Every Little Piece (25 page)

When Kama’s parents let go of her, she steps toward Brin’s mom. This time Haley makes the first move. She drops to her knees in front of Brin’s mom and her lips move, the words tumbling out. I don’t know what she’s saying, but the tension in her face relaxes, and peace takes its place. The minister taps the microphone and welcomes everyone. Haley slides in next to Brin’s mom, who has her arm around Haley.

I am jealous. I want to be there, to hold her, to comfort her. But I lost that place last year when I ran, when I caused everything. While everyone finds seats, I need to make my exit. With my head down, I move slowly to the back and leave. If I stay, I’ll completely lose it. The words build in my chest. I need to talk with Brin and Kama. I haven’t been able to say a word to them all year. It’s like my heart was frozen and all my feelings were trapped in that block of ice.

Slowly and surely, I’m thawing. I desperately need to apologize, even though that won’t bring them back or give them a second chance. Now more than ever I need this. To let go. To take responsibility.

Even if it means I lose everything too.

I’m vaguely aware of the tiny details. The smell of roses and carnations and lilies lining the front of the church. The chatter and whispers of my high school classmates behind me. The smell of my own fears. The pounding in my head and the small pulses of pain in my body from Jamie’s hug.

Those details swirl in the air and swarm my senses. I’m here at their memorial service but I haven’t looked at their picture yet and I haven’t opened the invitation, which is still in my pocket. I know what it says but I don’t need the words branded into my brain. I’m afraid that’s all I’ll remember from this day, and there’s so much more I want to remember. So much more.

I feel like a ghost. Like my body is here and I’m looking down from above as I entered and smiled and acted like the past year was great. They smiled at me. They hugged me. But they all avoided the issue. With me. In their circles when they didn’t know I was there, they were sharing stories about Kama and Brin. They were laughing and remembering in a way that I haven’t been able to. I can’t go there. I haven’t let myself.

But maybe I need that. I desperately crave that. To laugh and remember them without the fog blinding me from what I loved about them the most.

But I can’t. Not when I’m here, and they’re not.

Brin’s mom squeezes my hand and tears spring to my eyes. She wants to say something. I want to say I’m sorry and beg her forgiveness. Now’s the moment. I might not get another chance. The minister is about to speak and then we’ll all sing and move onto refreshments. The crowds will swallow me as Justine makes sure I’m facing everyone. Isn’t that the goal? Isn’t that the whole reason I’m here? To talk? To move on?

The words build in my chest and my heart rate spikes. My palms grow sweaty and I pull my hand away from Brin’s mom and wipe it on my pants. I swallow the huge lump in my throat.

“I’m sorry,” I say. But someone coughs behind us and my words are swallowed as if I never spoke them. Brin’s mom is staring at the picture of her daughter, lost in the past. She didn’t hear my weak apology.

Doubts crashes in. How can I do this? I shouldn’t even be here. The guilt and shame ripples across my neck and face.

The room hushes as the pastor walks down the aisle. I want to run but I can’t now. It’s too late. He makes his way through the flowers and stands at the podium. I glance at Justine about five rows back. She air hugs me. I can’t believe I’m here, and I haven’t even opened the envelope. It’s too late now. The tearing of paper would be too loud. Brin and Kama’s mom would see that I haven’t even read it.

The pastor reads from the bible and then launches into his speech. The words fall on my dry and brittle heart. I block him out.

Kama’s mom whispers to me. “Thank you so much for today. It must be hard but the girls would love it, and I know they’re looking down from heaven and listening.”

“You’re welcome.” I say the words but I’m not sure at our exchange. I had nothing to do with today. In fact, I almost didn’t come. No one should be thanking me.

Kama’s mom isn’t done. “We wouldn’t have been able to move on without the mystery behind this being wrapped up.”

I choke. They must’ve finally come to the conclusion that it was me. Driving carelessly in the rain after my boyfriend.

“So it’s proper and fitting that you’re here.” She pats my knee. “We tried for months to contact you. We talked to your parents and they said they’d relay the message.”

Guilt wraps its hands around my neck and squeezes. I close my eyes and take deep breaths. They figured out it was me, couldn’t find me, so talked to my parents. Except, I’ve been ignoring my parents all year, refusing to listen to what they have to say. They wanted me to come home and talk, that they had things they needed to share with me. I’d assumed the worst and dove into waitressing or hanging out with Tate.

Everyone starts clapping, softly at first. Brin’s mom hugs me and then Kama’s does too. I stare at them, unsure of what prompted their show of affection.

“It’s your turn,” Kama’s mom says.

I glance back at Justine who grimaces but gives me a thumbs-up. The pastor has stepped aside and the microphone is alone, the space in front of it empty. People lean forward in their pews, the pastor smiles kindly, patiently. Expectation is written on their faces. They want to hear my story, my struggles. The realization that I’m supposed to talk sinks in. The curiosity burns in their eyes. They want to hear from the girl who killed her best friends and then dropped out of life.

I have to take shallow breaths to prevent hyperventilation.

The church is silent. The microphone squeaks as someone plays around with the volume. They’re waiting. Each second feels like an eternity in hell as I swallow and try to grasp what I’ve walked into. Stares burn into the back of my head, people waiting, curious, anxious at the impromptu invitation to speak.

The pastor introduces me as a dear and cherished friend of Brin and Kama’s. I still can’t look at their pictures, their perma-smiles or the bright gleam in their eyes. I’m not sure how it happens but I’m standing and walking on shaky legs up to the platform. The pastor mumbles something but I can’t hear him beyond the roaring in my ears. Then I’m standing at the microphone and I don’t even know how I got here. I need to let them know it’s a mistake. Carter or Jamie can give the speech. They knew Kama and Brin, too, and it turns out they were much better friends.

A lone drop of sweat rolls between my shoulder blades. But more builds on my forehead. My body is on fire. The heat burns through my clothing. I stare down at the program, at the smiling faces, but all I see are the blank vacant looks in their eyes the moment they died. The paper crumples as my fingers close around it.

The microphone picks up my breathing and squeals again. I lift my head and feel like a deer in headlights, staring at the faces of my classmates. The place is flooded with people. Family, friends, teachers, community members. Waiting. They want me to remember for them. But I can’t. The memories are locked away.

For a second, I can’t breathe, and I step away. The pastor hands me a glass of water. My hands slide around the cool glass and I take a sip. Then I press it to my forehead and cheeks. I step forward again. The faces blur in front of me. I see all of them. Carly sits in the middle. Her face is pale. My parents and Noah are in the back, probably furious that I left the hospital. Jamie and Carter sit with their pals.

Seth isn’t here.

I flash back to the hospital. Maybe it’s this moment he was talking about. Trying to tell me to come and talk because then I’d feel better. I’d be able to say my goodbyes, find closure. And what did he say? I’d be able to move on and live and love. Without him. He was moving on or away. Something like that.

My face burns but my mind is blank. I can’t see past that night. Rain pelts and blurs my vision. The sound of metal crunching and the feel of losing control and spinning and rolling. The scream of sirens. And the whispers.

The dam in my heart breaks. The tears start and I can’t stop them. I stand there in front of everyone, my head down. The carpet patterns go in and out of focus at my feet. I try to control the tears, to gather myself together but I can’t. I can’t see past my last moments with them.

The car was upside down. For some crazy reason, as the driver, I was protected as I was earlier. The car had been hit from the side. The window shattered into Brin’s face, and the blood dripped down her face, her neck and seeped into her clothing.

I remember screaming. I reached for her and called her name. She rolled her head to the side, the life slipping from her eyes.

“Don’t you dare! You hold on. Help is coming.” Those are the words I said over and over again. Then I glanced in the back seat. Kama didn’t move, her face still. Her eyes gazing off. No life. No life. That’s what I remember. The look of someone who’d left this earth. And I didn’t get a chance to save her or call for help.

“Haley!” Brin croaked.

I focused on her. My hands reached toward her and I grabbed napkins to try and sop up the blood. She tried to talk but then her body seized, shaking violently. Her eyes rolled back and her face turned red and then purple. I screamed her name. The rain kept coming in through the window. I hugged. My arms reaching across the space between us. The shaking stopped and she didn’t say another word.

That was it. I didn’t get a chance to say sorry or that I loved them. Within seconds my friends went from living and breathing souls to just gone. Their bodies were shells and I sat with them for over an hour because the car was crunched and my door was jammed.

The rest was a blur.

Someone coughs in the audience and I snap back to the present. I’m a hypocrite. I can’t give a little speech to help everyone feel better. I’m not ready to laugh at the memories because it seems like yesterday I was in the car with them, when their hearts stopped, and their life slipped away like a dream I couldn’t hold onto in the morning hours.

More tears stream my cheeks. I can’t stop them.

I can’t be this person for them. Another time, maybe in years, I could give this speech. But not now. I need air. I can’t be here. I stumble down the steps and knock over an arrangement of flowers. Faces and the lips move as people gasp and wonder what’s going on. I race down the narrow aisle and slam against the doors.

They fly open. Noah is there. He wraps his arms around me but I jerk away. I scream at him then I stop.

“Noah. You have to go in there and talk to those people. Give the speech that I couldn’t give.” I begged him.

“I’m not leaving you.” Pain reflects in his eyes.

“You have to. I’m going to the cemetery.”

He purses his lips. “Are you sure?”

“Please. I need time alone with them.”

He kisses my cheek. “Okay.”

Then he’s gone, and I’m running. The cemetery is close. Not right next to the church but down the road. I can get there easily within minutes. Maybe I can face my friends in the graveyard. Maybe finally I can talk to them.

I move between the silent graves. The new growth of grass is a carpet under my feet. Life is everywhere. The new buds on the branches, ready to grow into leaves. The scurry of squirrels and their high chatter as they warn their buddies. I plod forward. I know where to go. In the middle of the back left corner.