Left Behind

So I start walking. I know Emily probably won’t have a stone yet, but her grandfather does. He’s buried right next to her. A few people linger, passing by as I walk slowly, reading row after row of names. Each time I put my head down to avoid eye contact whenever someone nears.

Hours after darkness falls, I finally find her again. The ground is still raw with new dark dirt…fresh, just like the memory of losing her. I sit, leaning my back up against her grandfather’s stone, and the tears start to fall. And fall and fall, until I’m sobbing so hard, it’s hard to catch my breath. Eventually, exhausted and cried empty, I fall asleep, lying splayed across Emily’s grave.

A hand on my shoulder startles me awake. I crack one eye open and glance up at my father as he sits down next to me. “Your mother’s been worried sick,” he says, gently rather than scolding. “I know it’s hard, but you’re going to have to let some of it out sooner or later, son. You can’t keep it all to yourself.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder. “We’re worried about you. I know you need some space…and I’m going to try to give that to you. But don’t scare us like you did today, disappearing for so long.” My father quiets for a moment and then calls my name, gently, but firm in that fatherly way, “Zack.” He forces me to look up, waits until I look right into his eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

Chapter 13

Nikki—

Long Beach, California

The house is nothing like I expected. Vibrant framed pictures decorate the warm colored walls, making it feel more like a home than anyplace I’ve ever lived. Yet sleep didn’t come easy last night. The first night in a new place never does. I should know, I’ve had plenty of first nights.

Forcing myself from bed earlier than I need to, I take the time to explore with Aunt Claire gone to run errands for a few hours. My first stop— the framed photos on the mantel above the fireplace. Not wanting to appear too nosey, I’ve glanced but haven’t had a chance to really take a good look.

The first photo is of two little girls, their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulder while they smile brightly for the camera. The taller girl is holding a garden hose and has a mischievous grin on her face; the younger girl is drenched from head to toe. I almost don’t recognize Mom with that easy, carefree smile. It makes me wonder if she was born broken or if something happened after that photo to make her the way she was by the time I was born.

The photo next to it was taken at Aunt Claire’s graduation from nursing school. She looks the same, only younger. The older woman beside her, my grandmother, a woman I’ve never seen, smiles proudly at her daughter dressed in an all-white uniform.

I pick up the largest of the photos, running my finger along the outline of the etched glass frame, studying the picture of the happy couple on their wedding day. Aunt Claire looks beautiful in a traditional white wedding dress, the kind you see on television with a long train and a veil that covers her face. Her husband is dressed in a simple dark suit; a huge smile lights up his face as he looks down at his new bride. They both look so happy, I get an ache in my chest thinking of how she must have felt when she lost him.

I turn, contemplating what I feel as I take in the entirety of the room…the pictures, the furniture, the bookshelves filled with books…it’s all just so…normal. A feeling I’m entirely not used to.

***

My face is buried in a book when Aunt Claire comes in carrying groceries a few hours later.

“How did you sleep?” she asks, as I follow her out to the car to help her get the rest of the bags.

I shrug. “Okay, I guess.” Why worry her that I tossed and turned half the night.

Aunt Claire smiles cautiously. “It will get easier. I promise. I always have trouble sleeping in a new place.” Together, we begin to unpack the groceries. “I was thinking…how about we go get a new outfit for your first day of school Monday?”

I look down. “What’s wrong with my clothes?” My voice comes out a bit defensively.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. It’s just…my mother always bought us a new outfit for the first day of school. It was sort of a tradition.” She smiles. “I always looked forward to it.” Her smile falters a bit, her voice dipping lower and softer. “So did your mom. I thought maybe you would too.” I find myself wondering what it would be like to go shopping with my sister. I really want to ask more questions, but it’s too soon to risk poking around and making Aunt Claire suspicious of my intentions.

I agree to go shopping, although I’m not really sure I’ll be sticking around long enough to create any traditions here.

By the end of the day, the new school outfit had exploded into three outfits, new exercise clothes, earbuds, a backpack and school supplies. At times, I actually had fun shopping with Aunt Claire.

***

Saturday morning, sporting new shorts, a tank top, and purple earbuds in my ears, I stand outside the front door and stretch my calves. I haven’t exercised in almost a month, and the burn as I pull my foot back behind me to stretch my hamstring is a pain I welcome.

“Are you sure you remember the directions I gave you?” Aunt Claire comes outside and asks for the third time. She’s worried I’ll get lost on my run.

Smiling at her nervousness, I pull one ear bud from my ear. “Straight four blocks to Main, left two blocks to Arnold Ave, right on Front Street…that takes me to the high school track.”