’ll get in trouble.”
“It’s not about me. I just …” I dropped my gaze to the sink. “I did something that will hurt a lot of other people, and I can’t be the one to cause any more pain right now.”
I commended Eve for not pushing me, but I saw it in her face, she wanted to help me.
Nobody could help me.
“We have to go,” Mom called.
Eve added a few more curls, unplugged the curling iron, and hugged me when I turned toward her. “I’m sorry you lost your friends. It’s not fair.”
I nodded, choking on a suppressed sob.
We were the first ones at the church. My sisters divided up the funeral programs while Dad met with Heather’s family in his office.
Mom walked me to the front of the church, third row back.
“Just sit here, Sarah.” She handed me a few tissues. “Heather’s mom asked me if I thought you’d want to say a few words. I know it’s short notice, and you might not be up for it. But?—”
“I’ll do it.”
I didn’t want to. Breathing was hard. Speaking? Nearly impossible. Talking about Heather? Unimaginable.
However, when her aunt died of cancer, Heather read a poem and said nice things about her. I asked her how she did it without breaking down. She wasn’t my aunt, yet I couldn’t stop crying during the entire service.
Heather said she felt like it was the last time to say something about her aunt and have it matter. And she said she hoped when she died that the people who loved her the most would find the courage to say it one last time— make it matter.
“Are you sure?” Mom asked.
“I’m sure,” I whispered.
“If you change your mind?—”
“I won’t.” I stared at the closed casket and the picture of Heather next to it. She would have laughed at that photo. It was one of her senior pictures, the one she liked the least because the photographer asked her for a “soft smile,” and it looked like a goofy smirk. But her mom loved that shot more than any other.
The church filled beyond capacity over the next hour. I’d been staring at the casket so long that the surrounding people went unnoticed until my mom and sisters filed in on one side of me. I tried to give my mom a reassuring smile that I was okay just as Matt and five other guys took a seat in the front row on the opposite side.
Pallbearers.
Matt gave me a quick glance, but he didn’t try to smile. He looked hurt. I did that to him.
Someone touched my shoulder, drawing my attention in the opposite direction. Violet Cory sat next to me and gave me a big hug .
“I’m so sorry, Sarah. And I’m glad you’re still with us. We were so worried. The whole town was worried.”
I’m an awful human being.
Mr. Cory sat next to her. He gave me a sad smile. And on the other side of him, Isaac took a seat. When he glanced at me, my eyes burned with tears. I needed his arms around me more than anything.
He smoothed his hand down his black tie. I had never seen him in a suit, and after that day, I never wanted to see him in a suit again, just like my black dress. At the end of the week, it was going in the trash.
After Violet released me, I quickly reached for my tissues as Heather's family took their seats in front of us. I cast my gaze to my lap because I couldn’t look at them.
My dad asked everyone to bow their heads in prayer. After a collective, solemn “Amen,” he cited scripture. “Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.”
I lifted my gaze to the area behind my dad, where I’d sat next to Heather in the choir. She’d elbow me and grin. I’d tap my leg against hers and quietly snicker. My dad would shoot us an occasional glance and clear his throat to get our attention. That only made us giggle more as soon as he looked away.
Heather’s mom sobbed as did mine and Violet Cory. I thought of the time Heather and I had to scrape wax from the wood floor below the candelabras as a punishment for putting Monopoly money in the offering plate. We didn’t get in trouble often, but when we did, it was usually together.
We were inseparable.
“My daughter and Heather’s best friend, Sarah, would like to say a few words,” Dad said, bringing me back to a reality I wasn’t ready to accept .
I stood and straightened my dress before sliding out of the pew past my mom and sisters.
Dad offered an encouraging smile as I stepped up to the lectern. I’d gazed at large crowds, especially on Easter and Christmas, but this was bigger. I had never seen so many people standing at the back because there wasn’t enough seating space. I think nearly everyone from our graduating class was there.
I looked to my mom and sisters for reassurance, but they only gave me sniffles and tears. When I laid eyes on Matt, he dropped his gaze to his lap. Then I made the mistake of glancing at Heather’s mom, and it felt like a knife in my chest.
Heather died. I lived.
She was able to speak at her aunt’s funeral because Heather knew life would go on and she would be fine. I was drowning in a lie and suffocating from the guilt. I didn’t know if I would be okay. And that uncertainty paralyzed my thoughts—until I looked at Isaac.
His lips moved. It was subtle, overlooked by everyone else, but I saw it.
“I love you,” he mouthed.
I pulled a tissue from the wad in my hand and wiped a few tears. Isaac declared his love to me at my best friend’s funeral. I didn’t know if it made me love him more or hate him forever because it squeezed more blood from my heart.
“I wanted to tell you how Heather and I met, but I don’t remember. I also don’t recall meeting my mom or dad. They’ve just always been there like Heather has always been there. According to our moms, we met in the nursery at Sunday school. We took our first steps together at a summer potluck behind this church. First words. First swimming lessons. First day of school. I shared more firsts with Heather than with my own sisters.” I wiped a few tears, proud of myself for keeping it together.
“We braided each other’s hair and finished each other’s sentences. And when I broke my leg and couldn’t go to the State Fair, she said she’d carry me.” I laughed through my tears.
“I was too heavy; after all, we were only twelve. So Heather said she’d experience it for both of us and tell me all about it; and someday, if she couldn’t go someplace, I would return the favor.” I peered at the ceiling, looking for something—maybe strength.
“We planned our weddings when we were fifteen. She wanted to get married on a beach in Hawaii, and I wanted to get married at Graceland Wedding Chapel in Las Vegas, but I made her promise not to tell my dad.”
The congregation laughed, and I knew Heather would be proud. She thought everyone should find a moment of laughter at funerals.
I eyed my dad, and he, too, had a smile on his face.
“Heather was always a little better at everything than I was, but she never made me feel less than her. She was the most inspir—” I choked on my words as everything blurred behind my tears. Wiping my eyes, I drew in a big breath and let it out slowly as the sanctuary filled with sniffles and soft sobs. “She was the most inspiring best friend anyone could have. And she was—” Again, I had to swallow past the lump in my throat as I pressed my lips together to fight for just a little more composure to finish. “She was m-mine,” I whispered, tasting the salty tears on my lips.
“So it’s okay that I don’t remember the day we met,” I stared at the casket, “because I don’t want to imagine a time without her.” My voice cracked along with my heart. “Heather, I’ll carry you,” I said softly, not caring if anyone else heard me. “I’ll carry you w-with me. We’ll l-live one life t-together. And I can’t wait to t-tell you all about it.” My knees shook, and the pain made me feel like I might pass out.
Everything hurt. All I wanted to do was find the nearest phone and call Heather to tell her about my nightmare and make her promise never to leave me. She’d laugh and tell me about some dream she had that was even more disturbing. That’s what best friends did; they held hands and walked each other through life, sharing every moment of laughter and every single tear. Nashville with Isaac wasn’t real because nothing was real until I told Heather.
Nothing would ever feel real again. I knew I’d spend the rest of my life stealing happy moments, and they would all come with an asterisk.
I took a step toward the stairs and saw Heather’s mom collapsing to the side, falling apart in her husband’s arms, and I couldn’t take another step.
My gaze shot around the room as panic crushed my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. My dad rested his hand on my shoulder, but I didn’t need a reassuring hand. I knew he wanted me to pull it together and take a seat, but I. Couldn’t. Move.
“Sarah,” he leaned over and whispered in my ear as I buckled at the waist. “Sit by your mom, honey? Can you do that?”
I shook my head, and a sob ripped from my chest. Hundreds of people watched me, but I felt terrifyingly alone.
I can’t catch my breath. I can’t catch my breath …
My mind screamed, but I couldn't speak .
Someone picked me up, and at first, I thought it must have been my dad. When I looked up, the blurry face before me was Isaac’s. He carried me down the aisle by the windows and out the front of the church.
He carried me past the parking lot, across the road, and into the sunflower field. The giant stalks engulfed us like the corn mazes where the young kids in Devil’s Head loved to play hide-and-seek. He walked and walked. I didn’t know if he found the perfect spot or just tired of carrying me, but he lowered us to the ground with me cocooned between his bent knees and protective arms.
Isaac let me cry. He let me fall apart. And he didn’t tell me I would be okay, we would be okay, or life would be okay. My best friend was gone.
Nothing would ever feel okay again.
“I should … I sh-should … I should have been … in that c-car.” I hadn’t hyperventilated before, but that’s what I imagined it felt like.
My heart raced. I felt lightheaded. And I couldn’t catch my breath no matter how hard I tried.
“Shh. No, baby.” He kissed my head. “You could have been in that car. But you weren’t. And I’m so fucking sorry that you lost your friends. It wasn’t your fault. And it wasn’t their fault. It was life. And sometimes life can be cruel. But that’s part of the deal. Death is part of the deal. No one knows how long they have. And it sucks that your friends didn’t have more time, but nobody thinks you should have been in that car.”
“I can’t b-breathe …” My chest puffed out in little staccatos as I clawed for a breath.
“Yes, you can.” He pressed his hand to my cheek and rubbed his thumbs over my tears. “Purse your lips.” He pursed his. “Slow it down. Slow each breath. There’s plenty of air; just slow it down.” He pressed his lips to my forehead. “I’ve got you.” He took my hand and rested it flat against his chest. “Feel that? I’ve got you. Breathe with me.”
Isaac wrapped me in his whole body while we sat in the middle of the sunflower field, dressed in black, with a lot of explaining to do.
Eventually, I found my breath, exhausted, like I could take an eternal nap. Isaac loosened his hold on me and stroked my hair while gently rocking us side to side.
“I have to go back. There’s a burial. And I have to do it all over again in two days. And now I also have to explain why you carried me out of the church.”
“You don’t have to explain anything you don’t want to explain. You don’t have to bury anyone. You don’t have to do it again on Thursday. And if you don’t want to go home, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”
“Why would you do that for me?”
“You know why.”
Because you love me.
I didn’t want to run from the grief. Heather never would have done that. And I didn’t want to leave my family. I loved them. And I wanted to make things right with Matt because by trying to chase my dreams while protecting him, I only hurt him.
“I have to go back.”
Isaac regarded me, gauging my sincerity. Then he stood and helped me to my feet. We brushed the dirt off our backsides. Then I straightened his tie.
“You look handsome,” I said, staring at his tie. The swelling caused my eyes to squint permanently. “But I never want to see you in a suit again. If I die first, wear jeans and your cowboy hat to my funeral.”
“On one condition,” he said, taking my hand and leading me out of the field.
“What’s that?”
“You let me die first.”
I stopped, tightening my grip on his hand so he would stop too. He turned, eyes narrowed.
“I can’t lose you,” I whispered.
His expression softened, and he brushed his knuckles along my cheek. “That’s my line.” He kissed me, and I released his hand to wrap my arms around his neck.
We were either the bad kind of right or the good kind of wrong. It was hard to distinguish the two. We had a reckless love and perfectly awful timing. We were impossible to describe, and that’s why every time I tried to put us into words, it made no sense.
He released me and again took my hand, taking a step in front of me.
“Isaac?”
“Yeah?” He glanced over his shoulder.
“I love you too.”
A slow smile slid up his face. “Then I’m a lucky son of a bitch.”