Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
NOW
T he last forty-eight hours are a total blur.
Lost in the darkest depths of a weird, bizarre haze . . . nothing feels real. It’s like I’ve disconnected from my body and mind, forced to disentangle myself from anything resembling feelings or emotion so I don’t shatter. I haven’t been able to eat or sleep or get a real deep breath into my lungs since that call two nights ago, and I know I can’t run on fumes for too much longer, but I just . . . I can’t do anything else.
Because Jason’s dead.
The man I planned to spend the rest of my life with.
He’s . . . gone.
I’m suspended in time, unable to feel the ground beneath my feet or the freezing wind on my face as I exit the taxi at the airport terminal. It’s like being lost in the cosmos, spinning and weightless with nothing to grab on to, nothing to hold me steady as I brace for the impact of what I know is going to crush me. But the moment the words spilled from my mother’s throat and into the phone line, I slipped so far out of my body that I haven’t been able to return to it, only barely having the wherewithal to get myself to the airport for this flight.
My mind is a loop of memories, every one of them featuring Jason: the striking blue eyes I thought I’d have forever to look at, the warmth of his smile I believed would carry us—carry me —through the hardest times. I’m stuck in a culmination of so many small moments of love and laughter and life that made whole who I was with him, the girl I became with him by my side.
Maybe I’ll never be able to feel again—I’m not sure I’d mind if it means never having to face the pain I know is waiting in the periphery for me. I’ve spent hours staring blankly at the walls of my dorm room, stuck inside the labyrinth in my mind, a steady stream of tears slipping down my face.
Those tears are still going strong. I can tell it makes the TSA agents nervous at the airport’s security line, three pairs of dark eyes watching me carefully as I pull my laptop out of my suitcase and toe off my shoes. They look at me like I might need help, debating whether they need to step in. I pray they don’t . . . I wouldn’t know how to explain the tears when I can’t fucking feel anything.
I manage to get through security, clearing the body scanner to find my suitcase and shoes waiting on the other side. Sighing out some of my pent-up tension, I tug my sneakers back on my feet and continue toward my gate.
The flight to Texas is four hours long, and I do nothing but stare out the small square window the entire time. As the plane dips between scattered clouds, I wonder if Jason might be inside of them somewhere, watching me. Maybe he’s looking for some shred of evidence of my devastation from his loss. Maybe he’s unhappy to find that all I am is numb. It gives me an odd sense of proximity to him, as if we might be able to share a secret moment together in the wide-open sky of bending light and sunset hues before this steel cage brings me back down to earth. Back to my home—our home.
I only have a small carry-on with me, so after deboarding the plane I’m able to move right past baggage claim. The humidity from what must have been a recent rainstorm caresses my face before the automatic doors even finish opening—the sun has been set for almost an hour now, but the evening air is still so much warmer than where I just came from. December can get pretty chilly here on the Gulf Coast, but nothing like the freezing cold of New York.
As I peer around the dimly lit traffic lane that veers up toward the curb I’m standing on, I watch a cluster of vehicles fight for space to pick up their loved ones standing nearby. I forget where I am or what I’m doing, so distracted by commotion that it takes me a few extra moments to realize someone is approaching me from the left, and I startle when my mother’s arms wrap me in a hug.
“Oh bug, you made it,” she murmurs into my hair with a voice that’s frayed and tired. She pulls back, eyes sweeping over me intently, as if she might be able to pinpoint all the places I’m broken. “Are you okay? How was your flight?”
Her assessment puts me on edge. I feel another tear escape, curving along my skin until it disappears somewhere below my jaw. “Where’s Annie?” I ask, ignoring her questions. All I want is my little sister.
Mom frowns. “She’s at home, with Barry.” She purses her lips together, brows worrying. “I figured we could have some alone time to process things.”
I deflate, the claws of anxiety clutching deep inside my gut. It’s an hour’s drive home from the Houston airport, and the last thing I want to do is process anything .
Not trusting myself to speak, I simply nod.
“Come here, angel,” my mother coos as she takes the handle of my carry-on and pulls me in close to her side. I’ve got an inch on her, so our shoulders bump in an awkward tangle. But I do my best to relent and lean in, to accept what she’s trying to give me.
She’d called me a dozen times that first night, after I’d initially hung up on her in my state of disbelief. My phone rang incessantly from where it lay discarded on the coffee table. The distance combined with a lack of control shoved my mother into a tailspin. I know she didn’t want to leave me alone to face the initial brunt of the news, but it took a long time before I could get myself to answer.
In some inexplicable delusion, I thought maybe I could just ignore it. Maybe if I just went to sleep and let the darkness of that cold winter night claim me, I’d wake up and realize it had all been some agonizing dream. But by four the next morning the phone still hadn’t stopped ringing and I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed answers.
Apparently, those would prove harder to come by.
All we know is Jason’s prized red Mustang lost control on a two-lane highway and drove right off an embankment, catapulting into a deep, rocky ravine below. There’d been no skid marks on the asphalt save for his, no weather to blame. But the road he’d been on was an easy straightaway—so why did he swerve?
The unknowns only left me reeling all over again.
I’m jolted to the present when Mom shoves my blue suitcase into the back seat of her Mercedes then holds the passenger door open, guiding me in. “Let’s get you home, bug,” she says softly, eyes shimmering with emotion.
And ready or not, I realize it’s time to face it all.
I stare at myself in the mirror, eyes fastened on the black linen dress that hangs from my shoulders, on the small pearl-white buttons that stack along the front. It’s one of my mother’s, and though it’s a little big on my thinner frame, I don’t have it in me to care. Black has never been my color and I don’t own anything else like this—it’s much more sophisticated than the sundresses and jeans I’m used to wearing. But after today, I’ll have no reason to wear something like it again, so it only made sense to borrow from my mother’s closet.
I’ve never been to a funeral before. My grandparents are still alive and well in their retirement community down in Florida, and besides losing some of the older folks in town, death hasn’t had much of an impact on my life.
Until now.
Jason would hate this dress. He’d hate how stuffy and proper it looks, the way my hair is twisted up into a simple bun at the top of my head. He loved my long hair, always wanted me to wear it down and let it flow freely along my back. I’d feel his fingertips dip underneath it as we walked together, a whisper of a touch across my neck before those fingers tugged the length of my wild brown locks. Tiny moments I’ll never know again.
So much of who I am today is because of Jason, because of the way he loved me. He might’ve only been two years older, but as a vibrant and shimmering sixteen-year-old boy who walked right into my desperately bored fourteen-year-old life, he shaped so much about who I became.
“You almost ready, sweetheart?” Mom breezes into my bedroom, eyes finding mine through the reflection of the mirror. She’s dressed in a black pantsuit with a silk black shirt and Louboutins on her feet. We both went to bed with red-rimmed eyes last night, but somehow she’s been able to smooth her sadness away like footprints in the sand as fresh waves wash ashore. My eyes flick back to my own face, studying the dark shade of purple that’s bloomed beneath my eyes. Sad isn’t quite what I look.
Empty, maybe.
But the traces of my crying are still present: puffy eyelids that swell over my lashes; dry, salt-crusted skin on my cheeks. I decided not to bother with makeup—it would be a waste. “Yes,” I say quietly back, pulling my gaze away from the mirror. “Let’s go.”
The drive to the only church in town is quiet. Barry navigates his brand new truck through streets so familiar to me I could traverse them with my eyes closed while my mother prods at her lipstick in the front seat. Annie sits pressed against me in the back, shoulder to thigh, with our hands clasped tightly between us. “I love you, Layla,” she whispers as Barry pulls into the church lot. “And I’m here for you, okay?”
My breath catches in a sob as I look down into her hazel eyes. She’s only thirteen, but somehow she’s become my only real sense of ease and comfort. I want to keep her hand in mine for the entirety of the service, but I know I can’t—she’s a child, not a crutch. I smile down at her, pressing my free hand to the side of her face as I kiss her temple. “I love you most, Annie.”
Her returning smile is a little uneasy, but I squeeze her hand in assurance as the truck rolls to a stop. I turn my attention out the window and find a swarm of people congregating near the entrance, all dressed in black. I recognize Jason’s parents right away, Mrs. Moore leaning heavily on her husband as she weeps, and a heavy surge of nerves rips through me.
Barry pushes out of his door, and Annie follows him out the other side of the car. But I can’t bring myself to move, my eyes locked on Jason’s mother.
“You can do this, Layla,” my own mother affirms. “I’ll be right there beside you. And your sister, and Barry . . . the whole town is practically here, honey. And everybody loves you, just as they loved Jason.”
I know she means well, but her words rake uncomfortably against my heart. “I’m fine,” I force out, then push my door open. I don’t wait for anyone before I start the short trek toward the steps I’ve climbed hundreds of times, finally tearing my gaze away from Mrs. Moore’s shattered face.
Sandy Barlowe, owner of the local sundry shop, rubs a hand up and down her own arm, noticeably uncomfortable with the weight of emotions around her. Big Eddie who, until now, I’ve never seen in anything but a pair of worn overalls and some version of a flannel shirt, looks stiff in a starched collared shirt. Eleanor, a kind older woman who owns the flower shop on Main, is the first to see me approach. Her eyes fill with warm affection, though it’s tinged in profound sadness. “Layla,” she breathes out, and like a bunch of curious owls, everyone cranes their necks to look in my direction.
My eyes land back on Jason’s parents, and I’m suddenly hesitant to even be here, like this is something intimate that I have no business being a part of. I nearly stumble when I reach the sidewalk, but a warm hand grabs my elbow and rights me. “It’s okay, bug. One step at a time,” my mother murmurs next to me.
Annie’s hand slides into mine again from my other side, and I take a moment to muster the courage to continue forward. My eyes slide to the towering white church I’ve attended since I was a young girl—a place that holds so many memories. I’m not much of a spiritual person, but weekly attendance at service was mandatory in our house growing up, like it is for most families in this town. During high school, Jason and I would sneak eager touches from the pews in the back: a warm hand wrapped around my bare thigh, the feel of his mouth pressed just behind my ear when his parents weren’t looking. It was always more bearable with him next to me, and it pleased my mother to know the boy I loved came from a god-fearing family.
Mrs. Moore’s eyes catch mine, and with a shaky breath, I lean in to wrap my arms around her. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper as she sobs into my neck. “He loved you so much,” I tell his father, who feels stiff in our subsequent embrace. Ron Moore is currently serving his second term as mayor, and I’ve never seen him look anything but confident and near-regal in the way he stands tall for the people of this town. To see the evidence of his heartbreak is shocking.
He pulls back to look at me with a sincerity I’ve never seen from him before. “Thank you, Layla. He loved you too, you know.”
I give him a watery smile. “I know.”
Inside the church, it’s standing-room only. I’m pretty sure the entire town has shown up to celebrate the too-short life of their sparkling golden boy, the devastation of his loss like a crack in the very essence of what makes Saddlebrook Falls prosper. No one hesitates to make room for my family, though, as Sheriff Joe does his best to push crowds of people down the wooden pews so we can sit together near the front, right behind Jason’s parents.
I’m met with so much gentle love and whispered condolences that I’m not sure how to take it all in, let alone respond—but Annie and my mother hold tightly to me, acting as barriers as best they can. And when we finally settle into our seats and the service begins, it hits me all over again that Jason’s really gone.
I’ll never see him again. I’ll never get to admire the way the sun’s warm evening light glows against his skin. Or the way his eyes glitter as they take in the view of the ocean on a trip to the coast.
I’ll never again hear his low, hungry voice telling me how beautiful I am as his body moves against mine.
And I can’t stop the sobs from ripping through me.