Me Since You

by Laura Wiess

  There is an envelope stapled to the ticket.

  An envelope.

  He left something in his pockets.

  “Probably a pen.” But my heart is pounding and I’m caught in a flood of memories, of his face when he asked me to bring these in and how he didn’t send them all together with the others, that he said he didn’t need these for a week but in a week he was already dead and he planned that, so did he plan this too, did he know I would find them or am I . . .

  Hand shaking, I reach out and touch the envelope.

  Smooth. Some bulk.

  No pen.

  “It’s paper,” I whisper, and clap a hand to my mouth, but the sob barrels out.

  It’s paper.

  “Oh God, please,” I say in a hoarse voice, rip the stapled envelope from the plastic and stare down at it, terrified to hope, terrified not to. I turn it over, wedge a finger under the sealed flap and tear a jagged length across the top. My breath is hitched, my hand palsied. “Please, Daddy. Please let it be from you. Please.”

  There are two small, sealed envelopes inside the bigger envelope.

  I pull them out.

  To Rowan.

  In my father’s handwriting.

  I stare at it, caught in a wracking, full-body tremble, unable to move as tears well and flow, and then, as if in a dream, I look at the other one.

  To Rachel.

  “Rowan?” Eva says from behind me, and her voice breaks the spell.

  “He left a note,” I cry, holding them out, clutching them to me. “Eva, he did! Oh my God, I have to go!” And whirling, sobbing, I tear out of there, across the parking lot and all the way down Victory Lane to home.

  Because he did.

  He left a note.

  May 18th

  Rowie,

  I’ve loved you from the minute I first heard your heartbeat in the doctor’s office and that will never, ever stop. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.

  I’m so proud of you.

  I have to say good-bye. I can’t stay here anymore.

  Please forgive me if you can.

  I’m so sorry.

  Love forever,

  Dad

  How lucky I am to have known someone so hard to say good-bye to.

  —ANONYMOUS

  Chapter 75

  Sweating, I shut off the weed whacker and push my father’s safety goggles up on the top of my head, stepping back to survey my work.

  “Not bad,” I say, and my voice sounds funny after the gas trimmer’s roar. I lay it on the ground and, digging the key out of my pocket, follow the path I just cut through the tall grass and goldenrod to my father’s wood shop.

  A big, intricate spider’s web hangs in a triangular veil from the post to the overhang, and I duck under it so as not to ruin such hard work—or rain dozens of dead, mummified fly carcasses down on my head.

  “Don’t worry,” the big, fake bass hanging on the door sings, twitching and writhing on its plaque, when I step into range. “Be happy.”

  “That’s the plan,” I tell it, but my hand is unsteady and it takes me three tries to fit the key in the lock.

  It’s September third, Labor Day, my father’s birthday, the first one without him, and while the aunts are gathered in the kitchen with my mother and my grandparents are due any time now, while Vinnie is outside firing up the grill and Eva is standing beside her smooth, silver-haired boyfriend’s keyboard clapping her hands off time to a very bouncy “Copacabana,” I am back here alone, finally ready to claim the gift that has been waiting for me all of this time.

  The key clicks in the lock and I turn the knob.

  I push the door open and am greeted with a hot, woodsy smell so intense that I clutch the door frame, swaying.

  The sharp, clean scent of cut pine, stain and glue, the cool metallic tang of screws and nails, all mingle to form the familiar scent of my father after a day of woodworking.

  I take a deep breath and step inside, my hand going automatically to the light switch.

  The fluorescents flicker and hum to life.

  And there it is, sitting by his workbench on a pair of dollies.

  My hope chest.

  It’s been made to last, strong, solid, its sturdy, block feet planted firm and level on the dollies, the smooth wood stained a deep, rich mahogany and blanketed with a thin, undisturbed layer of dust.

  “Oh Dad,” I say, and, crouching, realize that he did finish it, that the back-ordered hardware has been installed, that adding this shining brass plate in the shape of an exquisite filigree butterfly must have been the last thing he ever did in this little wood shop that was his joy and his solace, his place to work and have something good and solid and real to show for it. “It’s so beautiful. Thank you.”

  And because I know my father, I turn the key, lift the lid and read the inscription he painstakingly carved on a matching wooden plaque fastened inside:

  For our daughter Rowan on her 16th birthday

  Love Always,

  Mom and Dad

  I gaze at it for a long moment, reach into my pocket, pull out my father’s good-bye note and place it inside. Slowly shut the lid, turn the key and rise.

  Walk out, gently closing the door behind me.

  Grief Journal

  Happy birthday.

  Today you would have been forty-four.

  It always seemed so old to me before—wow, forties—but now it doesn’t.

  Now it just seems too soon.

  It’s also on Labor Day this year, so we had kind of a little picnic.

  The aunts and uncles came, and it felt really good to be with them again. Grandma and Grandpa came, too. I don’t know if I told you but they adopted Sage, one of our rescue cats, and apparently they’re getting along just fine. Sage loves being king of the house and despite Grandma’s blustering about his manners, I’ve been over there twice so far and both times Sage sat right next to her on the kitchen table, fat, sassy and triumphant, while we drank our tea.

  Things are definitely changing around here.

  It’s not all bad news anymore.

  Vinnie came over and the first thing he said when he saw me was, “Hey, Row, how’s your boat?” just like normal, but then he hugged me in that strong, emotional way of love and sorrow that reveals so much without speaking a word. He’s your friend, Dad, and by inheritance ours too, but I don’t know if he’ll stay without you.

  I hope so, but I’ll understand if he doesn’t.

  He was your rookie and he always said you taught him everything he knew but this end, your end, is one thing he can’t afford to learn, it can’t even be an option, and let’s face it, seeing us without you is a constant reminder.

  Because I look a lot like you, you know.

  Especially around the big, gray mustache.

  Kidding, kidding.

  Anyway, Eva is turning into quite the socialite with Antonio, her new rock-star man friend. They came and didn’t stay long, just about seven songs’ worth of time, enough to turn Aunt Kelly into a groupie and make Auntie Kate beg to borrow my iPod. Seeing Eva glowing with happiness was really good but bittersweet too, because you and Mom used to look like that.

  So I was kind of kicking myself for even inviting them, worriedly watching Mom watch them with this naked look on her face, and I was just about to drop my plate or jump up screaming like there was a hornet biting me or something, anything to distract her, when all of a sudden she started, blinked, put a hand to her cheek and smiled, Dad, a real smile, and I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.

  And okay, yes, maybe she imagined it, maybe it was a stray strand of hair wisping across her cheek or one of those awful dangly-legged mayflies flitting by . . . or maybe her yearning was so strong that she felt the physical memory of a kiss from long ago.

  But maybe it was something else, something more.

  I don’t know and I’m leaving it at that because whatever it was, it made her smile the way she used to, and that alone
was worth listening to a bunch of old-people songs.

  Oh, and Barry Manilow, of course, for us youngsters.

  That just cracks me up.

  Eli came over today, too.

  He said he’d stopped by Payton’s on the way just to check in and that he’d found her packing. She said she’s going back to Pensacola where she belongs.

  And all I could think was that it’s a good thing little Sammy is buried next to his father because otherwise he’d be here all alone.

  Eli said she was drinking when he got there, and it was only ten in the morning.

  Scary.

  He brought Daisy over with him, too. She’s stabilized now, and he’s working hard to keep her that way even though he knows it can’t last. After much agonizing he decided not to go through with the transplant—taking one of Rosie’s kidneys, even for the best of reasons, and maybe ruining her health really haunted his conscience—and so instead he’s chosen to make whatever time Daisy has left (months, years?) as happy, healthy and full of love as possible.

  It’s a sad plan but not a bad one.

  Not defeat, Dad. Understanding and acceptance.

  And in the end, isn’t that all any of us can try for, anyway?

  He hasn’t given up on saving her; he just doesn’t want to do it at Rosie’s expense. He’s taking Daisy down there to visit her in a couple of weeks, and is researching chronic renal failure, new diets and natural supplements, too.

  Will he find the answer he’s searching for?

  Honestly? I think in his heart he already has.

  It’s just not the one he was hoping for.

  He takes Semper Fi seriously, though, and if there is a way to save Daisy, he’ll find it.

  If there isn’t, he says that at least he’ll know he did all he could to save her and that sometimes that’s just the best you can do.

  It’s a part of his healing, this monumental effort, and I get it.

  He also bought a used Jeep. They ride around now to save her the physical stress, and she loves it.

  I do, too.

  We are a strange and sometimes happy threesome, Dad.

  And you were right.

  He is good to me.

  And for me, because he understands.

  He and Vinnie carried the hope chest out of your wood shop today and upstairs into my room.

  Mom started crying when she saw it and that set the rest of us off, which was actually okay because it wouldn’t have happened unless it needed to and somehow, in a strange and beautiful way, it cleared the air, let us admire your work and remember you again.

  Your life, Dad. Not just your death.

  Oh, and Auntie Kate, with her dear, good heart, showed up early yesterday and took Mom out shopping when she got home from work.

  Yes, Mom is finally back to work at the library and yes, she went clothes shopping.

  And she actually bought something.

  It’s a pretty, navy blue top and she looks damn good in it.

  You would think so, I know it.

  Even with her new, shiny, ash-brown hair.

  Two steps forward and maybe this time, just for a little while, no steps back.

  Tomorrow they’re taking me school clothes shopping because I’ve decided to give East Mills High another try. Why not? I figure if I can survive losing you, I can survive anything.

  And speaking of Mom, she’s thinking about selling your Blazer and putting some of the money toward helping me with a car. She washed it this morning, unlocked and opened the doors to let it air out for a while, but she didn’t get in and neither did I.

  We don’t need to, Dad, and it’s okay.

  She’s also giving Vinnie the police tie pin she found in your drawer instead of the bass plaque. Grandpa is taking the bass back and hanging it in the garage, where it will drive Grandma nuts every time she goes out to start the car. Knowing Grandma, I wouldn’t be surprised if it just happens to fall off the wall one day and she runs it over by, er, mistake.

  I got your commendation watch, the one inscribed with the words Valor Award and your name, Nicholas Areno, on the back. It’s a strong, sturdy watch, the links solid and comforting around my wrist, the back worn smooth from you wearing it every day.

  It’s too big, but I plan on growing into it.

  Mom was right. There will never be another you.

  And I have to go now, Dad.

  Everyone is down in the kitchen cleaning up and the sound of their voices, their laughter, is echoing through the windows and out into the night.

  It’s the sound of life, and I feel like I need to be in it.

  I want to be in it.

  You’ve probably waited a long time to hear those words come out of me.

  So don’t be sad or worried anymore, okay?

  Be at peace. Rest. Relax.

  Stripe says go fishing.

  He just wandered in and leaped up on my hope chest. Sniffed it like crazy and now he’s rolling around all over it, kneading, purring and rubbing his chin against it.

  He looks like he finally found you.

  I feel that way, too.

  Like we’re really gonna be okay.

  I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t truly starting to believe it.

  Oh, and guess what?

  Mom just told me that you used to sneak into my room every morning and kiss me good-bye without my knowing it.

  Thank you for that, and for loving me so much.

  I’ll always love you, too.

  And, Dad?

  Don’t go yet. There’s one more thing.

  I’ll be right back . . .

  Chapter 76

  I slip out into the clear, starry night. Pad barefoot across the lawn, following the path I forged this morning.

  Duck under the spiderweb, endure the bass.

  Unlock the door, take a deep breath, and flick on the lights.

  Step inside, the smooth cement cool beneath my feet.

  Shut the door behind me and lean against it until my knees are steady again.

  Gaze around the wood shop.

  All my father’s tools are put away. The floor is swept. The wood is stacked, the cans of stain shelved.

  The workbench is empty.

  I look at his tool belt hanging on the hook, at his calendar hanging on the wall. The top is a photo of a trout, the bottom the month.

  It is still May.

  I move closer. Stand and stare at the terrible, blank white square for Sunday the twentieth until the date blurs, then close my burning eyes and slowly, gently rest my forehead against it for a long, still moment.

  Exhale.

  Step back, pick up a pen from the cup on the edge of the workbench and, flipping the calendar forward to today, write, I forgive you, Daddy.

  Gallery Readers Group Guide

  * * *

  Me Since You

  laura wiess

  Introduction

  Rowan Areno is a normal sixteen-year-old trying to walk the difficult line between rebellion and responsibility, finding her own path and trying to do right by her loving and slightly strict parents. But when her father, Nick, a decorated police officer, tries and fails to stop a tortured young man from leaping from an overpass to his death, everything in Rowan’s life begins to fall apart. As the media seizes on Nick’s failure to stop the suicide, he slides deeper and deeper into an irreversible depression, until finally, the unthinkable happens, and he commits suicide as well. Rowan can’t understand how her father could choose to leave her, and acts out, pushing away friends and taking risks with her safety. Rowan’s mother, wracked with her own guilt and sorrow over failing to save her husband, stops going to work and collects stray cats for comfort. Grief, fractured and unpredictable, rules their lives now. But when Eli Gage, a witness to the original suicide, comes to Officer Areno’s funeral, his own father killed in action in Iraq, he and Rowan find a connection to each other they hadn’t had before. Together they must find a way to survive a tragedy with no comforting, set an
swers.

  Topics and Questions for Discussion

  1. Me Since You opens with a quotation from Søren Kierkegaard, the first of its many epigraphs. What do you think this quotation means in the context of the novel? What special meaning do you think it has for Rowan? Do you agree or disagree with the sentiment the quotation expresses?

  2. Although everyone close to the event of Corey’s suicide believes that the video of his death should never have been aired, the media broadcasts it anyway. Why do you think the media decided to air the video? Why do the Arenos, as well as Eli, disagree with the decision to broadcast the video? Do you think people have a right to see such things, or should they be kept private?

  3. Once the video is aired, many people criticize the decisions Nick and Eli made in trying to save Corey, or think they would have done better themselves. Do you think Nick and Eli acted appropriately? What would you have done in their place? Why do you think so many people were convinced they could have done a better job, or saved Corey and/or his son?

  4. In addition to dealing with people’s comments in person, Rowan also struggles with the online commentary about Corey’s suicide. What is the difference between the two? Why do you think people are so comfortable saying things online that they wouldn’t say in real life?

  5. Before the suicide, Rowan’s closest friend is Nadia. But after, Rowan and Nadia drift apart. Why do you think Nadia behaves the way she does as Rowan deals with the aftermath of Corey’s suicide, and her father’s? Do you think she acted appropriately toward Rowan? What would you have done in Nadia’s place? Do you think Nadia is a true friend?

  6. Rowan’s boss, Eva, reflects, “We grow up believing that bad things don’t happen to good people . . . but sometimes they do. It’s a hard truth to accept, that life is not fair.” Do you think this is true? Why or why not? Why would it be hard to accept? What are some examples from your own life that either prove or disprove this sentiment?