“It really is magical,” Elijah says. Hand in hand, we watch the earth wake up before our eyes. Sasha was right; in this moment, everything does feel okay.
Everything will be okay.
“Is that all she said?” Elijah asks a few minutes later, his voice softer than the singing birds nearby.
I shake my head, then pull my hand reluctantly from his so I can pick up the note and read the final line. “‘I love you and miss you both, Sasha.’”
Elijah turns around, the tendons in his neck flexing as he gazes up at the church. “A town founded by a freed slave,” he says, looking back at me with a sparkle in his eyes. “I bet he started out with nothing, just like me. I think my ancestors would want me to attend college.”
“They totally would,” I say. It looks like he might say more, but he doesn’t.
“I remember that night,” I say, both because I want him to know and because I don’t want him to leave just yet. There’s still an hour until school starts and I want to spend it with him. “Mrs. Cade called my parents asking if Sasha was at our house, but she wasn’t. Everyone was freaking out and I spent a lot of time praying for her to be okay. I didn’t know Gran had died yet. In the heat of the moment, Mrs. Cade hadn’t even told my parents.”
“Do you think she’s right?” Elijah says, staring at the calluses on his palms. “That everything happens for a reason?”
“I don’t know. I think Sasha believed that, and maybe that’s all that matters.”
“I think we met for a reason.” He says it so quietly, I almost think I imagined it. Then he reaches over and takes my hand in his, my cold, trembling hand in his rough, warm and weathered one.
I go absolutely still, not wanting to ruin a single second of this moment. Elijah’s thumb slides across my palm. He stares at our hands as if they contain all of the answers to life and all of the secrets to mending a broken heart.
“I’ve never had a friend like you,” he says. He shakes his head, looking out at the sunrise. “I’m not sure I ever had a real friend — not until Sasha. And now you.”
“I’m honored to take her place,” I say, squeezing his hand. “I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances, but yeah.” I also wish you didn’t see me as just a friend.
After a tense moment where I’m embarrassingly hoping something might happen, he moves my hand back into my lap and then lets it go, leaving behind a cold ache.
“Well, I guess I should get to work,” he says. He stands and then reaches out a hand to help me up.
I check the time on my phone, then slide it back in my pocket. “I guess I should get to school.”
Our shoes crunching over the gravel is the only sound for a full minute. When I get to my car, I turn to him, my heart beating so hard it might fly out of my chest and knock him out cold. But it needs to be said, so I pull on some courage hidden deep in my subconscious and say, “You’re my best friend, too.”
He grins, his head tilting a little as he looks at me. “Have a good day at school.”
“Have a good day at work.” I look at my car keys, flipping through the keychain until I get to the right key. I’m not sure how I can go to school after a morning like this. When I look up, Elijah is right in front of me, his head blocking the bright sun. He pulls me into a hug, and I wrap my arms around him, letting my cheek press against his shirt. “You’re really good at this hugging thing,” I mumble as he slowly pulls away.
He laughs, a genuine chuckle that resonates from his stomach. I roll my eyes, trying to play off my serious comment like I didn’t really mean it that much. “I wish you could talk more,” I say. “You’re always so hard to get in touch with.”
“Sorry, Raquel.” He grips my elbows for a second and then lowers his hands. “My roommate had a laptop but he pawned it a few months back. I can get online at the library, but they close before I get off work most nights, and only in the rare occasion that my boss is gone can I sneak on his work computer. Believe me, though, I am constantly wishing I could email you.”
“So,” I say as lighthearted as possible because that last thing he said felt heavier than he meant it to be. “I wonder when I’ll see you again?”
His shoulders lift as he takes a step backward, toward his bike. He turns up his palms and gazes at the sky. “Whenever Sasha wants you to.”
Chapter Sixteen
You know that saying, the one about how we only use ten percent of our brains? Not true.
There is simply no way my entire brain isn’t working at full capacity in the days that follow. I’d thought there was no room left to feel anything besides pain, and then the first letter arrived and somehow my brain found more room to feel, love, miss and rejoice.
And then I fell for Elijah.
Suddenly I’m running at one hundred percent brain function.
I’m not sure when it happened, not really. Maybe that first moment I hugged him standing near the fresh grass covering Sasha’s grave, maybe when he took my hand on the steps of Mount Horeb Baptist Church. Maybe it doesn’t even matter when it happened, just that it did.
And now I’m not sure what to do.
Before, my mind was a hurricane of grief, leaving a path of destruction.
This thing with Elijah, it’s a tornado. It fills my every waking thought, always spinning. Scientists don’t know a damn thing about brains when it comes to love.
I am guilty, I am mourning, I am falling for my dead best friend’s brother.
Sasha believed that everything happens for a reason. But this? It can’t possibly be a good thing.
With a deep breath, I focus on the tulips in my hand, arranging them just the way Izzy taught me. I work quickly, my fingers relying on muscle memory because my mind is elsewhere. Thinking about how I don’t even know Elijah, not really. I don’t know his favorite color or food or song. I don’t know what keeps him up at night, if he’s ever broken any bones, if he’s allergic to anything. His first kiss, his first heartbreak. These are the things you should know about a person before you go and fall in love with them.
Just thinking about the L-word makes me cringe. He’s Sasha’s brother. This can’t happen.
The herbal stink of expensive marijuana announces the arrival of my boss from the back of the shop. She floats into the room, humming a song to herself.
“This order is ready,” I say, doing one final fluff of the sprigs of baby’s breath before moving the vase over to the shelf of today’s orders.
“Girl, who took the sunshine out of you?” Izzy asks.
“Huh?” She looks like she could punch someone, and that’s saying something because this woman wouldn’t hurt a fly.
“Something’s bothering you,” she says. She reaches into her skirt pocket and pulls out half a dozen glass vials, searching until she finds the one she wants.
“Hold out your wrists.” I do as she asks and she rubs a clear oil on both of my wrists. It smells fresh and fragrant, like a garden after a rainstorm.
“Bergamot,” she says, watching me intently as she caps the vial and puts it back in her pocket. “It’ll help with your … depression, my dear.”
“Um, thanks. I’m not really depressed.” My stomach aches as I reach for the next order slip, a bouquet of pink assorted flowers. “I don’t know what I am, but I don’t think it’s depressed.”
“It happens to all of us,” Izzy says, taking the next order slip after mine and setting up her vase next to me on the table. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were … happy. And maybe worried about that.”
I laugh before I get the good sense to hold it back. Running a hand through my hair, I shake my head. “You might be right about that. I don’t deserve to be excited about anything right now.”
Except Sasha’s next adventure.
“Never be ashamed of your emotions,” Izzy says, tapping my shoulder with a l
ong-stemmed rose. “The world is a rough place. We need to find happiness where we can and hold on to it with fury.”
***
Hey favorites,
“I never knew love until I met you / I never knew pain until I lost you.”
Ah, Zombie Radio. Is there any better band in the world? Don’t bother replying, the answer is no. Four guys from Corpus Christi, Texas … four super-cute guys … formed this band when they were in high school. They worked their asses off, indie-produced their first albums and then got a small record deal just two years ago. Now look at them, on posters at Walmart and shit. Elijah, this band is my jam. My favorite musical group on earth. I know you’ve never listened to them from our talks together, so I, being the greatest sister and best friend on earth, have arranged something special for you guys. Friday, October 7th, Zombie Radio is playing a show in Houston at a place called The Engine Room. See the attached PDF of your tickets, complete with parking pass because I am awesome. God, I wish I could be there, but if they let my spiritual body hang out on earth, I promise I’ll be there. Not with you guys in the crowd, of course, but with JJ and his drum set. *drool*
Those boys know how to write a love song better than they know how to rock a pair of skinny jeans, and trust me, that’s saying a lot. I love love and I love this band.
You guys have fun, okay? Jam out, rock out, dance, sing, have a blast. Do it for me.
You’re going to love this.
Almost as much as I love you guys.
Love you and miss you both,
Sasha
P.S. Rocki, sneak into my bedroom and steal that size large ZR shirt from my closet. It’s the one with the skeleton on the front and we got it at their Austin show that time they were sold out of every other size, remember? Elijah should wear it to the show, because I am NOT going to let my fam show up wearing a regular shirt. No way.
Houston is two hours southeast of Peyton Colony, and although I’ve never gone to a concert that far away without Sasha, I try not to let the logistics worry me. The first thing I do is rush into the kitchen and check Dad’s work schedule. He’ll be gone on the seventh. Perfect. Dad is about a thousand times more overprotective than my mom, and that means I have six days to come up with a plan. Easy. It won’t be the first time I’ve bent the truth a little to stay out all night at a Zombie Radio show. Those guys are the best band in the world, after all, and three of the four members were my epic crushes from fifth to tenth grade. JJ has always been Sasha’s crush, so I let her have him like a real best friend should.
Now that I have an excuse to contact Elijah without it seeming weird, I email him asking if he wants to meet up halfway between Austin and Peyton Colony and ride the rest of the way to Houston together. My heart does this little pitter-patter of excitement. After two heart-wrenching adventures, we’re getting a fun one. Zombie Radio puts on an amazing show. I haven’t seen them live since before Sasha’s diagnosis. It feels like ages ago.
I try not to let it bother me when Elijah hasn’t replied to my email the next day. Or the day after that. He hasn’t let me down before, so he won’t let me down now, right?
Wait. Sasha. Not me. He won’t let Sasha down.
Three days before the gig in Houston, I stop by the Cades’ house after school. I’d called Mrs. Cade from the school parking lot, so she’s expecting me. She greets me with a warm smile and a hug at the front door. Sunny greets me with cheek licks. Mrs. Cade’s white-blond hair has been pulled into a sleek ponytail, and instead of a nice dress like usual, she’s wearing a velour tracksuit, deep maroon, with a pink tank top under the jacket. It’s a little odd, if I’m being honest.
“How are you?” she asks, closing the door behind me.
“I’m good,” I say, still kneeling so I can ruffle the fur on Sunny’s head. There’s a life-sized witch standing near the door, her crazy eyes and green hair reminding me that Halloween is just a few weeks away. “I like your decorations.”
Mrs. Cade delights in decorating her house for each holiday, and since Halloween in their neighborhood includes a hayride for all the kids to go house to house, Mrs. Cade really goes all out for this one. There are spiderwebs covering the bricks around the front door, foam spiders as big as my head lining the steps.
The Cades have three custom-made tombstones with their names on them and silly little sayings about how they died. They’ve always been prominently displayed on the front lawn with a spotlight focused on them. It doesn’t escape my notice that she’s omitted them from this year’s decor.
“It gives me something to do,” Mrs. Cade says as she leads me into the kitchen to where she’s already made two cups of tea for us. “I almost didn’t decorate this year, but Walter talked me into it. He said Sasha would want me to, you know?”
“She totally would,” I say, nodding. “I remember we even had this conversation with her. She said to keep doing things that make us happy.”
Mrs. Cade nods, that sad smile permanently etched on her face. “I remember. So that’s what I’m trying to do.”
She spoons sugar into her tea and then gestures toward her clothing.
“So what’s up with that outfit?” I ask, allowing myself to grin because Sasha would want me to.
Her cheeks turn rosy and she looks into her teacup. “I joined a club for women my age. It’s silly really, but we meet once a week at the community center and play games or talk about books, drink wine … that kind of thing.”
“Sounds fun,” I say, squeezing the bottle of honey onto my spoon. “Do y’all wear matching tracksuits?”
She laughs, a deep sound coming straight from a place she hasn’t used in a while. She looks down at her outfit and shrugs. “Kind of. I mean, I showed up in a dress the first time and all the other ladies were dressed very casual, so I felt out of place. I thought I’d try this one out today. The lady at Nordstrom said it would be perfect.”
I put my spoon in my mouth, licking off the remaining bit of honey. “Okay, here’s a tip, Mrs. Cade. If you want to fit in with a group of regular women, you probably shouldn’t shop at Nordstrom.”
She laughs again. “You’re probably right. Maybe you can take me shopping sometime. Show me how to dress like a normal mom.”
“I’d love to.” Wherever Sasha is now, I hope she can see this. I hope it makes her proud that her mom is trying to move on, because I know that’s what Sasha wanted. I clear my throat and decide to go with an honest approach to getting what I need from Sasha’s bedroom. Well, as honest as I can be without breaking my promise.
“Mrs. Cade? I was wondering if I could borrow a shirt from Sasha’s closet. Just for a couple days and then I’ll return it.”
She sets her teacup back on the saucer and waves me away with her hand. “Of course, of course. Go get it.”
That was easy. Much easier than trying to sneak it out like Sasha asked. I thank her and then dash off to Sasha’s room, Sunny bounding after me. I stop dead in my tracks when I get to her door. Last time I was here, I didn’t go inside. Now, I have to.
Her room still smells exactly the same. That scent of Sasha, not quite like anything specific, but I’d know it anywhere. There’s a lump in my throat as I cross the threshold, my feet sinking into her plush carpet. I helped her pick out this carpet after the nail polish–shattering incident that left her former carpet ruined. It’s still fluffy and even nicer than the carpet in the rest of the house.
Drawing in a deep breath, I make my way toward her closet, pull open the door and flip on the light. The huge walk-in is filled with clothes, shoes, old toys from her childhood that she could never get rid of and one giant cardboard cutout of Captain America. I glance back and find Sunny hopping up on Sasha’s bed, walking in a circle before settling down on the crumpled sheets. My heart aches as I wonder how long he waits there each day, waiting for his human to come back.
I move toward the back corner row
of hangers, the solid swath of black T-shirts, all Zombie Radio official merch. This girl has every shirt they ever made, around thirty of them. The only large-sized one is on the far right, and it’s a crisper black color than the rest since it wasn’t worn as much.
I take it off the hanger, fold it gingerly and take it home, hoping that when I get there, I’ll have an email from Elijah. I have to have faith that he won’t let us down for this adventure.
He can’t. He needs this just as much as I do. Right?
Chapter Seventeen
Dad eyes me over the green glass of his beer bottle. “You doing okay, kid?”
“Yeah, Dad.” I smile as I sling my backpack against the wall near the back door and head into the kitchen for a snack. “Why?”
Dad takes another sip of his beer. It’s only three o’clock, but he’s just returned from a trip on the road and he drinks a cold one when he gets off work, no matter the time. My dad is tanned, rugged and manly. He’s always sporting a beard and wearing something mentioning his favorite football team, the Texans. Despite the masculine exterior, my dad has always been a big softy when it comes to Mom and me. So far, he hasn’t needed to kick anyone’s ass for me. But he’s kind of looking like he wants to.
“Honey, come here,” he says, pointing his beer at the chair next to him.
I rip open a packet of Pop-Tarts and sit, taking a bite. “What’s up?” I ask.
“Something’s wrong with you.” It’s not a question, but a statement. “Want to talk?”
I take another bite, needing to eat quickly so I can get to work. “Nothing’s wrong, Daddy. I promise.”
He shakes his head and reaches over, breaking off a piece of my second Pop-Tart. “I haven’t seen Zack around here lately.”
“Oh,” I say, staring at the red sprinkles on top of my overprocessed pastry. “We broke up.”
“Really?” He sounds more impressed than surprised, though his eyebrows shoot up anyway. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
The Last Wish of Sasha Cade Page 12
