I shake my head. “Does she really think the Quinns don’t know about the stunt she tried to pull?” We sit in silence for a while. Probably because we know this is about the point in the story where Madeline would jump in and tell us to be nice. Or maybe it’s because there’s really nothing worth joking about on a day like today.
“Do you have the letter?” he asks as the smile slips from his face.
My mind is asking, “What letter?” but I feel my head nod and my hand pat my purse.
“And you really think you can get through it without crying?”
I shake my head. What letter are we talking about, and why do I feel like I’ve been taken over by a body snatcher?
“Yeah, I can’t imagine what it will be like to carry the coffin, especially after you read her last words,” he admits. “To know she’s there, but not there, you know?”
Oh no. He’s talking about the letter Madeline left for me to read at her funeral. I’ve got to get it together. First, I forget that it’s the day of her burial and then I forget one of her final wishes. “She’ll be there,” I tell him absently. And in my heart, I believe the words I’m saying.
He hits the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. “Cut the crap, RJ. This is me. She won’t be there. She’ll never be there. Not ever.”
“Pull over,” I command, and, surprisingly, he does so without question.
The car shudders a little when he cuts the engine. I turn to him, ready to assume the role of Madeline’s best friend. “We have to get through this day. For her.”
“How?” he shoots back. “When the memorial is over and it’s just those who knew and loved her most at the graveside, how am I supposed to get through it? I thought someday I would be watching her walk down the aisle on our wedding day. Instead, I’m going to be rolling her down the aisle in a mahogany box. Tell me how I’m supposed to get through it.”
I sit back in surprise. “You never told me that.”
“What?”
“That you wanted to marry her.”
He scoffs. “Well, there were a lot of things we talked about while you were making up with Felicity and her clones.”
“Hey!” I cry as his words pierce my heart like an arrow. “You don’t get to be mean. Not to me, and not today.”
Immediately he looks like he regrets what he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say with a sigh.
We sit in silence and wait for him to calm down enough to keep the car on the road. I can almost hear the minutes ticking away.
“I’m good now,” he says.
“Liar.”
He takes a big breath. “I’m as good as I’m going to get.”
“That I can believe. Now let’s get going before people start wondering where we are.”
When we arrive at the high school, the lot is full. I mean, there are cars on the lawn, down the street, around the block, and anywhere else a vehicle can be parked.
“Madeline’s mom said there would be reserved parking in the teacher’s lot for us,” Daniel says when he sees me scanning the rows for a place to park.
“Let’s hope so.”
Sure enough, there are a few spots open as we pull around the back of the main building.
“You ready?” he asks, turning the key in the ignition.
As I take out the letter from Madeline, my hands begin to tremble. “I can’t do this,” I say. It’s more like I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to share her with strangers.
“Hey, do I need to repeat the lecture you gave me ten minutes ago?”
“No, but if I do this, if I read this letter, then it means she’s really gone. She’s not coming back.”
“News flash,” Daniel says sadly. “Whether you read the letter or not, she’s not coming back.”
“Not in here,” I argue, pointing to my heart.
He takes my hand. “Together? For her?”
Blinking back tears, I nod. “Okay.”
Opening the door, the Indiana sun warms my skin. It’s unusually warm and for a fleeting moment, I wonder if Madeline sent this weather to tell us she’s okay.
“Now?” Daniel asks.
“One foot in front of the other, right?”
“Just like breathing.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Because that’s so easy right now.”
As we enter the gym, the number of bodies in the stands is overwhelming. “How many of these people actually knew her?” I wonder aloud.
“I don’t think there is a person who met her who didn’t like her,” Daniel says, looking down, probably to avoid the glances of pity people are shooting at us.
“Well, maybe one.” As if on cue, Felicity rushes to us, gushing about how sorry she is and what an inspiration Madeline is. I want to punch her. But I don’t.
“If there is anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to ask,” she rambles on.
Daniel’s eyes turn black. “You know—” he begins before I cut him off. I really hate having to be the good cop.
“Thanks, Felicity, but I think everything is covered.” I grab Daniel by the arm and drag him toward the stage before he can say something offensive.
“I hate her,” he mutters.
“Me too. But Madeline would be so ticked at us if we ever said that to her face.”
“Yeah, but that girl, she tried to steal from Madeline and—”
“And Madeline forgave her. I think we kinda have to take the moral high ground here.”
“Leave it to her to try to teach us a lesson from the other side,” Daniel mutters, letting me lead him through the crowd.
Madeline’s mother glances up as we approach, her eyes full of grief and something else. It’s gratitude. She stands and walks toward us, spreading her arms out just as we near. She embraces Daniel and then wraps me in a tight hug, holding on longer than ever before. “I’m so glad the two of you are here,” she says.
She starts to pull away but collapses just as Daniel reaches out to catch her gracefully, then he helps her back to her seat. I see a stack of bottled water to the left of the stage and retrieve one for her.
As I hand her the bottle, I want to tell her how sorry I am and how amazing her daughter was. I want to tell her how I’m a better person because of Madeline and how she made the world a little brighter. But I don’t.
“We’re ready to begin, Mrs. Quinn,” the minister says gently.
She nods and takes a deep breath as he retreats to the stage where my best friend lies, dead, in her casket. Daniel and I take seats behind Madeline’s family. In a few minutes, I’ll address everyone in the gym. I’ll read Madeline’s last message to us all. I will get through it without tears because I don’t have a choice. But right now, I can feel my heart breaking inside my body. This is real. Death is final.
Most of the time, a voice in my head that sounds strangely like Madeline’s says. Great, now I’m imagining I can hear her. I shake my head to knock reality back in place, but the voice continues. Don’t forget, you have things to do.
What the heck? Why is my dead friend’s voice telling me I have things to do? As I analyze the words and their possible meaning over and over, the ceremony begins. I’m completely lost in thought until Daniel gives me a swift elbow to the ribs. I glance up to find the preacher looking at me expectantly.
“Go,” Daniel says in a gritty whisper.
It’s time to read Madeline’s letter. Slowly, my legs feeling like they’re full of lead, I take agonizing steps toward the podium.
I pull out the yellow lined paper and clear my throat. The grating sound echoes off the gym walls. With a quick shallow breath, I begin to speak.
Chapter 33
“A few days before Madeline died,” I begin, the last word catching in my throat, “she gave me a letter and told me not to read it until she was gone. Of course, I didn’t listen and opened it that night. Her words were inspiring and heartbreaking at the same time. I …” The tears are threatening to over
take me as I remember our last conversation. I have to be strong. For Madeline. “I told her the next day that I’d read the letter. She just smiled and said she knew I would. She also said I wouldn’t back down when the time came for me fulfill her last request. That I would read it again. Today. At her funeral. To all of you. And since I couldn’t keep the first promise to wait to read the letter until she was gone, I will keep this second promise.”
I carefully unfold the letter, gently smoothing out each crease. I don’t need the paper. The words are a part of me. Every single sentence is etched in my mind. I twist the dolphin ring on my finger and a sense of calm washes over me.
Dear RJ,
I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist opening this. You’re not very good about waiting for things. You never have been. Sometimes, I think you make life happen by sheer force of will.
I’m sorry I couldn’t do the same. I see the frustration and pain in your eyes every time you see me. I tried to fight, I really did. But then I got tired. And as painful as it is to admit, the time has come to let go.
But I want you to know that I have no regrets. I have nothing left to do in my life. I have learned how to love and, more importantly, I have learned how to be loved. I have laughed so hard I thought my insides would burst and I have cried with such passion that I didn’t think my heart could take any more. I have known greatness in people even when facing the worst in others.
I pause, trying not to look at Felicity and failing miserably. I watch with satisfaction as she squirms in her seat. Taking a slow, haggard breath, I continue.
I cannot tell you how scared I was to walk up to you and Daniel last year in the cafeteria. I remember thinking how brave you were to hold your head up when you knew everyone was talking about you. But it was your laughter, mixed with his, that made me feel like I was safe. I know that sounds all sappy and corny, but hey, I’m a sick girl. What can I say?
Oh come on. Laugh. It’s a much better alternative.
Tears are streaming down my face now as I remember the first time we met. But in my mind, she’s the shining star of positive light descending on Daniel and me as we try to stay afloat. Me, not able to admit I was okay with being alone, and him, not sure how to be around someone without waiting for the other shoe to drop. We were laughing because it was the only thing that made us feel brave. She was what made us feel whole.
Do you remember when I was in the hospital after the transplant? We were talking about legacies and what people leave behind for the next generation. That night, as the monitors continued their never-ending watch over my heart, I knew I wasn’t going to live much longer. I can’t explain how, but I knew. There was a sort of peace that came over me. And as I lay staring at the ceiling, thinking about whether the world would remember me, I thought about what I wanted my legacy to be.
Which is why I gave you this envelope and told you not to open it. It’s also why you are reading this letter at my funeral. (If you aren’t then I owe you an apology … or you chickened out, but, let’s be honest, that would never happen. You are the bravest person I know.)
So here is what I leave behind. It’s a list of the things I learned throughout my life:
1. Family is more than the people tied to you by blood. It’s also the people tied to you by love.
2. Never, ever give up on family, even when they’re begging you to. In fact, that’s when you need to hold on to them the most.
3. Learn to cut people out of your life who do nothing but bring you pain. This kinda goes against the hippie love thing I’m feeling because of the pain meds but I learned that having people around you who don’t want to be there is a waste of energy.
4. Never turn your back on someone who genuinely needs you. Sometimes this rule trumps number three but it takes a really special person to do so.
She’s talking about me. For her, I’m the exception. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear her laugh, like she’s agreeing with me. It would be amazing if not for the humming that mingles with her sound. I squint my eyes together and when I open them, thankfully, the white noise is gone. But so is the laughter.
5. Love like your life depends on it. Never be afraid to tell someone you love them and never look away when someone says it to you. True love will see through all the masks we wear and will chip away at the walls that we build to protect ourselves. All we have to do is let it.
6. Never underestimate the power of a laugh. It is the music of the soul and has the power to bring joy back into a person’s life.
7. Don’t discount your importance to the world. Each moment of your life has a purpose, even the ones you think don’t matter. And don’t forget to make the unexpected choice. You never know how that one moment can transform your life.
8. Also, be aware of the power words have on those around you. They can lift people up but they can bury them, too.
9. Don’t be preachy. Yes, I know this seems a little hypocritical, seeing as how I have a captive audience listening, but realize for some things, agreeing to disagree is better than fighting.
10. Find faith in something, even if it’s a rock band you would travel across the country to see on a whim. But don’t expect to have a seat at the concert if you don’t buy tickets.
Behind me I hear Daniel choke back a laugh and I make a mental note to find out what she’s talking about.
That’s it. My Top Ten Rules of Life. I think I did pretty good at following them. Then again, I did make them up, so I had an advantage.
RJ, I hate this. I hate saying goodbye. To you, my parents, Daniel. To everyone who ever cared about me. I hate going away. And as angry as I am that this is what is happening to me, I can’t bring myself to complain about how unfair it is. I mean, there are so many people who have it worse off than me. I could be a Chilean coal miner, after all.
This time it’s my turn to choke on unexpected laughter.
My life may have been short in time, but it was long in moments that mattered and in love. In the end, isn’t that what life is all about?
Chapter 34
There isn’t a dry eye in the place as I gently fold the paper and walk away from the microphone. I’m deaf to the whimpering cries and blowing noses as I take my seat. All I can hear is the thudding of my heart and I swear it skips a beat because of the hole left by Madeline’s death.
My eyes cast down to hide the salty tears. I sink against the seat back, looking up to give Mrs. Quinn a limp smile when she turns around and pats my knee. My mother, who’s sitting next to me, wraps her arm around my shoulder and tries to pull me close, but I shrug her away. It’s not that I mean to hurt her. At first, I think I’ll explain later how I can’t breathe and how I’m afraid I’m going to run screaming from the room if one more person tries to make me feel better. But then I hear Madeline’s voice citing Rule Number One—the one about family. I lean over and whisper, “I love you,” in Mom’s ear.
The tension in her body eases as relief fills her eyes. I may not like what she’s done to our family, and I definitely don’t approve of her affair, but she’s my mom. I love her and I know nothing will ever change that.
The rest of the service passes in a blur. A couple of girls from the choir sing a series of uplifting and inspiring songs as pictures of Madeline flash before us on a screen. Next to me, Daniel stiffens and then shudders. Even though I’m afraid any physical connection will send me over the emotional edge I’m teetering on, I reach out and take his hand as only someone who shares his grief can do. He hangs onto it like a lifeline and I want to tell him he’s hurting me. But I don’t because the pain reminds me I’m alive.
When the minister ends his speech, Daniel bravely stands and marches with the other pallbearers to escort the love of his life out of the building, carefully avoiding the red, tear-stained faces that follow him. I wonder if he will ever be able to love someone like he did Madeline.
That’s when I hear her voice whispering, “He will. Someday. It won’t be easy, but he will.” I
can’t explain what happens, but I smile at the sound, even if it’s only in my head. I get the feeling that she’s alright with the idea of him moving on. I watch the procession and try to put aside the fact that I’m hearing the voice of my dead best friend. I allow my thoughts to drift back to the nights spent talking with her in the hospital. I could always tell when Daniel had been in before me by the glow of happiness on her face. I smile as I remember her telling me about their first kiss. She was positively radiant. That hour at the end of the day made the rest of the time bearable.
I look up in surprise as everyone stands to gather their belongings. It’s over. All I have to get through is the part where they actually put her in the ground. Mechanically, I stand, fighting the temptation to escape. Only family and a few friends will accompany the body to the grave site. The rest of the crowd will probably go home or head over to the luncheon Madeline’s church is hosting. Those of us going to the cemetery will follow the casket out to the waiting hearse.
Daniel moves his car behind the sedan that will carry Madeline’s parents to the cemetery. From the driver’s seat his eyes plead with me to ride with him. I motion for him to wait and walk over to my parents’ car.
“Hey, do you mind if I go with Daniel?” I ask, biting into my lip. It’s the first time I’ve spoken since being on stage and my voice sounds raspy and weak.
“He’s not riding with his parents?” my mother asks, looking over my shoulder. “Are you sure he’s alright to drive?”
“I don’t think he wants to come back here to pick up his car later,” I offer, not wanting to give her any reason to say no. “And he’s fine to drive. If anything, me being with him will help him focus.”
My dad speaks up. “Of course you can. We’ll see you there.”
“Thanks,” I say with a smile and rush back to Daniel’s car before my mom can veto his decision.
“Ready?” I ask through the window. I try to sound upbeat but the attempt is an utter failure.
He nods and slumps down in the driver’s seat, turning the ignition in one quick motion. I pause, trying to stop the next wave of tears that threatens to flow freely down my face. With renewed resolve to get through this day, I flick the purple magnetic flag the funeral staff put on top of the car to identify us as part of the entourage and climb in. The processional takes us into Indianapolis where Madeline’s family has a plot at a cemetery. Did they buy it before their daughter got sick or after? I guess it doesn’t matter now.
It's a Wonderful Death Page 20
