A Life, Forward: A Rowan Slone Novel

by Tracy Hewitt Meyer

  Gran led me and Trina to the front row. I sat on the aisle seat with Gran beside me and Trina beside her. Dad’s casket was only a few feet from me. If I reached out, I wouldn’t be able to touch him, but his face was so close I could see the pasty white makeup.

  As the preacher greeted everyone in a low, droning voice, I watched my father’s chest waiting for it to rise and fall. At one point I thought it did, and I shuddered, grabbing Gran’s hand. When she squeezed her bony fingers around mine, I realized I was mistaken and sat back in my seat.

  Throughout the service Gran kept my hand in hers, but I couldn’t feel anything. I only knew it was there because I stared down at our hands and saw that the fingers were intertwined. She was also holding Trina’s hand.

  I turned in my seat to see who was there. There were eleven people: me, Trina, Gran, Jess, Mike, Mrs. Anderson, Mr. Anderson, Miss J., Janie, Angel, and Dad’s friend, Ron.

  The preacher asked if anyone wanted to say anything, but no one spoke up. What was there to say? After an uncomfortable silence, the preacher cleared his throat and asked us to bow our heads. Within the blink of an eye the service was over, and people were passing me between them like I was an infant at a baptism. How ironic that the hugs I had longed for yesterday only made me feel sick today. Even Gran’s arms made my insides cringe.

  A statue couldn’t have stood more still than me, though, with stony hands folded across my stomach. People’s words and caresses rolled off me like rain droplets. And far too soon after, I found myself in a car, driving to the cemetery.

  I was in the car with Miss J. and Jess. Mike and his parents were in the car behind us, then Gran and Trina. Janie and Angel had hugged me tight at the end of the ceremony and quietly slipped away. The rest of us followed a long black hearse that meandered through our small country town.

  This area had one place where most people were buried. I had never been there and as we passed underneath the iron arch that marked the entrance, I knew I never wanted to come back. It was a dismal place filled with fake flowers and wasted lives.

  The hearse drove pass row after row of stone tombstones standing stoic like small soldiers. A light, freezing rain blanketed the surrounding trees with tiny crystals. When the car stopped near the burial site, I got out and felt the rain cascade over me like a caress from death itself.

  Ahead, there was a canopy. Under that canopy there was a hole. And in that hole was where my dad would rest.

  My heels sunk into the earth as I walked arm-in-arm with Jess to the burial site. Since Dad had few friends, Mrs. Anderson asked men from church to carry the casket. These men spilled out of the hearse and then proceeded to pull my father’s casket out of the back.

  Their feet squished into the sodden earth, and I could tell they struggled to keep the heavy wood on their shoulders. But they made it and rested the casket on the top of some sort of metal frame.

  After the men were free of the weight, they moved to the back of our miniscule group. I wished I could stand back there with them, aloof and untouched by what was happening. But I couldn’t. I was here, seated once again in front of my dad, my heart hurting so bad I feared it would burst. Then they could bury me with him when I died.

  The preacher started to speak. I would hear his somber cadence in my nightmares if I let myself listen. His voice quivered in the cold. I could see his breath escape his mouth, like little ghosts, each time he spoke. But I didn’t hear the words. I heard nothing.

  Then everyone was standing. Hands were back on my shoulders. Somehow Trina’s hand had made it into mine. Jess stood on my other side and my ears reopened.

  The preacher was still talking. “The Andersons have been nice enough to invite everyone back to their house for a light lunch. You are all welcome.”

  Mike stood behind me and put an arm around my shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I know you two didn’t always get along, but I’m sure it still hurts.”

  I nodded. His arm felt heavy, weighing me down when all I really wanted to do was fly away—fly far, far away. I let him comfort me because I knew that was the right thing to do.

  When Gran came up, he squeezed my shoulder and moved away. Gran was crying, tears pooling in her deep-set wrinkles. “I’ve known him since he was in high school. I just can’t believe it. Despite everything he did, he was like a son to me.” She covered her mouth with a tissue and sobbed into it. She shook her head and walked over to the casket where she pulled a rose from the arrangement and tucked it into her purse.

  “You okay?” Trina asked. Her hand slid into mine.

  I nodded. “You?”

  “Yeah, I guess. I mean, it doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel like he’s really in there. Ya know?”

  I did know.

  “I’m going to go see Mom later. Gran’s coming, too. Do you want to come?”

  I shook my head.

  For once, Trina didn’t make a nasty comment. Instead she said, “I’m going to walk Gran back to the car. See you at the Anderson’s.”

  I nodded again and watched her walk toward Gran, her heels sinking into the earth. That was the most normal conversation Trina and I had had in years.

  Miss J. and Jess flanked either side of me like two stoic body guards. I didn’t try to smile—they wouldn’t expect it anyway. “I need a minute, okay?” I said. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Okay,” Miss J. said. She and Jess took several steps away, opened an umbrella, and stood under it with the preacher. They were just out of ear shot, which was good, because I had something to say.

  I fell to my knees by his casket, my weight pushing into the soft earth.

  “You’re a bastard,” I whispered. I laid my hands on the smooth wood watching my fingers shake from the cold, from his death. “You were a bully and a bad father.” Tears started in my eyes. “But you were my father, and I can’t believe you’re actually in there.”

  The moisture blinded me. “You don’t belong in there.” I shook my head, my hair swinging around my face. It was as if the more I believed he shouldn’t be in there, the more everything would change and he would suddenly come walking up the road.

  “I didn’t kill Aiden. You know that now. After all of these years, you know that. I didn’t kill him. He was a light. I loved him so much. I. Didn’t. Kill. Him.”

  Sobs wracked through my body, leaving my shoulders heaving.

  “But I did love you.” I took several deep, shuddering breaths. “Somewhere inside my heart, I still love you. And I’m sorry that you’re gone. And you know what, Dad?” I laid my forehead against the wood. “I know you loved me, too.”

  Then I collapsed and stayed there until Miss J. and Jess picked me up and carried me away.

  WHEN I left Dad’s side something in me felt different, like I was floating through the air, suspended in time and space. The freezing rain had changed to snow and soon the air in front of me was alight with white, miniscule angels.

  “It’s beautiful.” I stopped. The burial site was to my back, the car parked ahead. But right here in front of me now was a parade of hundreds of fluffy little bursts of beauty.

  The sky was a grayish blue, cloud-covered but still bright somehow. Even the clouds couldn’t stop the sun shining. But it was the snowflakes that were mesmerizing. As they landed on my face, cooling my skin, I raised my palms. Then I closed my eyes and relished the feel of the flakes against my lids. It was almost like little angels were planting light kisses on my skin.

  When I finally opened my eyes again, I saw that Miss J. and Jess were doing the same thing. And on that day of all days, when death had entered my life for the second time in my eighteen years, I felt okay.

  “I’m ready.”

  WHEN THE three of us got to the Anderson’s, Mrs. Anderson and Gran were in the kitchen laying out food. Mike and Trina sat in the living room. Mike was on the couch surrounded by Delilah and Levi, Trina on the opposite chair. She was flung back in the seat, arms hanging over the armrests, like she was as bored a
s life could make her. But when she saw us, she popped up, dashed across the room, and flung herself into me. I stumbled backward and Miss J. helped keep me from falling. Though Trina clung to me like a lifeline, my arms stayed by my sides.

  “Oh, Rowan! Thank God you’re here. I need my sister!” Suddenly she was weeping into my shoulder. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” she sniffed. “I just can’t believe it.”

  Trina’s wailing brought in Gran and Mrs. Anderson from the kitchen and Mr. Anderson from the study.

  “Is everything okay?” Mike’s dad asked, his voice gruff.

  Mrs. Anderson, though, always ready to lend a warm embrace, hurried over. “Dear sweet girls. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

  I bristled at Mrs. Anderson calling Trina a dear sweet girl. But I didn’t want to lose that feeling of contentment I’d gained at the cemetery. If ignoring Trina’s neurotic rants accomplished that, then I would leave her be.

  Mike’s eyes locked on mine and after Mrs. Anderson peeled a heaving Trina off my body, I went to sit beside him on the couch. Several inches separated us.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked, stroking Delilah’s head. The dog opened one eye and snorted. Levi, all eighty pounds of him, tried to sit on my lap again. Most of him fit, pushing me deep into the couch’s soft cushions. I leaned back so I could look at Mike.

  “I’m good, all things considered.”

  “It was a nice service.”

  I nodded. “Yes. It was nice.”

  Several minutes passed, each of us petting our own dog, neither of us speaking. Finally, he said, “I have to leave in an hour. Can we go somewhere and talk?”

  Leaving in an hour. It was almost like he hadn’t even been here. But he had been. And he’d seen the scars to prove it.

  “Do you want to go upstairs?”

  He shook his head. “Dad’s in the kitchen so we can go into the study.”

  I nodded and gave Levi a gentle push until he moved off my lap. When Mike slid out from under Delilah, she tilted her head up then turned her butt toward him.

  “Where are you two going?” Gran asked, though her words were curious, not invasive.

  “We’re going to go talk a minute before he goes.”

  “Okay.” She smiled—not the wide kind, but the soft, sweet grandma kind. I didn’t return the smile. Something told me that what was coming didn’t call for cheery expressions.

  MR. ANDERSON’S study was small and square, an addition to the original house with red brick walls and drafty windows. There was a fireplace across from the wooden desk and several diplomas and artwork leaned against one wall, waiting to be hung. A brown leather recliner sat in one corner and that was the only furniture other than the desk and chair.

  I liked this room, but I rarely came in here even though Mr. Anderson told me I could use the computer anytime. I didn’t belong in the middle of Mr. Anderson’s bills, letters, and magazines. Besides, I had my own computer, an ancient laptop that ran slower than a turtle racing against a hare. But it was mine and worked well enough.

  Mike shut the door and turned. “Are you okay?”

  I rubbed my arms. “I’m hanging in there.”

  “You’re not going to, you know.” He looked at my arm and waved his hand at me. “Cut yourself.”

  My mouth fell open. When I searched his face, I found concern there, but I also found judgment. “No, Mike. I’m not. I haven’t done that in months, and I don’t plan to start doing it now.”

  “Don’t plan to? You’re sick, Rowan. Sick. I mean, you need help.”

  Fury erupted in me like a volcano. “Listen.” I stepped forward. “I don’t need your judgment or your accusations or your false worry. I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

  “It doesn’t seem like it to me.”

  My hand itched to swing out and slap his handsome face. But that face wasn’t as handsome as it used to be. It was harder, more angular, more severe. He’d shaved this morning, but dark stubble still peeped through. Something had changed in my boyfriend since he left this summer; something that I did not like.

  Maybe, though, just maybe, I had changed, too.

  “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again—I am not your charity case. Back off, Mike. This is in the past.”

  “But how? How is it in the past?” He stared at me a hard moment then blurted, “That’s why you always wear long sleeves. My God, Rowan, you can’t even wear normal clothes.”

  If someone threw me into the middle of a tornado, I wouldn’t have felt more frazzled, confused, stirred up. “This is me, Mike. Take it or leave it.” The shakiness in my voice disproved my strong words.

  He was silent, eyes focused on my arm. It started to burn under his gaze, and I had to clench my fist to keep from scratching the dozen lines, from tracing the ugly A.

  Sometimes I still wanted to cut but I didn’t.

  I. Didn’t. Cut.

  My legs were covered in silky light hairs because I refused to hold a razor between my fingers. I’d bent over backward, writing in my journal, studying late into the night, putting more hours in at the shelter, just to occupy my mind.

  I didn’t cut anymore.

  I didn’t cut anymore.

  I don’t cut anymore.

  I don’t cut anymore.

  “I DON’T CUT anymore!” A soft knock on the door was the only thing that interrupted my screams.

  “Rowan, are you okay?” Miss J.’s soft voice carried through the heavy wood.

  My body erupted in shivers and shakes, and soon I had to sit in that large leather chair, the first time my butt had ever been on its surface.

  I locked eyes with Mike, willing him to expose my secret, willing him to expose his judgment of it. But he looked away, unable to hold my gaze.

  “We’ll be right out,” I said.

  “Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”

  We were quiet as the ticking of Mr. Anderson’s clock drummed on.

  “I need to go,” Mike said. “I have practice tomorrow morning.”

  I nodded, a welcome numbness washing over me.

  He didn’t move, though. I stared into the fireplace, unable to look at this stranger standing before me.

  “Rowan, I love you.”

  I couldn’t tame the flash of anger in my eyes. “You have a funny way of showing it,” I spat.

  “No, I don’t,” he spat back. “If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t care what you did to yourself.”

  My teeth clenched so hard, I thought I heard them crack. “If you love me, then you have to understand that that part of my life is over. I don’t…do that anymore.”

  “I wish I could believe you.”

  “Then why don’t you? I’ve never lied to you.”

  “No, but you sure have kept a lot from me. I thought we were closer than that.”

  His words were like jabs from a sharp knife, piercing straight to my soul.

  “No one knew. No one knows. Mike, this has nothing to do with you.”

  “It has everything to do with me. I’m your boyfriend. We’re supposed to be close, or had you forgotten that little detail?”

  I wanted to pick up the silver cup that Mr. Anderson won at a golf tournament and hurl it at his head. Never had I felt like being so violent toward him, but there was no reasoning here. Some of what he said made sense, but fury clouded over everything that came out of my mouth. He knew my secret and he was using it against me; using it to judge me.

  Several words danced across my tongue and every single one was shaped with a fanged bite, shaped to hurt him as much as the accusation behind his eyes was hurting me. But something stopped me. Instead, I swallowed those shredding words and said, “It’s time for you to go, isn’t it? You don’t want to be late.”

  He tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. I couldn’t stand another minute of his brain working to define me, to define me because I used to cut.

  I jumped out of the chair. “I need to walk Levi.” I swept
out the door without so much as a whispered word or a gentle touch of goodbye.

  All heads turned toward me when I breezed into the living room like I didn’t have a care in the world. “I’m going to go for a walk. I’ll be back.” Levi must’ve known something was up because he was already at the door, standing underneath his leash.

  “I’m coming with you,” said Miss J. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, and I didn’t argue.

  Miss J. put on her coat. Jess was asleep on the couch, her hand resting on the tiny little mound of her stomach.

  WE WERE ten minutes into the walk before Miss J. spoke. “Is there anything you want to talk about?” We were at the edge of the park near Mike’s house. For a place that was usually crowded with people and animals there was no one else around. I unleashed Levi, threw his ball, and watched him tear off after it. I sat on a bench. Miss. J. sat beside me.

  “What’s going on?” she asked again, though her words weren’t demanding or invasive. Care shaped her words, and I welcomed that. But instead of answering her, I shimmied out of my coat and pulled up the sleeve on my left arm.

  Miss J. gasped, but then I watched her lips clamp shut as she reached out her hand and ran feather-light fingers over the scars. “Do they still hurt?”

  “No. They’re healed.”

  “When was the last time…?”

  “That day at the hospital. Last year.”

  “When you found out the truth?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you haven’t since?”

  “No.”

  She turned in her seat so she could better see my arm and pulled it close to her eyes. “I can guess what the A stands for?”

  I nodded. Levi didn’t bring his ball back. As was typical of him, he seemed to sense that I needed a moment.

  She pulled my sleeve down and sat back, scanning the horizon.

  “That’s it?” I watched her from the corner of my eye.

  “That’s it.” She didn’t turn back toward me. “I worry about you, Rowan. But I am also excited for you. There are great things waiting for you.” She patted my leg. “You’re going to be okay. I can feel it.”