FIFTEEN
Monroe stood behind Brooklyn mumbling something about the summer and how their plans were still going to happen. How they were going to have their bonfires on the beach; go rock jumping into the river; pack their tents and spend weekends deep in the forest, under the lush green trees, drinking beer and talking about their futures. Their plans. Plans that they made as a group. A group that existed with one less person. The person who everyone followed around because he was the leader of the pack, their mayor of sorts. Monroe pulled the hairbrush through Brooklyn’s thick mane of chocolate-colored hair, gathering pieces to pin into place. The sun added natural highlights, a mixture of brown, red, and gold strands, making Brooklyn a natural beauty. Over the years, many of her friends and even strangers asked her who colored her hair and which salon her stylist worked at, hoping to achieve the same look. When she would tell them that she was born this way, or that the sun did all the work, many wouldn’t believe her. Half the time Brooklyn didn’t believe it herself.
Brooklyn felt the barrette snap into place but couldn’t give it much thought after the initial push into her scalp. It didn’t hurt, at least not as much as she wanted it to. She was numb and in desperate need to feel pain. To feel something stronger than the constant ache she felt in her chest. Her heart didn’t exist as she remembered. She barely felt it beat, couldn’t hear the thumping it made when she lay in bed at night. Her chest ached, burning whenever she would lay her hand there.
Two words were said over the roar of rain, and everything changed for Brooklyn. She had never known what it was like to lose everything, to know your dreams were disappearing and there wasn’t a single thing that could be done to change it. With those two words, her whole life vanished, and all she was left with was regret.
Monroe fluttered around her like a busy bee, taking care of mundane things like making sure Brooklyn’s shoes were on, that the buttons on the back of her dress latched tightly, and that the hat that Monroe had purchased for her fit perfectly. Another jab to the scalp hadn’t brought enough pain to register in Brooklyn’s mind.
“There, all set.”
Brooklyn barely noticed Monroe standing behind her with her hands on her shoulders. She didn’t know what day it was, where they were going, or how they planned to get there. She knew nothing, but somehow Monroe understood and had been by Brooklyn’s side since the night everything happened.
Outside, the sun was bright and caused Brooklyn to squint. Seconds later, a pair of sunglasses covered her eyes, and she sighed. She lifted her face toward the sun and let the warmth wash over her until Monroe started tugging her arm toward the waiting car.
The black limo wove through town, making unnecessary turns. The funeral was for show. There wasn’t a body to bury. Not a limb, a piece of clothing, or a lock of hair to put six feet underground, but people needed closure, and this was the way to get it. People lined the streets, as if a limousine driving to a funeral warranted some sort of parade. They waved, not knowing who was hiding behind the dark tinted glass. And there were signs. Signs everywhere with Austin’s name.
“Everyone loved him,” she muttered.
“They did.”
“Don’t you find it odd that people only profess their love for someone after they die? I’m surprised people don’t test loyalty by faking their own deaths just to see how their friends will react. Who will show up at their funeral? Who will cry tears? Who will mourn a man they didn’t truly know?”
That was Brooklyn’s thought when she had received the phone call that Austin was missing. That he was faking his own death to see if she would leave like she had threatened after he had told her he didn’t love her anymore. If he didn’t love her, there was no reason to stay. She hadn’t wanted to believe Graham when he had phoned. She had thought it was a joke, that if something had happened, his mother would call. She received her answer as soon as she showed up at the Woodses’ house. Police were everywhere, and the chatter on the radio—the one Austin kept in his room—proved to be true. Her boyfriend, the man she had planned to spend the rest of her life with, was missing.
The car pulled into the parking lot of the church. It was filled with cars parked tightly together, and there was a yellow school bus dropping off a group of mourners. Austin’s family would be the last to enter. They would walk down the red, worn-out carpet of the aisle, on display for everyone to look at, to feel sorry for. Brooklyn stared out the window, wondering what the hell she was doing. She was a mere shell of herself, weak and unable to function. In a few moments she would have to put on a brave face and be strong for Austin’s mother. She was the girlfriend, and if Carly could function normally, so could she.