Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Dash, Adrian, and Nat have been taking turns handling me with kid gloves. I’ve told them repeatedly that I’m fine, and I am. I think. Nat had to do inventory for her mom’s shop today, and I talked my brother and Adrian into going to letting me breathe for five minutes, so I’m alone for the first time since the incident. That’s what I’m calling it now. It easier than saying, “That night when everyone’s secrets came to light, I got a concussion, Asher’s dad died, and then he left me without a word. Again.”
I walk outside, and the heat chokes me, even though it’s gloomy and overcast. The sky mimics my somber mood as I make my way to my car. I pause, halfway down the walkway when I see them. Mom’s succulents. I bend over, plucking two of them from their place in the garden. The excess dirt crumbles to the pavers at my feet. I’m reminded of the pigeon once again and how Asher risked crossing my mother by picking one of her precious succulents to give it a proper burial.
I’m on autopilot as I turn the ignition and drive to the All Souls Cemetery. I carefully place the plants into the bag in my passenger seat, thinking about how everything has changed in just a couple of short months. It’s been messy and emotional and awful and wonderful. People say it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all, but those people have never been in love with Asher Kelley. He doesn’t dole out his love freely. He’s stingy with it, and when you’re on the receiving end, it feels like you’ve been awarded this extremely rare gift. Being loved by him is magic, but being left by him is tragic.
It’s surreal. I’ve driven past this cemetery more times than I can count. But it was never anything more than scenery, until now. I never thought about what was actually behind those gates. Inching past them, I find myself looking for Asher, without making a conscious decision to do so. I give myself a mental slap to the face. He’s not coming. He’s doing what he does best. Running.
The parking lot is crowded, so it takes me a few minutes before I find an open space. I follow the signs for tier nine, and plot forty-two, stopping to let a mob of grieving men, women, and children make their way to their loved one’s gravesite. Funny how people die every day, but the world keeps spinning, blissfully unaware. It makes me feel small and insignificant in this big world.
When I finally find plot forty-two, there’s one, single man standing with his head bowed, hands crossed in front of him with a Bible clasped in his fingers.
“Excuse me,” I say, pulling out my phone to double-check the information I was given. “Am I late?” The elderly bald man looks up, shock written all over his face.
“No,” he says, clearing his throat. “You’re the first one.”
I nod as I check the time—five after noon. He stands near the double headstone that reads Kelley in all capitals, with Isabel’s name on the left and John’s on the right. The dates aren’t carved in on his side yet, and I think of how incredibly bizarre and depressing it must be to plan your own funeral.
We wait in silence for another ten minutes before it’s clear that no one else is coming.
“Shall we proceed?”
I’m tempted to tell him not to bother. That it’s just me, and he doesn’t need to go through the trouble. But that doesn’t feel right, so I bow my head politely, while he makes his speech and says his prayers. When he asks if I want to say a few words, I’m caught off guard. But, I’m the only person here, after all. I approach the oak casket with hesitant steps.
I don’t know what to say. I feel like it’s a betrayal to say anything good about him, but I also feel that it would be a disservice to send him off without a kind word.
“I once read that true redemption is when guilt leads to good,” I whisper, scooping up a handful of dirt from the bucket in the officiant’s outstretched hands. “And you’ve done good, John. You healed a piece of Asher’s soul.” I sprinkle the dirt onto the casket before thanking the man. I start to walk away, but then I stop short and pivot back around.
“Almost forgot,” I say, kneeling next to the headstone. I fish the succulents out of my bag and place them both in the middle—one for each.
I stand, dusting off my stockings, take a deep breath, and walk away.
Chapter 18
Asher
My father didn’t want a service. Maybe he didn’t want to be a burden, or maybe he was afraid no one would show—which wouldn’t be off-base. Even I struggled with the decision. I wasn’t going to come. In my mind, attending his burial meant excusing every single shitty thing he’s ever done. Every mistake. Every bad decision. I was too full of rage and resentment to have any room for reason or rationale.