I glance around. Is she here?

“She’s a little annoyed that I’ve brought you here,” Jackson goes on.

My eyebrows arch. Trisha doesn’t want me here?

“Because she told me to stay away from you.”

Oh. That.

“But I’m sorry, Trisha.” Jackson steps closer to the tombstone. “I couldn’t stay away. I can’t. I can promise you this, though. I’m not going to hurt her. I’m going to be her new best friend.”

I smile at that. I hold my hand over my heart as my chest swells with warmth.

“But I’m her new best friend,” Maisie argues.

I chuckle.

Jackson kneels in front of her. “You’re right, sweetheart. You’re her new best friend. I think your Aunt Trisha would like that, too.”

Again, he cups his ear with his hand.

“What’s that?” He places his hands on Maisie’s shoulders. “See, she says she would. She says you and Cathy should have lots of fun together.”

Maisie looks up. “We will, Aunt Trisha.”

I wrap my hand around the quivering lump in my throat as I look at her. So innocent and yet so earnest. I run to her and wrap my arms around her tight.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

“That means I’ll have to be better than a best friend,” Jackson says.

I glance at him. It’s an offer, I know. I still don’t know how to reply to it, though.

“Come.” Jackson touches Maisie’s arm. “Why don’t we leave Cathy alone? I’m sure there are some things she wants to tell Aunt Trisha. Let’s let them talk alone, okay?”

“Okay.” Maisie takes her father’s hand.

Jackson gives me a nod.

I glance at the tombstone. Talk to Trisha?

“Go on,” Jackson urges me. “She’s waiting.”

Slowly, I turn and walk to her grave. Behind me, I hear leaves crunching beneath Jackson and Maisie’s footsteps as they walk away.

I kneel and feel the cold, hard earth beneath my knees. A breeze blows. It sweeps the loose strands of hair off my face.

As I close my eyes, I suddenly remember Trisha doing that – brushing hair from my cheeks.

“You shouldn’t hide such a pretty face, you know,” she tells me.

I frown. “It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose. You know my hair is stubborn.”

“Unlike the rest of you, you mean. Maybe we should exchange hair.”

“I’d love to have yours.”

“Would you like to exchange brains, too? I wish I could get my homework done faster.”

I don’t answer.

She laughs. “Just kidding. I like me the way I am. And I like you the way you are. Most of all, I like us the way we are – the very best of friends. Forever.”

“Forever,” I whisper as I open my eyes.

Tears brim in them as I stare at Trisha’s tombstone. I place my hand on the marble.

“I’m sorry, Trisha.” My voice trembles under the weight of my emotions. “I’m sorry that I can’t remember what happened that night, that I can’t remember the last things you said to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t come to your funeral and I’m sorry that I haven’t come here until now. I’ve kept you waiting, and that’s terrible. I know you hate to be kept waiting.”

I wait for an answer but hear none. Still, I get the feeling she’s listening.

“I miss you.” Tears streak down my cheeks. “I miss everything about you. I miss everything we had. I miss everything we were supposed to have. Didn’t we say we’d grow up together, grow old together? Didn’t we say we’d do everything together?”

I rest on the back of my legs and place my hands on my lap.

“Sometimes I wonder why I’m the one who got left behind. It doesn’t make sense. You’re stronger than I am. If I was the one who died, you would have been able to find a new best friend in months. You would have been able to move on and be happy. And I’d be happy just watching over you. Why? Why did it have to be you?”

But you’re the better one of us. Words Trisha said to me once before echo in my ears. You’ll get farther than me. I know it.

Farther? I nearly laugh. I haven’t gotten anywhere at all. I’ve been stuck in the past for so long.

So get yourself unstuck, I almost hear her say. You’re not glue, are you?

I grin. Right. That’s what she’d say. If she’s been watching me all this time, she’s probably mad at me for not doing anything, for being so boring, for not having the courage to move on. All because I’ve been afraid to leave her behind.

But what if I’m actually the one holding her back? She’s already left me. She’s gone. She’s in a better place now, or at least she should be. What if she can’t go because I won’t let her? Because she’s too worried about me to leave my side? She’s always been worried about me, after all.

I look up. “Am I holding you back? Are you stuck here because I’m stuck?”

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