Chapter 25
When Sandrine and Arnold arrived, Colin had thrown up his meal into the bushes beside the kitchen door. Grant and Mrs. Fitzgerald were out front, along with the police and the EMT wagon now holding Lenny’s body.
The only time he almost lost it was when Sandrine wrapped her arms around him.
Arnold kept patting his shoulder, speaking words that arrived from some vast telescopic distance.
Finally, they pulled him forward and loaded him into Arnold’s SUV and drove him away.
Colin turned around and watched until the flashing blue and red lights were cut off by the academy entrance.
They entered the flow of normal nighttime traffic.
They drove to Arnold’s town house. They bedded him down in the guest room.
They spoke words, they offered comfort, they sheltered him the best they could.
The next morning, he woke up and lay there for hours.
The sun traced its way across the floor.
He must have dozed off again because the next thing he knew the sun’s angle had moved westward.
He rose and dressed and drifted into the living room, feeling guilty over being hungry.
Notes were there on the kitchen counter, but he couldn’t be bothered to read.
He made a bowl of cereal and fruit, ate it standing by the front window.
Then he pulled off the bedspread, carried it into the living room, lay down on the couch, and slept.
Colin attended the memorial service only because Sandrine and Arnold and Celeste ganged up on him.
They did so with loving firmness. They spoke to him as friends.
They pressured him into his new jacket and tie and trousers.
One or another of them kept a hand on his shoulder, guiding him across the campus and into the chapel attached to the new building.
The events washed over him in an arid sweep, carried by another wind pushing hard from the west, bearing the empty bitterness of a wasted life.
The unfairness was an acidic dreg he took in with every breath.
None of it made sense. The words people spoke to him, the caring nature of the trio who surrounded him, it was all filtered through the fog of sorrow.
He heard Sandrine sniff from time to time, and watched from a distance as Celeste passed her a tissue.
Colin spent most of the service wishing there was someone he could rage at.
Scream his anger at all the mysteries that had stolen away his friend.
The day finally came into tight focus when Lenny’s father approached him.
He was a bulky man, dark and uncomfortable in a suit he probably had bought just for this occasion.
His hands were big, solid, like mallets attached to wrists as thick as Colin’s shins.
“I heard from Lenny you been nice to my boy.”
Colin spoke the first words that day. “He was incredible. I mean …” That was as far as he got.
Even so, the man seemed to accept the words as enough. “I never did understand what he was going on about. It meant a lot to my boy, having a friend who accepted him for who he was.”
“It was more than that.” Colin felt the words clog in his throat. But they had to be spoken. It was important. “He taught me so much.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
Colin shrugged off the hand on his shoulder. He needed to stand alone. “I can’t explain it. Not yet. But I will. I need time. I need …”
Once again, the man seemed to find nothing wrong with Colin’s stumbling response. “I hear folks talking about a man’s legacy. I don’t know about things like that. Just the same, it’s good to know my boy’s legacy is there in you.”
“I want it to be. So much.”
The man started to reach out, then let his hand drop. He nodded to Colin and left the chapel, followed down the central aisle by his other three sons, all of them as large as their father.
Only then did Colin realize Mira was there.
She stood by the back row, Alexi on one side, Regina on the other.
Colin did not actually feel himself move down the aisle. One moment he was standing up front, sheltered by Arnold and Sandrine and Celeste. The next, he stood before the three of them, all in black, all of them sharing the same look. They enfolded him in three pairs of arms.
Afterward Mira insisted on walking him back to Sojourn House.
For once, she remained silent, subdued. Colin dreaded having her talk about what had just happened.
Chatting was Mira’s way of dealing with empty minutes.
Instead, she waited until they were approaching the house’s front door to ask, “Do you ever think about us?”
He knew instantly what she meant. “All the time.”
“I don’t mean us as friends. I mean …”
“I know exactly, Mira. Me without my mother, you minus your twin.”
“Sometimes it wakes me up at night. We haven’t talked in forever, and yet you’re still right there. Not in a creepy way. Just, you know …”
“Connected.” He nodded. “You’ve helped me through so much. Even when you weren’t around.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been detached. This past month has become …”
He found an uncommon comfort in the act of finishing her thoughts. “A hard season.”
“You don’t know, you can’t imagine, how hard.” She glanced over. “Then again, maybe you can.”
“Is it Lucas?”
“Can we not talk about that, please?”
“Absolutely.” It actually felt good to know there were topics she was also eager to avoid. “No problem at all. I withdraw the question.”
A woman’s voice called her name. Mira waved at someone Colin could not be bothered to see and turned them back toward the house. She said, “During the service, I felt your sorrow in my bones.”
“Some day I’ll be able to tell you what it meant seeing you here.”
“You don’t ever need to. Not for me, anyway.”
“How did you know?”
“Celeste called. She seems really nice.”
“She is. That and more.”
She breathed in the sorrel-scented air. “It’s strange.”
“What?”
“I told Regina first. Then she came over. And we told Mom.” She shook her head. “Mom and I, we’re so incredibly close, but I needed Regina there. When she walked in, I just started bawling. I didn’t know the guy, your friend. I wasn’t crying for him. It was just …”
“You felt for me.” Colin wiped his eyes.
When they reached the front steps, Mira held him for the second time that day. “Connected.”