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“How bad?” I ask, voice cracking as I fight to swallow the lump in my throat.
He’s silent for a moment, and all I can do is pray.
“Bad,” is all he says.
I slam on the gas, vowing that I will do whatever I have to do to get to her. I just hope it’s fast enough.
“I’m on my way,” I tell my best friend and hang up.
I hold an image of Keaton in my mind, the vision of the life I dreamed for us, the future we could have had, and pray that I make it to her before it’s too late.
Part 3
The Funeral
It seems to always rain at funerals. I'm not sure why, but it's fitting. As if it would be offensive for the sun to shine on a day like this.
No; the sun has no place here today. Not when my family has to bury my older brother. Sink him slowly into the cold, hard ground and leave him there. Never to come home again. Never to see the light of day.
The clouds are dark and gray, much like our moods. The sky weeping alongside us, mourning the loss of such a beautiful soul.
Father Aster commences with the burial prayer, reciting the standard ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Mechanically, I step forward, grabbing a handful of dirt and tossing it onto my brother’s casket. Other family members follow suit, but I’m too dazed to register much of it.
None of this seems real. I can’t make sense of the fact that my brother is gone. That we’ll leave here today without him.
My mother collapses into my father’s arms, wailing over the loss of her firstborn. He holds her like the dutiful husband he portrays to the world. I can’t decipher whether this is an act, or if he clings to her for the same reason she clings to him. He’s lost his pride and joy. His favorite child. It’s killing him the same way that it is her — maybe more.
His eyes lift to meet mine for the briefest of moments, shaded beneath the canopy of his umbrella. He may not say it, but I see the words hidden away in the depths of that single look.
It should have been you.
And for once, I might actually agree with him. Because what do I have to live for now?
Chapter 65
I stopped only once for gas. Even that seemed to take too long. I didn’t know how long I had.
Not when Keaton’s life hangs in the balance.
When I finally reach Sancte Alto city limits, my mind floods with visions of the last time this happened. When Tommy got into his accident. I was too late then. Too late to say goodbye. That I loved him. That I’d do everything I could to take care of Mom. Even Dad.
But I hadn’t made it in time. He took his last breath while I raced to the hospital.
The guilt and shame I felt that day has never left me. I wear it all the time and am certain that the weight of those emotions is what pushes me to do the stupid and rash things that I do.
Today, if history repeats itself — if I lose her — I don’t know that I’ll be able to cope with that. The way we left things, she was so mad at me. She had every right to be, too. My ability to communicate my actions is often lacking. Given my past, it’s no wonder. But that isn’t an excuse. I have to do better. We both do.
As the hospital lights come into view, I send up a silent prayer — a vow — to do everything in my power to make things right by Keaton. To communicate better, and work through our problems without fighting. I’ll fix myself, my family, and the dysfunction, if only her life is spared.
It’s not her time. She has so much left to live for. Her mom. Her brother.
Me.
I need her.
God… the way I need her.
