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“Ohh,” Mom said, understanding lighting her smile.
“So when the girl reached out to Marvin to tell him she wasn’t going to marry Rudy even if her love for Marvin was unrequited, they ran away. To Kasper Ridge. And the whole place was kind of built on this love that they shared. The hunt was kind of a tour of family history for the niece and nephew to discover, and the goal was for them to understand that human connection and love were more important than any physical treasure.”
I raced through the last part, the pain of remembering my own connection to the place, to the people, almost too much to bear. I gritted my teeth and got it out.
“That’s lovely,” Mom said.
My father had nothing to say to that, having long-since abandoned the philosophy that love ruled in favor of hanging onto hatred instead.
“And the man? The pilot?” Mom asked softly, knowing my father would ask eventually, whether he wanted the answers or not.
I dropped my gaze to my lap for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts about Archie. I’d known I couldn’t avoid talking about him forever. What did I need to tell them? What did my father really need to know?
“He’s not a monster,” I managed. “But he’s held onto the pain and guilt over Jake since it happened.”
“He told you that?” Dad asked, suspicious.
“Not in so many words.”
“Of course not.”
“He hasn’t forgiven himself,” I said, defensive of Archie now. My father had no conception of the dark shadow Jake’s death had cast over Archie’s life, no understanding of the pain he carried around every day, believing it was his due.
“Nor should he,” Dad spit out.
I put down my glass and dropped my head into my hands for a moment, exhausted.
“Honey, are you all right?” Mom asked.
I stood, walked to the edge of the deck and stared out at the darkening blue of the ocean. I shook my head. And when I had steeled myself again, I turned to face them.
“No. I’m not all right. None of us are. As long as we live our lives blaming someone who doesn’t deserve it, all we’re doing is stalling. We’re putting off the work of actually dealing with our emotions and—god forbid—moving on with our lives, all in tribute to Jake, who would never have wanted this for any of us! I’ve said this before, but you never hear me.” My voice had risenby the end of this, as if I had to shout to make sure the words came out, hit their target.
Dad stood as if readying for a fight. “You don’t know what Jake would have wanted because he’s not here to tell us, thanks to that man you’re so busy defending.”
Mom watched us, and I realized she was crying, silent tears tracing down the pink skin of her cheeks.
“You didn’t raise my brother and me to be vindictive, hateful people,” I told Dad, figuring I’d come this far—if he never spoke to me again, at least I’d have said the things I needed to say. “You taught us to listen, to give people a chance, and to do our best to be empathetic. You taught us to forgive those who’ve wronged us, to remember that we’re all carrying different loads and to give people the benefit of the doubt. You taught us that everyone is doing the best they can and that there is more goodness than evil in the world.”
Dad opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. The anger blazing in his eyes had begun to morph to something more like sadness.
“Jake and Archie were friends, Dad. How would Jake feel, knowing we’d spent these last few years demonizing someone he’d called a friend? What do you think Jake would tell Archie if he could? Would he scream and yell, blame him for what happened? Never forgive him? Is that the man you raised?”
My father’s face was red, but it was also beginning to crumple in on itself, the sadness inside him warring with the anger he held onto to protect himself.
“Jake was a good man. The best. You made sure of it.” I was crying now, my voice shaking as my throat clogged with love for my brother and for Archie, and a deep sympathy for both of them made it difficult to continue. “And he would never want his friend to live the rest of his life as half a man, living a constant vigil in Jake’s name. He would tell Archie that if he owed himanything as a result of the accident, it would be to spend the rest of his life living enough for both of them, don’t you think?”
Mom let out a sob, and stood to take me in her arms. I let it all go then, letting my head fall onto my mother’s familiar shoulder, breathing in the comfort she always represented. And we cried together as I watched my father stand there, shaking as if waging a war inside himself.
“You’re right, honey. That’s exactly what Jake would have said,” Mom said, her voice full of pain.
She reached an arm out to my father, who stood still for a moment longer, fighting, struggling with the hate he’d carried so long. Finally, he took a step, then another, and then he wrapped his arms around us both, and a strangled moan escaped him and something in me shattered.
Finally, four years after my brother’s death, my family mourned.
After years of resistance, my family cried together for what we’d all lost when my brother had died in that accident. And I thought there was a chance that my parents joined me in the other grief I felt too—grief for the man whose life had stopped that day, even though he’d gone on living.
Eventually, we retook our seats, a dull quiet blanketing the patio. I struggled to pull my emotions back under control, and when I glanced into the faces of my parents, I knew they were doing the same. Even though the moment had been difficult, I could already feel something loosening between us, a wall that had stood around each of us crumbling down.
