Authors: D.nichole King
Love Always, Kate (27 page)
I scoff. “I don’t know about that.”
“You were good for each other,” she says, a soft grin playing on her lips. “Don’t be a stranger.”
I wait until the cemetery is empty, even af
ter the Browdys leave. My father stays with me.
“You can go, Dad,” I say. “I know you need to get to work. I’ll be fine.”
He shakes his head and squeezes my shoulders. “There’s only one place I need to be today.”
I take three roses from the heart wreath and place one of them on my mother’s headstone and another on Liam’s. Then Dad and I sit under the elder tree and watch the funeral home people take down the tent.
I twirl the third rose between my fingers.
He hugs me to his side as
I lose it. Kate’s casket is lowered into the vault and placed in the ground. I watch, shaking, until the dirt is put back in place and the remnants of the flowers are set on top of the fresh pile.
The workers nod to me and Dad before they walk away. I stand and brush off my pants, the tears running dry. Picking up the rose, I press the petals to my lips, just as I did yesterday.
“I love you, Katie,” I say.
I drop the rose on her grave, and Dad leads me to my car.
~*
~
Back home, Dad offers me lunch. I decline and head to my room; I need to be alone.
Before I enter, I swing by Liam’s room. I don’t bother reminiscing, I don’t pause; I just grab the bottle of Jack Daniels and hurry out.
I slip off my shirt and take a long drink, enjoying the burn. My gaze wanders to the closet doors, and I have to look away.
It doesn’t take me long to reach the bottom of the bottle. Pissed that it emptied so quickly, I throw it against the wall.
Needing more to numb the pain, I run downstairs to the kitchen. Dad glances up from the counter and sighs. I know he smells the alcohol on me, but I don’t give a damn what he thinks. He didn’t stop me before.
I glare at him. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”
“You got something in the mail,” he says, flicking a white envelope down the granite.
I pick it up and open it without reading the return address. Only one sentence sinks in.
Your blood sample is 96% compatible to Kate Browdy.
I read the letter again. And again. And again.
A match. To Katie.
Dad stands behind me, reading over my shoulder and gasps. “Damian.”
I allow the letter to flutter to the floor, and I walk over to my favorite cupboard in a daze. Throwing the door open, empty shelves stare me down. A note is taped to one of the shelves in my dad’s handwriting.
I have a promise to keep for Kate, too.
“Oh, shit.”
Turning
away, I narrow my gaze at my father. Then I run at him.
Come to find out, Dad had taken two weeks off. It’s probably a good thing too. He needed some time for his face to heal. He’s never been good at throwing punches, but he did manage to lay a good one into my left eye. Props.
Then, he confiscated my car keys. Asshole.
In the morning, I open my eyes to the most annoying sound I’ve ever heard.
BUZZZZZZZZZ!
I grab the alarm clock and yank it out of the wall. There’s no way in hell that I’d set the goddamn thing. Five minutes later, Dad pounds on my door.
“Time for school,” he shouts.
“Not going,” I yell back.
Dad opens the door, letting himself in. Shit! I’d forgotten to lock it the night before. I roll around, my back to him.
An air horn blares, and I jerk up, throwing my pillow at him.
“What
the fuck?”
“Language, son. Time to go. First day of finals,” he says
, way too fucking chipper.
“In case you didn’t get it, I’m not going. Now get out.”
The horn goes off again.
“Damn it, Dad!”
“If I remember right, you have a promise to uphold to Kate. Now, get your ass out of bed. I’m driving you.”
When I don’t move, he sounds the horn again.
“I’ve got all day, son.”
Fuming, I grab my stuff and stomp into the bathroom, hoping to lock him out. Instead, he catches the door with his foot.
“You’re gonna watch me
shower
?”
He shoots me an arrogant smile. “If that’s what it takes.”
“That’s fucking messed up,” I mutter.
~*~
After school, I run to my room, ready to crawl back into bed. I grab for the door, but somehow I miss and swipe at air.
Turn
ing, I glare at the empty hinges. My bathroom door is gone too. I poke my head down the hall—every goddamn door has been removed.
No fucking way.
Screaming, I punch my fist through the drywall.
I fling myself on the bed, not caring that the blood from my knuckles smears over my sheets. From under my pillow, I pull out Kate’s diary
. I read it, letting her words envelop me until I fall asleep.
~*
~
Dad doesn’t bother with the horn this morning. He does stand over me, though, as I get ready. Then he drives me to my last day of high school.
When we get home, I head to my room and sprawl out on my bed
, thinking of Kate and feeling the knife slice through me over and over again until sleep relieves me.
I don’t see my dad for two days
because I stay in my room. Friday morning he walks in with two trays filled with eggs, bacon, pancakes, and juice. He doesn’t say anything; he just sets one of them in front of me and sits on the edge of my bed with his own tray.
I poke at my eggs as I watch him cut up his pancakes
. He nods at me, and I notice his black eyes seem less swollen, and the cut on his lip looks healed shut. I force a smile at him, and he grins back, the apology accepted.
We finish our breakfast in silence. Dad sighs and pats my leg.
“Ready to get out today?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Nah. Not really.”
“Well, it seems you have a coping tradition that needs performed. I figured I’d drive you.”
“What?” I stare at him, having no clue what he’s talking about.
Dad chuckles as if something is funny. I don’t get it. “Shower. Shave. Get dressed. Then I’ll show you.”
He gathers the dishes and heads downstairs without
looking back. I toss back the sheets and head to the bathroom. His whole staying with me this time has me tripping a little.
I walk downstairs, feeling better after the shower.
“Now what?”
“Now, we leave the house.”
“Splendid,” I mutter but follow him out the door.
I peer out the window as the city flies by. How can everyone go on with their lives?
Dad parks the car in a strip mall and faces me.
I sigh, resigned. “Lead the way.”
To my surprise, I follow Dad to a tattoo parlor on the corner.
“What’s this?” I ask.
My dad takes a few moments before he answers. “I think this helped you grieve last time. Maybe it will again.”
I stare at the door, close my
eyes, and swallow. My hand automatically goes to the pocket of my jeans. I pat what’s inside and open my eyes.
“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe.”
Dad winks. “And you can do it legally this time.”
I reach back into my pocket and
pull out the pendant I’d given Kate. “I want this,” I tell the artist.
He takes it from my hand, studies it, and nods. “Yeah. No problem.”
I slip my shirt off and lie on the table. As I feel the burning sensation sink in over my heart, the memory of the night I’d given it to her makes me smile.
~*~
A strange feeling pierces me on the morning of my graduation. It doesn’t have anything to do with the diploma I’m receiving. No, it’s Kate. She’s the reason I’ll be walking across the stage, not only because I promised her I would, but because she believed in me.
That’s not what hurts today, though. Me graduating had been her fourth wish. She had five. And as I dress in my orange cap and gown, I realize that I’ll never know the fifth. She took it with her.
I shoot one last look in the mirror and grab the keys my dad has given back based on good behavior.
“See you after the ceremony, son,” Dad says, hugging me. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks,” I mumble and walk out the door.
The ceremony drags on, and I count a thousand other places I’d rather be. Passed out on my bed with a bottle of Jim Beam tops the list.
The putz handing out diplomas starts calling names. Those with their last names beginning with the letter A make their way to the stage. Their worthless slip of paper is handed to them, then a lady at the end gives them a red rose. Lame.
I stand with the Ls, oblivious to the crowd of happy parents around me. I know I should be excited; I’m doing this for Kate
, after all. But I feel empty.
“Damian Lowell.”
I walk up the steps and shake hands with the guy in the suit.
“Congratulations, Damian,” he says.
“Thanks,” I mumble. That guy doesn’t care.
The lady hands me the red rose with a
smile. I take it and stare at the petals. Somehow, it didn’t dawn on me until then that the red rose was Kate’s flower. I’d always given her red roses to match her diary.
“You can step down now,” the lady says.
“Uh, yeah,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat.
At the bottom of the stairs, I
lift my head to the sky. Of all the flowers in the world, I hold a red rose on graduation.
Thank you, Katie.
I choke back a sob and notice all the other students in their seats already, clutching their diploma and their rose. My gaze rises, and I scan the crowd. I see her on the bleachers, third row up.
Taking Kate’s flower with me, I jog around my fellow classmates. I cross the track and unlatch the gate.
Eyes from the crowd follow me, but I pay no attention to them. Taking the bleacher stairs two at a time, I finally stand in front of Marcy Browdy.
I kneel, and she wraps her arms around my neck. Jason grins at me and pats my shoulder.
“You did good, son,” he says.
“Kate would have been so proud,” Marcy says through her tears.
I nod and hand Kate’s flower to her. “I know.”
I sit beside Kate’s tombstone after graduation. Placing my cap on top of the light gray marble, I imagine it on her head and smile.
I trace my fingers over her name. Kathryn “Katie” Browdy. Under it, the Celtic heart knot for hope is etched to match the symbols on the stones beside hers. Kate’s parents had loved the idea, and we all knew Kate would have wanted nothing else.
Tears roll down my face when my fingertips reach the words under the dates of birth and death.
You are worth it, Katie.
No regrets cross my mind.
“I did it, Katie,” I choke out. “I graduated. So now what?”
My gaze hangs on the marble as if it will answer my question.
“You said you had five wishes. That I had to wait until I finished each one to get the next. I’m ready now.”
A breeze blows through the elder tree behind me. I bow my head, tears spilling onto the new slivers of grass poking out of the dirt.
I look up when I hear tires crunch the gravel. My dad parks his car behind mine and steps out.
“I figured you’d be here,” he says and sits beside me. He takes in a deep breath, raising his head to the sky. “After your mom and brother passed, I came here every day. Sometimes, I slept out here between them.”
I stare at him, waiting for him to get to the point.
“It’s hard, son, but it does get easier. Though the pain never completely goes away, it lessens over time.”
I don’t know if I believe him.
We sit together in silence for a few more minutes. Then he pats me on the back and rises to his feet.
“Come home when you’re ready,” he says.
“I will,” I mumble, watching him walk to his car.
He drives away, and
I turn back to Kate. I shift my hand on the grass and feel a wrinkle beneath my palm. A white envelope lies on the grass. I glance up at the dust left behind my father’s car.
Swallowing, I pick up the envelope. I recognize the girly handwriting that had scrawled out my name. My stomach lurches as I rip it open. I unfold the paper, and my heart melts.
Dear Damian,
Congratulations! I always knew you could do it. Just like I know you’ll do well in college and pick some amazing career. Maybe you’ll be a musician; I love hearing you sing.
This letter isn’t easy for me to write.
If you’re reading it, it means I’m gone. I know you’re hurting. And I’m sorry. I wish I could take it away somehow. But then again, I don’t. Pain has a purpose. It makes us stronger. More compassionate. Able to love more deeply than we thought possible. If we let it, it makes us better people. That’s my hope for you.
You know,
I used to think that being strong meant not getting emotionally involved. Becoming separate and passive. Unattached. Damian, I was wrong.
Being strong means allowing yourself to
cry over the things you can’t change; laugh when things are funny; smile when you’re happy. It means understanding where your breaking point is, and yet, going further and still remaining whole. Strong people push themselves to the limits of pain and joy. They fall to their knees in agony, then they lift up their faces to find the beautiful morning rays shining down on them, and they rise to their feet. Being strong means never giving up, no matter how crushed you are, and finding happiness in the smallest parts of life.
I learned that being brave is the hardest thing in the world. That it hurts. That it
tests everything you believe in and more. I realized how unbrave I actually am and how that’s okay. I’m so glad you are next to me right now. You give me courage.
I’m scared when I think about you reading this. I imagine you in your room, in your cap and gown, in two weeks. That’s as far as I can see, though.
But, Damian, I was wrong about something. I thought death was a journey I’d have to take alone. You have no idea how happy I am to know it’s not. I see your face, feel your touch, and I know how much you love me. Because of you, I’ll never be alone.
I promised you five wishes; do you remember? I said you’d get the last one after you graduate. So here it is. My fifth wish.
This one might be the hardest one because it may seem like you’re doing it alone. You won’t be; I’ll be with you.
My last wish, Damian, is that once you’ve read my diary, you’ll put it in a box. Place it in the attic somewhere and leave it there. Let it collect dust.
That’s not all, though. You have a whole life in front of you. Don’t waste it. Don’t dwell on the past. Move forward.
Life isn’t about merely surviving. It’s about living.
Damian, my love, my final wish is for you to let me go.
Love Always,
Katie
The End