But right now I feel whole, yet still sad because there’s one person missing from the scene. Someone who can’t be here and it makes my heart hurt because if it wasn’t for my mistake she might have been. I know my mom’s death wasn’t my fault but it took a lot of therapy to get there and despite the fact that I’m not holding onto my guilt anymore, I still know deep down in my heart that perhaps if I would have stayed home that night, my mom wouldn’t have taken her own life and maybe, just maybe, she would have also been out shopping for wedding stuff with me.
When I get back to Micha’s house, Micha, Ethan, and my brother are still gone, looking for tuxes to rent at the last minute, even though I suggested they all just wear black button-down shirts. As Lila, Caroline, and Micha’s mom get situated in the kitchen, ready to tie more ribbon and put candles in the glass jars they bought, I decide that I need to go visit the cemetery. So I grab my sketchpad and a pencil and bundle up in my coat, gloves, and boots.
When I return to the kitchen, Micha’s mom turns around from the sink and notices my outdoor attire. “Ella, where are you headed?” she asks, scrubbing down a plate with a sponge as she holds it under running water.
I tuck my sketchpad under my arm. “I need to go somewhere.”
She looks out the window at the cloudy sky and then at the microwave where the time blinks 4:02. “But it’s getting dark and colder.”
“I won’t be gone for too long,” I assure her, walking toward the back door.
Lila gives me a strange look from the kitchen table as she loops some ribbon into a bow. “Do you want company?”
They look at me as I open the back door and let the winter air inside. “No. There’s something I have to do.” I wave at them. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.” Before any of them can argue, I step outside and shut the door. Heading down the driveway, I pull the top of my jacket over my mouth and nose as the frosty air bites at my skin.
At the end of the driveway, I veer to the right and walk down the sidewalk toward the cemetery, keeping a steady pace, knowing that I’m not going to be able to endure the icy air for very long. By the time I reach the cemetery, my fingers are numb, but I shake off the cold as I sit down in the snow in front of her headstone. There’s a leafless tree just behind it and icicles dangle from the bare branches. The iron gate that borders the cemetery is frosted with snow that also covers the tops of some of the headstones.
I relax back on my hands as the snow seeps through my jeans and stare at her gray headstone, trying to gather my thoughts. “I’m not even sure what to say,” I say aloud, my breath fogging out in front of me. “I know I should come visit more, but I don’t live here any longer.” I set my sketchpad and pencil aside and lean forward, resting my arms on my knees. “So I moved to California… I have a home and everything, which is weird, but nice, I guess.” I breathe in and breathe out. “Everything is nice really.” I pause. “I’m sorry you never got your nice… I started reading your journal and I was hoping it’d have some nice in it, but there isn’t any, not really.” I shut my eyes as the cold air kisses my cheek. “I really would like to know if you ever did get any sort of happy. I know Dad said he thinks that you might have been happy sometimes, but he didn’t sound like he fully believed it. And I know that sometimes you can fake it because that’s what I do sometimes. I actually used to do it a lot, but not so much anymore… anymore when I’m happy. I think it’s real.” My words are true, real, honest. I want to know if she was ever really happy, but maybe it’s better not knowing since maybe the answer’s not what I want to hear. Maybe she’d tell me no, that she was never happy—not ever. Not when she was younger, when she got married, had kids. I’ve been in that place where depression was everything but it’s not my life anymore and I couldn’t even begin to imagine not getting a glimpse of happiness that I feel now. If depression was all she ever had then it would be sad and tragic and heartbreaking.
“Completely off the subject, but I’m supposed to be writing vows,” I say to my mom’s headstone, wishing she could really hear me. “But writing’s never been my thing.” I press my pencil to the paper and then I draw a line down it, letting my hands move freely. “Drawing was more of my thing.” Another line and then another. “I’m not sure if you knew that. I know you raised me and everything, but we never really talked, at least about life and stuff. I never even knew you liked to draw until I got a box from your mom with some of your drawings on it. Well, she didn’t exactly send it to me—her lawyer did. She actually passed away. I’m not sure how I feel about that either. I mean, I didn’t know her, yet at the same time it’s sort of sad she’s gone.” I make a few shadings and some curves and jagged lines. When I pull the pencil away, I’ve drawn Micha’s face, half shaded, then below it I write, My light in my dark life. I turn the page and draw another quick image. It’s nothing fancy but that’s okay because fancy’s not the point right now. When I’m finished, I have a picture of him holding his guitar, music notes surrounding him. Below it I write, His mouth warmed my soul. I draw another one and write, God, I feel so loved sometimes I forget how to breathe. Then I start moving the pencil over the paper again, creating a map of our life, the first time we slept together in the same bed, the fence, his car, the concerts, the New Orleans trips, the lake, even the bridge. Not all the lines are perfect, but it’s the little flaws and imperfections that make the story so beautiful. I finish off the last drawing, which is solely of Micha and write, My everything. Then I close the sketchpad and get to my feet, dusting the snow off the back of my jeans, my ass frozen and numb.
I know that if I’m going to turn it in for my final portfolio, I’m going to have to do more work on it, but the start is there, the basis, and I can build on it from there. Besides, starting is always the hardest part and even though I know everything won’t just easily fall into place, at least I know that it’s headed toward a completion.
A potentially wonderful completion.
Chapter 19
Micha
When I return home from tux shopping, without a tux, because apparently there’s nowhere around Star Grove that has them, Ella’s not at the house. My mom tells me she went out on foot somewhere with her sketchbook, which worries me.
“Do you know where she went?” I ask her, sitting down on the sofa beside her as she works on wrapping a Christmas present.
She shakes her head. “No, but it couldn’t have been too far, right? Since she walked.”
Maybe, but maybe not.
My mom secures a piece of tape on the Christmas present and then sticks a bow on it. “There, I think I’ve finally got everything wrapped.” She leans back to put the Christmas present below the small artificial tree in the corner.
I frown as I slump back in the sofa. “Why is everyone so into presents all of a sudden? We never made a big deal about them before. First Ella and now you.
“So… what’s wrong with changing things and giving presents?”
“Because I didn’t get anyone anything.”
“Are you really worried about everyone or just Ella?”
I sigh. “She got me something and it feels like I should give her something back, but I don’t want it to be something stupid—I want it to mean something.”
My mom eyes me over for a moment and then she gets to her feet. “Get your coat on and follow me.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.” She uses her stern voice and I get to my feet.
We put on our coats and then she heads outside, taking Ella’s and my path and climbing over the fence to get to Ella’s yard. I follow her, totally confused because she’s acting weird. Then we wind around the Firebird and step up the back stairs to the door and she knocks, which makes things even weirder because I’ve rarely knocked before. I usually just walk in.
“Mom, seriously, what are we doing?” I ask, stuffing my hands into my pockets.
My mom knocks again and then turns to me, shivering from the cold. “A few weeks ago, I saw Raymond carrying out
a bunch of boxes to the garage. I offered him some help and we got to talking and he told me that the boxes had some of Ella’s mom’s old stuff.”
“Okay? I’m not following you, Mom.”
She smiles at me. “I’m thinking that Ella would probably really like something that belonged to her mom, maybe something she could wear at the wedding.”
I open my mouth to tell her this is by far the worst idea she’s ever had, since Ella’s dad gets weird talking about stuff like that and I’m not even sure how Ella would react if I gave her something of her mom’s since it’s such an emotional subject for her. But before I can say anything, the door opens up.
“Hey, Terri,” Mr. Daniels says, looking confused as to why the two of us would be standing on his doorstep.
“Hey, Raymond,” my mom says with a smile. “I have a huge favor to ask you.”
I shake my head. My mom hasn’t always been this way—so pushy. Well, she sort of has, considering it was her idea for Ella and me to get married in the first place, but she seems to be getting pushier the older she gets.
Raymond’s brows crease and my mom starts explaining the little Christmas present dilemma. I feel my inside wind into knots, worried that it’s going to upset him and he’s going to take it out on Ella. I know they’ve been good and everything, but still I can’t shake the past and the things I’ve seen.
And when my mom says, “So we were wondering if maybe there was something of Maralynn’s we could give her, maybe in one of those boxes I helped you put in the garage a few weeks ago?”
He scratches his head, looking really uncomfortable. “I’m not really sure there is. I mean, most of that stuff was just old clothes of hers.”
I tug on my mom’s sleeve and say to Mr. Daniels, “No worries, we’ll figure something else out.”
My mom ignores me, keeping her feet planted. “There’s not even, like, a piece of her jewelry or something? Like some earrings that were hers?”
Raymond looks even more uneasy and I’m about to just walk off and leave her there when suddenly he stands up straighter and looks over at the garage.
“Hold on… I think I just thought of something.” He leans back into the house and grabs a large coat, slipping it on along with a beanie before he steps out and shuts the door. We follow him to the garage and my mom shoots me a grin, like, Ha-ha, I was right, and I shake my head but smile.
When we get inside the garage, Mr. Daniels flips on the lights and heads over to a stack of boxes in the corner. He lifts up the top box and sets it aside and then stares at the box below it for a moment, almost as if he’s afraid to open it. I glance at my mom, who swallows hard, looking a bit uneasy. But then Mr. Daniels relaxes a little and carefully opens the box. He rummages around inside it for a moment and then he takes out this small wooden box. When he turns around, he’s holding it in his hand like it’s something really important.
“We didn’t have a real wedding, you know,” he says, looking up from the box. “We barely even dressed up.”
My mom nods understandingly. “Micha’s father and I got married at a park and I think there was, like, a total of ten guests.”
“We only had two,” Mr. Daniels says. “They were both my friends, and the only reason we invited them was to be our witnesses. Maralynn didn’t want to have anyone else there.” He takes a deep breath and sighs. “But anyway,” he says, and extends his arm toward me, urging me to take the wooden box. “I gave this to Ella’s mom the morning of our wedding. It’s not anything fancy. I actually bought it at a pawnshop for, like, twenty-five bucks, but she wore it when we got married and maybe you can give it to Ella and have her do the same.”
The box creaks as I open it. Inside there’s a black ribbon threaded through a small red rose pendant.
“It’s a necklace,” Mr. Daniels tells me. “Ella’s mom had a thing for roses. I’m not sure if Ella will even want to wear it, but it doesn’t hurt to try.”
Discounting the fact that Ella might get a little emotional about it being her mom’s, if this were a normal necklace I could see her wearing it with pride.
“Thanks,” I say, shutting the box. “I’m sure she’ll like it and I’m sure she’ll be glad that you gave it to her.”
Mr. Daniels nods, and then without saying anymore we leave the garage. My mom and he chat at the back door for a little while about nothing major as I stare at the sky noting that it’s turning gray and wondering if Ella came home while we were in the garage. I decide to go check and say thanks again to Mr. Daniels before I head back over to my house. When I walk in, Lila and Ethan tell me that she’s not there and that they’re getting ready to go visit his parents for a while, even though he doesn’t want to. They head out and I go into my room and hide the necklace. Then, trying to distract myself, I read some of her mom’s journal. Page after page of dark thoughts:
I can’t do this. Be a mother and a wife. I thought I could but now I feel like I need to run, flee, escape the fear of commitment on foot. Because it’s either escape or wait until Raymond decides he’s had enough of me and abandons me. It’s inevitable. I can feel it. He’ll leave me because really I’m not good enough and sometimes I don’t want to be good enough. It’s too much work and takes too much strength and I’m so tired.
Maybe I should just run away and leave it all behind.
I really should.
Her words pierce at my chest because if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear Ella had written them. But I don’t believe that Ella will run away again. She loves me and I know that, even if she has a hard time expressing her feelings. I know she wants to be with me. She moved the ring to her engagement finger and moved in with me. She won’t run.
She can’t.
I keep reading through and my mom sticks her head into my room to tell me she’s heading out with Thomas to get some dinner.
“Do you want anything?” she asks me.
I shake my head. “No, thanks.”
“Well, there are some leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry,” she says.
“Thanks,” I say and she smiles and then starts to shut the door.
“And Mom?”
She pauses. “Yeah.”
“Thanks for going over to the Daniels’s and doing that,” I say.
She smiles. “No problem. I’m just glad we found you something good to give her.”
“Me too,” I tell her.
When she leaves, I glance at the clock and decide to give Ella fifteen more minutes before I go searching for her. I continue reading the journal, periodically checking the clock. The next several pages are equally depressing and my heart starts to feel heavy in my chest. It’s like I’m reading about a downward spiral, but fortunately I’m the one reading it, not Ella. It was her choice not to, which makes her so much stronger than all this darkness, because she knew it would probably bring her down and she chose not to let it—she chose to be happy.
I’m about to put the journal away when I realize there’s only one more page left and I decide to read it so I can be done with it. But then I’ll have to go and break the news to Ella that I couldn’t find anything happy inside the journal. Hopefully it won’t crush her heart.
But as I read over the last page the heaviness dissipates and the words kind of make me smile. After I finish reading it, I get up to go look for Ella because I’m worried about her being gone for so long and because she needs to read this. I put my jacket on and head to the back door where I left my boots, but as I’m crossing the kitchen, the door opens and a breeze gusts inside. Ella enters looking as frozen as a Popsicle, her lips blue, her cheeks kissed pink, and she’s shivering.
She offers me a small smile as she shuts the back door behind her. “Were you going somewhere?” she asks, eyeing my coat as she hugs her sketchbook to her chest.
“Yeah, to look for you.” I stop zipping up my jacket and place my hands on her cheeks, which are ice cold. “God, you’re freezing. How long were you out there?”
She lo
oks over at the clock on the microwave. “A couple of hours.”
“Jesus, Ella.” I take the sketchbook and set it aside on the counter. Then I tug off her gloves, gather her hands in mine, and breathe on them while I try to rub warmth back into her.
She smiles up at me. “How was your day tux shopping?”
“As good as any other day shopping. Although we didn’t get tuxes.”
“Good,” she says. “I’ve never been a fan of them. You’ll look much better in your jeans and a button-down shirt.”
“As long as you think so then I’m okay with it,” I tell her, then pause, choosing my next words carefully as my fingers wrap around her wrist. “When I came home I read some more of your mother’s journal.”
“Oh yeah?” She pretends to be only slightly interested but I feel her pulse accelerate in her wrist. “Find anything good?”
“I did. Do you want to read it?”
Her throat bobs up and down as she swallows hard, and then she looks at the sketchbook on the counter. “Can I wait just a little bit longer? I’m in good mood and I want to stay in one.”
“But what I found is good,” I promise her. “Trust me.”
“I know, but it’ll still be hard to read, whether it’s good or bad. It still has to do with her and she’s gone and it always makes me sad.”
How can I argue with that? “If that’s what you want, but I promise it’s not bad and I really think you need to read it before we get married.” I massage her right hand and she winces. “Does your hand hurt?”
She nods, wincing again. “It’s the one I punched Mikey in the face with. My knuckles collided with his jaw.”
Thinking about Mikey hitting her still gets under my skin, but I force myself to shove it aside because I promised her I wouldn’t do anything about it and I refuse to break my promises to her no matter what. “How many times have I told you to hit here?” I free her hand and pound my fist flat against my palm. “Don’t use your knuckles.”
The Ever After of Ella and Micha Page 16
