After

by Kristin Harmel

  chapter 10

  The next morning, back to thinking about the conversation I’d had with Kelsi, I Googled “grief counseling for teens” and “starting a group for people whose parents have died.” I read through all the entries, taking notes as I went, although there wasn’t much I didn’t know already. Most of the tips I found were pretty obvious, like letting everyone have a chance to talk and not pressuring anyone to open up.

  Besides, I reminded myself, my goal wasn’t to start some kind of grief group. I intended to make sure it was casual and not at all like the stupid counseling sessions Mom made us go to with Dr. Schiff. I was sure we’d all had enough of well-intentioned adults who didn’t have a clue, who wanted to believe we were little kids they could fix with simple words from textbooks on grief.

  I found a group in Atlanta called Kate’s Club that sounded a lot like what I wanted to do. Kate was a woman in her thirties whose mom had died when she was twelve, and now she ran a group for more than a hundred kids. According to the group’s Web site, they hung out together once a week, and once a month they did something fun, like go to a baseball game or to the aquarium. I imagined that one day I’d be like Kate. Lacey’s Club, I thought.

  But I was getting ahead of myself again.

  I started an e-mail.

  Hi, guys. Lacey Mann here. As you probably heard, Kelsi Hamilton’s mom died last week, and Kelsi’s back in school. I’ve been trying to figure out how to help her feel better, and then I realized that all of us could pitch in to make things easier on her. It might even help us, too. I was thinking that we could get together once in a while to hang out. We don’t have to talk about anything if we don’t want to. It’s just a chance for us to feel like ourselves again and to hang out once in a while with people who get us. What do you think? Can you meet at the McDonald’s on Samoset Street on Tuesday after school?

  I thought about it for a moment. Then, I deleted McDonald’s and typed in Plymouth Diner. It was only fitting that the place we’d meet for the first time would be the restaurant I thought of as belonging to me, my brothers, and Dad, the place we went for Saturday-morning pancakes. I hadn’t been back there since the accident.

  I sent the e-mail to Cody, Mindy, and Logan. Then I sent a different e-mail to Kelsi, telling her the plan.

  After feeling so helpless at home, it felt good to finally be in control of something that had a real chance of helping people.

  • • •

  By Sunday night, there was still no word from any of the people I’d e-mailed. So I decided to call them.

  “Hey,” Cody said gruffly after his little sister handed the phone off to him.

  “Hi, Cody. It’s Lacey Mann. Did you get my e-mail?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So? What do you think?” I asked. Cody and I didn’t have classes together this year because I was in honors courses and he was in regular, but we’d gone to the same elementary school and junior high, and we knew each other well, even if we hadn’t hung out in ages.

  “I think it sounds kind of dumb,” he said. “You want to get together just because we have dead parents? I mean, get over it, Lacey.”

  I took a deep breath. “I am over it, Cody. This is about Kelsi.”

  “So? What does that have to do with me?”

  “Look,” I said. “Let’s just try this. Once. And if it feels stupid, you don’t have to come again. But I just think it will be good for Kelsi to be around us now. Remember how weird it feels to have everyone treating you like you’re some kind of alien?”

  I could hear him breathing. “Yeah,” he said in a low voice.

  “I just think it would help if we could show her that there are people who know how she feels.”

  “So, what, are we supposed to talk about grief and stuff?” he asked. “I already had enough of that crap with the military psychologist my mom made us go to. It was stupid.”

  “No,” I said. “No grief talk. Unless someone wants to.”

  There was another long silence. In the background, I could hear a television.

  “Fine,” Cody said finally. “But if it’s stupid, I’m leaving.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. We hung up, and as I placed the phone back in the receiver, I felt a little bubble of hope float up inside me.

  I didn’t know Mindy’s number, so I called Kelsi next, and after a brief conversation about school stuff, I asked her if she was planning to come Tuesday.

  “I guess so,” she said. “Being in my house is depressing.”

  “I know the feeling,” I said.

  “My dad just cries all the time,” she said. “Does your mom do that too?” I hesitated. “No.”

  “I wish I could forget about it,” Kelsi murmured.

  “Yeah, me too,” I said. Silence crackled over the line. “So how are you doing?” I asked. “I mean, really? Are you okay?”

  “I guess,” she said. “It’s hard.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I know.”

  “So I’ll see you at school?” she said.

  I agreed, and we said our goodbyes. I mentally ticked Cody and Kelsi off my list. Two down. One to go.

  A moment later, I was knocking on the door to Logan’s bedroom.

  “What?” His voice was muffled.

  “I need to talk to you,” I shouted.

  “About what?”

  “Can you just let me in?” I asked.

  I heard a rustling, and then Logan pulled open the door, looking irritated. His room was dark, save for the light emanating from the monitor of his computer. An IM window was open. I figured he was probably talking to Sydney. Apparently, the world would end if they went more than a few hours without contact.

  “What do you want?” Logan demanded, blocking the doorway.

  “Can I come in?” I asked.

  “Why? To snoop?” He didn’t move.

  “I just want to talk to you about Tuesday.”

  “Your stupid meeting thing?” Logan asked. I noticed that his eyes were bloodshot, which startled me. Had he been crying? The last time I’d seen his tears was Christmas morning, nearly ten months ago, when he’d come into the kitchen first thing in the morning and found me sitting alone there, staring at the wall, my hands wrapped around a mug of the Twinings Christmas tea that our dad used to drink all December. Logan had murmured, “He’s really gone, isn’t he?” before sinking into the chair across from me and starting to sob. He had cried, while I sat there, feeling uncomfortable, wondering why my own tears wouldn’t come. From that day on, he had avoided looking me in the eye.

  “It’s not stupid,” I said.

  “Whatever,” Logan muttered. “I don’t see why we have to hang out with some girl I don’t even know.”

  “Because it’ll help her. So what’s a couple of hours one afternoon if it makes her feel better?”

  “Why do you have to save everyone, Lacey?” Logan asked. He raked his hand through his hair and shook his head. “I don’t get you.”

  “I’m just trying to help.”

  “Yeah, well, you can do it without me,” he said. “Some of us have better things to do.” He slammed the door without another word.

  chapter 11

  Sam and I were different in class now. The time we’d spent together at the party had changed us. Or maybe it had just changed me by teaching me to relax a little and not judge him so harshly. In any case, we chatted easily before first period, and in sixth period, we worked together on an assignment, and he even showed me the picture he’d been doodling while Mr. Henchey droned on during the first ten minutes of class. In the time it had taken our teacher to explain our assignment, Sam had sketched him in pencil, only he had given him a Colonial soldier’s uniform instead of normal clothes. I couldn’t believe how good the drawing was.

  “What, this?” Sam asked dismissively. He crumpled it up and looked embarrassed. “This is nothing. I draw a million of these a day.”

  By lunchtime on Tuesday, I was practically bubbling over with excited ne
rves about the meeting after school. Cody had nodded at me as we passed each other in the hall, and Kelsi had shot me a small smile.

  “So can you help me with trig after school today?” Jennica asked as she and Brian plopped down across from me in the cafeteria.

  “I can’t,” I said. “I’ve got that meeting after school today. Remember?” I’d told her about it on Saturday night when we went to the movies. I couldn’t believe she’d forgotten.

  Jennica looked at me blankly. “What?” she asked. “Oh, that death-group thing you’re doing?”

  “It’s not a death group,” I said. “It’s just some people getting together to support each other. And Kelsi.”

  Jennica nodded, and I could tell she was trying to look interested. “Yeah, sounds great,” she said.

  I tried not to let her forced enthusiasm bother me.

  “It is going to be great,” I said firmly.

  “So who’s going?”

  I ticked off the short list.

  “Pretty sad, huh?” she asked. “That there are that many kids whose parents have died?”

  “Actually, in a school this size, I would have thought it would be more, you know?” I said.

  Brian looped his arm around Jennica’s shoulder and pulled her close. He whispered something in her ear and she giggled. It was like they’d both forgotten I was there.

  As I dumped my tray and made my way alone toward the doors of the cafeteria, I looked up and saw Sam midway across the room, eating lunch with a small group of popular seniors. Summer was gazing at him from two seats away. But his attention wasn’t on her. He was watching me.

  Startled, I stopped for an instant longer than I should have. He raised his hand in a wave and smiled. Summer and a few of the others looked to see who he was waving at, then, apparently satisfied that it was no one important, they returned to their conversation.

  • • •

  As I walked down the street after school to the Plymouth Diner—about a half mile away—my heart was thudding so loudly that I was afraid everyone passing by would be able to hear it.

  The restaurant was mostly empty, save for an elderly couple who were sitting on the same side of a booth, sharing an order of spaghetti and meatballs. I stood in the doorway for a moment, memories washing over me.

  There was the booth in the back where we used to sit almost every Saturday; the waitresses knew to reserve it for us. I blinked a few times, images playing like a movie across the backs of my eyelids. Dad making airplane sounds and flying a spoon of oatmeal toward Tanner when he was little. Logan and Dad laughing and flinging whipped cream at each other from their strawberry pancakes, until a giant glob of white landed right on the tip of Dad’s nose. Dad cutting Tanner’s fried eggs into bite-sized pieces. Dad putting his arm around me and giving me an affectionate noogie with his other hand while I complained, pretending to hate it, even though I couldn’t hide my grin.

  “Can I help you?” The hostess had appeared out of nowhere, someone I didn’t recognize. But it had been almost a year since we’d last been here. I didn’t know why I’d expected that the diner would be frozen in time, the way the memory of my dad was.

  I asked for a table for five—just in case Logan and Mindy decided to show—and then waited nervously at the table.

  The next seven minutes felt like an eternity. Finally a tiny girl with a mass of jet-black curls walked through the door and looked around, her eyes wide and unblinking. I recognized her immediately from her Facebook profile.

  “Hi!” I exclaimed, hopping up. “Mindy?”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “Hey,” I said. A tidal wave of relief washed over me as she stepped closer. “I’m Lacey Mann. I’m the one who organized this.” I felt proud to say those words.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “You’re the first one here.”

  “Oh.” She hesitated.

  “Here, sit down,” I said before she could change her mind and bolt for the door. I couldn’t think of anything to say. Not without everyone else here. I didn’t want to get into anyone’s stories without the whole group present.

  “So you’re a freshman, right?” I asked finally. The seconds ticked by.

  “Yeah,” Mindy said.

  “You like Plymouth East so far?”

  She shrugged. “I guess.”

  Just then, the door opened and Kelsi strode in. “Hey,” she said, joining us. She sat down hard, throwing her book-laden backpack on the floor, where it landed with a loud thump.

  Before I had the chance to say anything, the door opened again, and Cody came in, looking annoyed. “I’m here,” he said. He was tall and a little stoop-shouldered with long, dark hair that flopped over his piercing dark eyes. He pushed a shaggy shock of hair behind his ears and ducked his head.

  “Hi,” I said. I felt immensely relieved; I realized I’d been expecting him not to show.

  “This better not be dumb,” he muttered. I felt a tight feeling in my chest. In my head, this had all gone so well; everyone would be glad to be here, we’d laugh together and cry together and feel better at the end. But now I was beginning to wonder just how dumb that was.

  “So I guess we can get started,” I said, suddenly unsure of how to begin.

  “Whatever,” Cody said. “Can’t we order or something, though?”

  We ordered Cokes and a few orders of fries to share. Just as we handed the waitress our menus, the door of the restaurant opened again, and Logan appeared in the slice of sunshine from outside, followed closely by Sydney. My jaw dropped.

  “What’s up, man?” he said to Cody as he strode over to our table. He nodded at Kelsi and Mindy, throwing a “What’s up” their way, too. Since there was only one chair left, Logan grabbed one from another table and wedged it beside the empty one so that Sydney could sit next to him. She was eyeing me warily, a little smile on her face.

  I could feel my blood boiling. “Logan, can I talk to you for a minute?” I asked, trying to keep my voice level.

  He shrugged. “Whatever.” But he allowed himself to be led away, back toward the entrance.

  “I’m glad you came,” I said evenly. “But what’s Sydney doing here?”

  “She’s with me,” he replied.

  “I know that,” I said. “But this is a meeting for people whose parents have died. Sydney’s mom and dad are fine!”

  Logan shrugged. He knew he was bugging me. “Yeah, well,” he said noncommittally.

  “Can you maybe get rid of her for like an hour?” I asked. “And meet her after?”

  Logan shook his head firmly, but I couldn’t help thinking he looked a tiny bit guilty. He glanced toward the table, where Sydney was standing, hands on her hips, lips pursed, watching us with narrowed eyes.

  “She wanted to come with me,” he said. “And she’s my girlfriend.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that.”

  Logan glanced at Sydney again and then back at me. He lowered his voice. “Seriously, Lacey, can you loosen up a little?”

  “Whatever,” I muttered. I didn’t have the energy to fight.

  We made our way back to the table, and Logan whispered something in Sydney’s ear. She giggled and the two of them sat down. Everyone looked at me expectantly. The waitress arrived with our Cokes, and Sydney and Logan ordered. I tried not to roll my eyes as Sydney asked for a sparkling water and a salad with low-cal dressing.

  I took a long sip of my soda. “Hi,” I said. “I know we all know each other, but I thought maybe we could start today by going around and introducing ourselves briefly and saying why we’re here.”

  Cody snorted. “I thought you said this wasn’t going to be like therapy.”

  “I already went to grief counseling,” Mindy mumbled.

  “I hated it.”

  “Is that what this is?” Cody demanded. “Because if it is, I’m leaving.”

  “No,” I said quickly. “It’s not like I expect us to sit around and talk about death, you know?” I glanced
at Kelsi, and she looked away. “But for today, I thought it would be a good idea if we at least all know each other’s stories.”

  The smirk slipped from Cody’s face. He looked down at his lap.

  The rest of the group watched me in silence. I didn’t think it was my imagination that Sydney looked uncomfortable.

  “Fine, I’ll go,” I said finally. I took a deep breath. “I’m Lacey Mann. I have two brothers, Logan and Tanner. My dad died in a car accident last November. We were all with him in the car. All of us except for my mom, I mean.”

  I said the words matter-of-factly. I didn’t expect them to make me feel weird, because it wasn’t like they were anything new. These were all facts I had accepted. But there was a lump in my throat when I finished, and my eyes stung a little bit. “Logan?” I said. “Do you want to go next?”

  “What do you want me to say?” he asked. “I have the same story as you.”

  “Duh,” Sydney said under her breath.

  “I just thought …,” I said. I stopped, because I wasn’t sure what I’d thought.

  “I’ll go,” Cody said. “I’m Cody. My dad died in Iraq when I was in eighth grade.”

  He paused, and I thought he was done. I was about to open my mouth to thank him when he spoke again.

  “He was with his battalion,” Cody continued. “It was just a normal day. They were driving along a road. And then all of a sudden, a bomb went off in the road in front of them. They had driven over some wire and tripped it. The bomb totally ripped apart the convoy. A few other soldiers were hurt. But my dad died. Right there.”

  He took a deep breath and then looked down at his lap.

  It was Mindy who finally spoke. “That must have been really hard on you,” she said. “To have him so far away. And not be able to say goodbye.”

  “Yeah, it sucked,” Cody said. He paused. “What happened to your mom?”

  Something inside me lurched. It was working. The people around the table were talking.

  “She died,” Mindy said simply. “Last year, when I was in eighth grade. She had been sick when I was younger. But the cancer went away, and we thought she was done with it. After a while, she stopped going to the doctor as often as she should have. And then, when they found it again, it was too late. It had already spread. She died really fast. I mean, in a couple of months. They tried chemo, but it didn’t work. My little sister and I were with her. We had to move in with my dad after. He and my mom were divorced.”