Chapter 17
SPENCER
EIGHT YEARS AGO
“Stop pulling at your jacket,” my mom scolds, tapping my knee. “You’re squirming like a worm.”
I can’t help it. The only suit I had is a size—maybe two—too small. I should’ve gotten a new one, but I thought this would fit and by the time I realized it wouldn’t, there wasn’t enough time to get something new.
Not too far in front of me is the casket. I’m grateful they kept it closed. I don’t think I could handle seeing my best friend like that. Pale and lifeless. I want to throw up just thinking about it.
His parents asked me to speak, and I stupidly said yes, but now I’m not sure how I’m supposed to get up there and talk about T.J. in the past tense. He should be here. He should be alive and laughing. We should be at the skate park right now. Not in a church talking about death.
T.J. didn’t even go to church, so I don’t know why we’re even here. It seems weird that he’s here now, so at odds with who he was.
Was.
I hate that word. I hate that I’m having to use it for my best friend.
He was alive and now he’s not.
His organs were donated, so I guess at least there are parts of him still out there. But it doesn’t seem like a good enough consolation.
I’ve been friends with T.J. for practically my entire life.
What do you mean that we’re not going to go to college together? That’s what we’ve always planned and now I’m going by myself? That doesn’t seem right.
“And now, Spencer Shaw—T.J.’s best friend—is going to say a few words.”
I look around with wide eyes. Now? We’re already at this point.
I stand and I swear stitches pop in my pants. I feel like I’m suffocating, and I fear I can’t even blame the suit. I pull my notebook paper from the inside pocket of my jacket. It crinkles loudly in the silent church as I ascend the steps. I look over at the casket and my bottom lip wobbles.
Keep it together.
I have to get through this.
For T.J.
I reach the podium and lay my papers down, smoothing out the wrinkled college-rule with a sweep of my hand.
“Hi.” I clear my throat and cringe when my voice echoes around the cavernous space.
“For … uh … those that might not know me I’m Spencer.
Uh … T.J.’s best friend.” I gulp down my nerves, looking out at the people gathered.
His mom sobs into his dad’s shoulder and his older brother, Jasper, looks like he wants to throw up.
“I can’t believe I’m up here right now. That this …
that this happened.” I know this isn’t coming out eloquently and I haven’t even looked at my speech I wrote, but this is me—my raw and real feelings.
“T.J. has been my best friend for practically as long as I can remember. I never imagined a world without him in it. This … well, it doesn’t seem real.
” I laugh humorlessly. “We … uh … were supposed to go to college together, be in each other’s wedding, when I have kids one day he was going to be Uncle T.J.
and now … when I do have kids, they’ll never know the guy who grew up at my side, who helped shape me into who I am today.
” I have to pause, fighting back my emotions.
In front of me Jasper is barely holding his emotions at bay.
“T.J. was the kind of guy who always made everyone feel welcome and supported, and for that, you should be proud.” I direct my statement to his parents.
“And his brother has always served as a role model for himself and even for me.”
Jasper covers his face and I’m forced to look away. There, far in the back, I spot Harlow. Shock rattles through me at seeing her. I wasn’t expecting her to be here.
“There’s always going to be a hole in my life left from T.J. that I’ll never be able to fill and that’s okay. I never want to forget him. He’ll always be a part of me and I…”
Fuck, my throat closes up.
“I hope wherever he is, that he knows I love him. That he’s loved by so many.”
I step back, crumpling the speech I didn’t give in my hands and return to my seat as the funeral wraps up.
When it’s time to carry his casket out, and load it into the hearse, I think I might truly be sick. I didn’t want to do it, but I couldn’t say no when his mom asked. Beside me, Jasper sobs softly.
The closing of the door feels so fucking final.
I can’t do it.
I can’t.
I just fucking can’t.
Taking off in a sprint, I leave behind the gasps and questions of where I’m going. My mom yells for me and I keep going. Down the street and then the whole block and I keep going until I reach the beach. I collapse into the sand on all fours, my body heaving because I can’t get enough air.
I’m suffocating. I rip at my collar, undoing a button, then the next, and then more until I’m ripping off the jacket and shirt and tearing off my tie with it.
A few people nearby look at me in horror—probably tourists—but I don’t care.
He’s gone.
He’s not coming back.
A sound comes out of me—one akin to a dying animal.
I’m not sure how long I’m there, gripping the sand in my fists like I can hold on and not like it just sifts through my fingers, before Harlow sits down beside me.
She places a gentle hand on my back and doesn’t say a word.
She’s just there.
It takes me a few minutes, but I manage to rein in my breaths and then sit down on my butt. Her hand falls away and settles in the sand beside me. I quickly reach for it and twine our fingers together. Her touch grounds me and brings me back to earth.
She still doesn’t say anything, which I appreciate.
I’m not sure how much time passes before I speak. “How did you know where to find me?”
She shrugs. “I know you like to surf, so I figured you’d find the nearest beach and I was right.”
“Did you walk all the way here?”
She nods.
I can’t believe she did that. That was a long way to go not knowing for certain if she would find me.
“I didn’t want you to be alone.”
“Thanks.”
It’s silent again, but neither of us feels the need to fill it. Waves crash against the shore, and the sound is a familiar comfort.
Harlow clears her throat like she’s going to speak but then doesn’t and shakes her head like she’s clearing away her thoughts. I wonder what she wanted to say, but I don’t push—frankly, I don’t have the energy to.
After a while, I stand and dust the sand off my pants and scoop up my discarded clothes. “Do you have a ride?” I ask her.
“I’ll call my mom or dad.”
I shake my head. “I can take you home.”
“Are you sure?” She takes my offered hand, and I help her up from the sand.
“It’s not a problem. I’m not ready to go home anyway.” I squint from the sun. “My mom’s probably going to chew me out for running away.”
She shakes her head. “I doubt that.”
We make our way back to my car and she gives me quiet directions to her house. I pull up out front and she reaches for the door. She’s halfway out before I find my voice.
“Wait.” I grab her wrist, and she looks over her shoulder at me.
I let her go. “Thank you. It means a lot that you came and sat with me.”
She gives me a small, sad smile. “Of course.”
This time, I don’t stop her when she gets out of the car. I sit out front and watch to make sure she gets in okay before I pull away.