Chapter Forty-One
I’m peopled out.
Visitation. Family. Dinner. Breakfast. Funeral. Luncheon. More family. Dare I say I envy my dad?
“You’re entirely too sober,” Fitz says, handing me a beer as I stare at the flurries over the lake from the deck.
I find a half grin and take the bottle as Jamie, Maren, and Ozzy crowd onto the porch with me, sitting around the fire table. Fitz wraps a throw blanket around Jamie and hugs her to him. Maren blows at something steaming in a coffee mug as she perches on Ozzy’s lap in the other rocker.
“Your mom wanted to be alone in her room.” Jamie’s nose wrinkles. “Your sister is sitting on the floor outside her door, nursing the baby. I told her it’s okay to let your mom have a little space.”
I sip my beer before nodding.
“But we’re not giving you space,” Maren says with a smirk before blowing at the steam again. “We’re the kind of friends who like to be up in each other’s business.”
Our collective laughter lacks its usual energy.
Maybe I’m not the only one who’s not drunk enough.
I set my beer aside and then run my hands through my hair.
The alcohol doesn’t touch this kind of grief.
My body’s not numb to the pain; it’s numb to the vices that have gotten me through everything else in my life until now.
“I should have spoken,” I say. “The pastor asked me to speak at the funeral, but I couldn’t.”
“No one expected you to speak,” Maren says.
I shake my head. “That’s not true. I think Mom wanted me to speak since I was closer to my dad than Leah.
But . . .” I shake my head and take another swig of beer.
“I didn’t want to share our memories with everyone who’s ever known him.
They’re mine. They feel private.” I shrug a shoulder.
“They kind of feel like the only part of him I have left that’s just mine. Is that weird?”
“Funerals are fucked up anyway,” Fitz says.
“Who wants their grief on display? Why do we care about what others think when our loved ones die? You want to pay your respects? Too fucking bad. I want to crawl in a hole and die. So you deal with your feelings and I’ll deal with mine, but this grieving shit doesn’t have to be a team sport with spectators. ”
Jamie coughs a laugh. “Wow, babe. Tell us how you really feel about funerals.”
We laugh, and it feels good. I need good. All the damn goodness I can get.
“I thought Everleigh would be there,” Maren says, eyeing me for a reaction.
I have none. I knew she wouldn’t be there. Why would she ignore my texts and calls and then show up at the funeral?
“She’s gone,” Jamie murmurs, stealing everyone’s attention, but her gaze remains locked with mine. “Everleigh. I called her after I found out that she wasn’t returning to the clinic.”
“She took a job at Hopkins,” I say as if it’s just the two of us having this conversation.
Jamie shakes her head. “I don’t think so because she didn’t mention the job.
And she wasn’t”—Jamie pauses, twisting her lips—“right. There was something off about her. And I’m not telling you this because I think you need to find her and figure out what’s wrong.
You just lost your father, and I don’t want you thinking she abandoned you in your darkest hour for no good reason. ”
What would be “off” about her? Well, more than usual? Is it about us? Did I upset her by telling her to take the job? Surely she had to see it from my point of view.
I stare at Fitz like he’s a thermometer taking my mental temperature. Does he think I’m crazy for letting her go or crazy for loving her? Does he know I love her? Did Maren tell him? Did Jamie? How would Jamie know if Maren didn’t tell her?
“She’s too smart for you,” Fitz says with a smirk, repeating what has been my mantra forever.
Still, it doesn’t stop me from worrying. “What seemed off about her?” I ask Jamie.
“She said she was a fraud. When I asked what she meant, she said she had to go.”
Despite the dozen follow-up questions on the tip of my tongue, I say nothing because I’ve hit my emotional capacity for the day, maybe for my lifetime.
If she texted me back or answered my calls, I could ask her why she went to see my father.
It makes no sense that she would visit a stranger on his deathbed like that.
“I wonder if psychiatrists and therapists are well-rounded people, or if they are the most troubled people,” Maren asks.
“Did you know there’s a phenomenon known as the wounded healer?” Jamie asks.
“You’re such a nerd,” Fitz says before kissing her head.
She elbows him. “Takes one to know one. Anyway, Carl Jung believed that wounded people, or those with troubled pasts, are more likely to pursue professions in mental health. Their experience or trauma makes them more empathetic.”
“So Everleigh has a troubled past?” Maren asks before sipping her drink.
“Who doesn’t have a troubled past?” Fitz deadpans.
“Amen,” Ozzy says.
“I mean, she’s a prodigy,” Jamie says. “That alone could have caused her emotional trauma. Imagine that kind of pressure? And she didn’t have a traditional upbringing. Her time was not only divided between two parents but also between two continents.”
“Can you imagine being thrust into an adult’s world as a child?” Maren asks. “Has she ever mentioned having friends? Boyfriends? Any sort of social life? Has she ever gone trick-or-treating? It’s worse than being homeschooled.” She winks at Jamie and Fitz because they were homeschooled.
Fitz responds with the middle finger, but Jamie just giggles.
This is nice. As I listen to them, the grief I feel from losing my father lessens. Maybe I don’t have to be crushed by his loss. But they won’t be here forever. Before long, I’ll be alone with my mom.
“She’s a good person,” Jamie says. “I wish we had brought her into our circle before she moved in with Will. Everyone just wants to fit in and find people who make them feel included and who will have their backs. Ya know?” She eyes Fitz, waiting for him to back her up.
Like a good husband, he returns a loving smile and a tiny nod.
“That’s on me,” I say without thinking. My confession gains everyone’s attention.
Maren’s gaze feels the heaviest.
Bowing my head, I exhale. “After what happened between us eleven years ago, I convinced myself I hated her . . . almost as much as I loved her. As I love her.” I laugh a little, but I can’t look at them, not yet.
“My dad would have been just as enamored of her. He would have said, ‘Now you know why I married your mother.’ He was drawn to anyone who had a story to tell. Mom had a story. She lost her parents before she turned sixteen. She helped raise her siblings. Put herself through college. And she never lost faith that one day she’d find someone to love and who would take care of her the way she took care of everyone else for years.
Everleigh has a story. And I hope the best is yet to come. She deserves a storybook ending.”
Silence.
I risk a glance up at my friends. Maren and Jamie have tears in their eyes. Ozzy doesn’t make eye contact at all.
“Then give it to her,” Maren says. Jamie chokes on a sob, but she does it with a smile and a sappy sparkle of hope in her eyes.
“My mom needs me,” I say.
No one argues because they know it’s true.
“Then let her go. Problem solved,” Fitz says, guiding Jamie to stand with him.
“Let her go?” Jamie’s jaw drops. “Let. Her. Go? That’s your solution? Because that’s what you did to me?”
“Yep.” He grabs her face and kisses her head. “See how that worked out for us?”
“Calvin Fitzgerald”—she scowls—“that’s terrible advice.”
“You know what’s good advice?” He looks around the room. “Letting Will and his family have some time alone. It’s been a long day.”
On his cue, Maren and Ozzy stand.
I lumber to my feet, not expecting something so simple to feel this hard. My friends give me hugs. As long as I don’t try to speak, I can keep my shit together. I love them like family.
“Don’t let her go,” Jamie whispers in my ear. Then she rests her hand on my cheek. “But if you do, you’ll be fine. And so will she.”
With a hard swallow, I nod and force a smile.
Fine. Not good. Not amazing. Just fine.
But what if I’m not?