by Jolene Perry
I nod once. “We should.”
Jeremy leans further forward on his crutches. “You would have been an asshole if you’d had a chance to grow up, Bryce. But a good asshole.”
Even Bree smiles a little. “And a great kisser.”
I wrinkle my nose, and Hartman smirks but shakes his head for me to stop. Now I have two people helping me. There might be hope for me yet. But I might care a little less how people see me, so I might not need the help in quite the same way.
“Okay?” I ask quietly as I step forward.
Bree clutches her arms as I release the top of the casket and slowly lower it. There’s a messy mix of relief and sadness. And then guilt over the relief part.
“Thank you so much, Gabe,” Bree says.
I nod once.
“I can’t imagine how much easier the last months would have been if I’d had that with my dad,” Hartman says quietly. “This was a good thing.”
“Thanks, Gabe.” Jeremy gives my shoulder a gentle slap.
Jessica gives me a half hug, followed immediately by Meghan.
Matthew tugs open the back door from the outside, and we all walk out together.
“And we’ll be back here tomorrow.” Jeremy sighs. “The few of us with invites.” He rolls his eyes. “But that will be for show. Tonight was for real.”
“For real,” Theo agrees from within Meghan’s phone.
We exchange waves as Jessica and Meghan help Jeremy into her car, and they pull away.
Bree’s smile is faint. I can only imagine what she’s dealing with. I can’t really know.
I tug her into a hug, and her arms tighten around me. “Thank you, Gabe. Thank you so much. For everything.”
I’m blinking back stinging heat on my eyes as I hold her back. “Anytime.”
“But hopefully never again.” She sniffs. Bree’s trying to tease. She’ll for sure be okay.
“Never again,” I agree.
“I’m starving. Is that weird?”
Hartman tugs me in to his side and kisses my forehead. “Why don’t you two go to breakfast. You can call me later.”
I’m already in trouble with Mom and Dad, and food sounds pretty amazing. I glance at Bree who nods.
Hartman takes my hand and I walk him to his car. There’s no asking or questioning anymore. We’re dating. And it’s so good.
He takes my face in his hands and kisses me lightly. “Be careful with yourself. I’m paranoid. I’ve lost two people in a very short time, and I don’t want to lose another.”
“Then you’re dating the right girl.” I smile.
He pulls me against him, his lips on mine, his kiss long and slow and perfect. I feel like every time we’re together I’m just soaking up as much of him as I can get.
And then the warmth of him is gone. In his car with a wave and a sad smile.
I watch him go, knowing he’ll be back.
Bree is suddenly at my side. “I’m happy you’re doing this. Hartman, I mean.”
“Me too.”
“He seems pretty great.” She nudges me. “So me pushing you that way maybe wasn’t the worst thing.”
“He’s so, so great.”
We start slowly walking up the dark street.
“I’m barely hanging on, Gabe,” she says quietly.
I slip my arm through hers. “I know. But you’re doing a fab job on the ledge.”
“You know what I think speaks volumes?” Bree says more quietly, her face falling into something more serious.
“Hmm?”
“The fact that the stereotypical pretty boy, gorgeous boy, popular boy took the time to get to know someone who only fits into the stereotype of quirky. And did he push me? Yep. But I was ready to be pushed. Wanted to be. I was furious with my parents, more than I admitted to myself, and he gave me distraction.” She sniffs and swipes under her eyes quickly.
Her simple phrase really does sum up a lot.
“I still did some stupid things,” she says. “But he was exactly what I needed.”
Our footsteps echo in the quiet night.
“I can be sort of an asshole,” I say.
We stop at the light, even though I can’t see any cars in any direction.
“We’re all assholes sometimes.”
The crosswalk lights up, and we start across to the small restaurant on the corner.
“I’m not ready for doughnuts and sand,” Bree says. “I’m saving that for when I think I’m getting close to ready to move on.”
“Sounds good.”
We’re people. We’re imperfect. At some point I’m going to hurt Hartman’s feelings, and at some point he’s going to hurt mine. We might last a few months. We might last a few years. We might last a lifetime. But I’ll always remember him. He’ll be forever. So will Bryce and my grandparents, and my Aunt Liza’s closet.
But me and Bree? We’re solid. We’re messy and we get angry and we will fight again over something big or something small, but her and me? We’re the forever kind of friends. Not the kind I’ll remember when I’m eighty, but the kind I’ll live next to when I’m eighty.
“I promise to tell you when you’re too old to go commando.”
She snorts, and I trip over the curb. I love how random everyday things are part of big revelations.
“After breakfast, and before my parents probably ground me, let’s put nose and handprints on the outside windows of Audrey’s,” I say.
“Done.”
Epilogue
Bree is in her blacks but has asked to do nothing but welcome people, hand out programs, and keep the snack table filled. She’ll answer the phone if needed. This keeps her near the front and away from the viewing room, which has been harder for her since losing Bryce.
Her bedroom is up the hall from mine, decorated in sixties pastels, and is all Bree. She’s back to her regular “Bree” wardrobe, which makes me endlessly happy. Also, having a sister in the house my age means that we’re always two against one for the remote—except for Jessie. Bree totally takes Mickey’s side on that one. With Bree wanting to spend her senior year at Paradise Hill High, and my parents being awesome, she’ll be with us for the year.
Bryce has been gone two months.
Today a family is burying a man who is a father and a grandfather, an uncle, a nephew, a friend, and a great-grandfather. I don’t know the family, but still, my eyes fill with tears as I think about how much life he lived.
Aunt Liza sighs, tapping the cigarette in her fingers with a frown. She knows she can’t light up in here, but that doesn’t prevent her from carrying her smoke around, just in case she gets a moment.
“I used to be built just like your friend,” Aunt Liza says, pointing at Bree.
“Oh yeah?” I ask. “How’s that?”
“Curvy and gorgeous. Like a brick shithouse.”
“Um…” My cheeks warm up. “I don’t even know what that means.”
Liza grunts and taps her cigarette a few more times. “I’m going to step outside. That Angel guy better get back from vacation soon. The phones here are a bitch.”
So very Aunt Liza.
I scan the crowd again, hoping to catch Mom or Dad’s eye to see if anything needs to be done. A boy about my sister’s age sits alone on a bench near the entrance to the chapel, his chin quivering.
As I walk toward him, I do a quick scan to see if I can make out who his parents are, but no one’s giving him extra glances. He’s still enough to have blended into the furniture.
I sit next to him and he scoots slightly away, like he’s being polite and giving me more space.
“It’s hard to say good-bye,” I say quietly. “I had to do it with my grandparents. We all worked here together. What did you and your granddad do together?”
“He liked to fish.”
“Gross.” I chuckle, and the kid’s mouth almost tugs into a smile.
He lets out a sigh and stares at the ceiling, blinking.
“You hold on to those memories, okay?” I tell h
im. “That’s how we make someone last forever. You tell your friends about what you did together. And someday when you meet some amazing girl and get married, you can tell her, and then you can tell your kids about this very cool man that you knew.”
He blinks, and a few tears stream down his small cheeks.
My heart aches for him, but it’s some of the sad kind and some of the empathetic kind and some of the warm kind too.
“And then, your kids will tell their kids about this guy who used to take their dad fishing. And that’s how you keep someone around. You talk about them, even though it hurts.”
He swipes at his tears a few times.
I lean closer. “It’s okay to cry, you know. Good even. It helps that really harsh sadness slip away, and then all you have left is missing him and lots and lots and lots of good memories.”
He nods quickly, and suddenly a woman is kneeling in front of him. “Oh, honey,” she says softly.
“We’ll see you around, okay?” I tell the kid as I stand.
I close my eyes and take my three deep breaths. But I’m learning that letting myself feel a little with the people around me helps us both.
The woman takes my place on the bench, and I start back toward the offices. I get why Mom lets herself cry. Feel. I also understand what we do now. How we help people through this process. Why Dad never comes up for dinner. Finally.
Bree bumps my hip as I near the offices. “Look at you being all sensitive.”
My job is harder than it’s ever been, but I love it more too.
“There’s a tall guy in the offices asking for a kiss,” she teases. Funny how she used to prefer the bodies to the mourners and has now switched. Either way, I’m glad she’s here and happy for the help.
I grin and swipe at the outside corners of my eyes.
The second I push through the swinging door into the offices, Hartman tugs me into his arms and plants a kiss on my lips.
I playfully push him away. “I could have terrible breath!”
“I couldn’t care less.” He holds me tighter, and in seconds we’re wrapped up together in one of those fantastic kisses that doesn’t have a solid start or stop.
When we break away, we both gasp for air.
His fingers slide over the fabric of my dress, making me shiver.
“Dinner tonight?” he asks.
“Audrey’s tonight. No boys allowed.”
“That’s right,” Bree says as she steps into the room. “But why don’t you two go out after? Mickey and I want to watch Jessie, and we could do without Gabe commentary.”
“Is she that bad with the interruptions?” Hartman laughs a little, his body shaking against mine.
“Worse.” Bree’s smile is teasing. She picks up another prepared plate for the table. “Sad people eat a lot.”
“You go work.” Hartman taps my rear. “I’ll see you tonight after Audrey’s. I just had a few minutes, and I wanted to see you.”
I slowly pull myself away. “See you tonight.”
And then I hold open the door for Bree, who makes a kissy face and laughs.
I lean in the doorway of the offices and look out at my life in the lobby of the funeral home. People talk in quiet voices in small groups. Matthew winks at Bree, who rolls her eyes. Mom touches Dad on the shoulder as she passes him by. Liza stands just outside the glass door with her cigarette, even though she knows she needs to be farther away than that to smoke.
Bree still misses Bryce. Her parents are still going through their own crisis instead of helping Bree with hers. My little sister makes me almost as insane as my Aunt Liza. But all this madness is what makes my story interesting, worth telling, worth lasting. All the good and bad and terrible and wonderful things have become a part of me.
I get it now. Forevers are everywhere.
Acknowledgments
I will say this every time a book releases—writing a book to put out in the world is a group effort. From readers to friends to publishers to agents to families, a lot more people are involved than just the author.
To my always amazing agent, Jane Dystel, thank you for taking care of all the boring stuff so I can save my brain for the fun stuff. In other words, thank you for helping me continue to grasp on to the small bits of sanity I hold dear.
A huge thank-you to the author-readers for this book: Christa Desir, Melanie Jacobson, Tiffany Odekirk, and Allison Martin—boy, did you read rough drafts.
And another huge thank-you to my Sisters in Writing, my Suite Sisters, my Storymakers Tribe, and my Binders. You are proof that there is power in numbers.
There have been so many author friends who are just stellar human beings, and I call myself lucky to know them and have their support—Jenny Proctor, Wendy Jessen, Courtney Stevens, Steph Campbell, Nyrae Dawn, Amber Argyle, Rachel Larsen, J. Scott Savage, Steve Bohls, Kaylee Baldwin, Chantele Sedgwick…and so many more.
As always, massive thanks to the Albert Whitman team. Wendy, you seem to always know what I’m trying to do and help me bring that out in my story.
Every year, I’m grateful again that people are still reading books. Thank you, thank you, readers.
And finally, no book would make it out into the world without my family being amazingly patient with my scattered writer brain. Love you.
More Great Reads from Jolene Perry
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Praise for Jolene Perry:
“The romance is sweet and believable.”—Kirkus Reviews on The Summer I Found You
“[Perry] offers a portrait, rare in YA, of the way compassionate, functional families work and the good effects they can produce.”—Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books on Stronger Than You Know
“Breathlessly captures that adolescent moment of being torn between an old life and the possibility of the new as well as romance and the dangers and exhilarations of physical contact.”—School Library Journal on Has to Be Love
Jolene Perry is a middle and high school teacher turned author. She married the guy she kissed on her high school graduation night, has spent months sailing in the Caribbean, and lives in the mountains of Alaska. She is the author of several novels for young adults, including Has to Be Love, Stronger Than You Know, and The Summer I Found You.
