See You at Harry's (16 page)

I follow Sara downstairs to join the others. My mom looks small. She’s wearing another Mona shawl. She looks like she’s hiding in it. My dad wears an old suit that looks too tight. They are both pale and distant looking. Holden hands me my coat and helps me put it on. I feel Charlie’s fireman in my pocket and bite my bottom lip. I don’t want to cry today. I just want to be a stone.

The parking lot is already filling up when we get to the restaurant. We park in the back and go in through the kitchen. It’s been almost a week since I’ve been here. A few of the regular cooks are busy heating up the various dishes people dropped off. They hug my mom and dad and cry. We inch closer to the swinging door that leads to the dining room, where people are already gathering.

The door swings open and the minister comes in. He shakes my dad’s hand and pats my mom’s shoulders.

“The chairs are all set up, and people are starting to settle in,” he says.

My parents latch on to each other as if they are holding each other up. Sara and Holden both reach for my hands.

“The table looks beautiful,” the minister says. “The flowers are perfect. I understand you didn’t bring the urn with you.”

My mom shakes her head.

I hadn’t thought about an urn. That there would be one. My grandparents died before I was born, and I’ve never been to a funeral before. But I guess they must put the ashes in something. I squeeze my eyes shut to try to erase the thought of Charlie in some sort of vase. All of Charlie in some tiny bottle. It feels so wrong. So impossible.

We wait a bit longer in the kitchen while the minister goes out to the dining room to welcome people. Though I guess
welcome
isn’t the best word. The smell of all the food heating up is making me feel sick to my stomach. The tag inside the collar of my shirt starts to scratch.

Finally, the minister comes back to get us. There’s a row of empty seats saved for us in the front of the dining room, and we all sit down. I don’t look out at the sea of people crammed into the restaurant. I look at my hands in my lap. After we’re all seated, the minister goes to the front of the room and stands next to the table with the flowers and Charlie’s photo in a large frame. Charlie’s brown hair looks like it’s glowing, with the beautiful fall light shining through. Sara took the photo when she and my mom brought Charlie apple picking a week or so before — before. Holden and I didn’t want to go, and my dad was working. They came home with apple-cider doughnuts and two bags of apples. Charlie kept pulling apples out of the bag to show me and Holden which ones he’d picked. We told him he couldn’t possibly know which ones were which, but he just scowled at us and said, “Do, too.”

“These are the times when words fail us,” the minister says, making eye contact around the room. “It isn’t often that I’m asked to preside over a child’s memorial service. And I admit, when I am, I take pause. I wonder, like many of you are probably wondering, how this could happen? We search inside ourselves. We may even question our faith. But always, I do find faith.”

All will be well,
I think. What a load of crap. What is there to have faith in? That bad things happen? That life isn’t fair?

“When my own sister died, a friend shared a poem with me by Merrit Malloy. It’s called ‘Epitaph,’ and I’ve kept it in my wallet for years because I find comfort in the words.”

He clears his throat and begins to read. It starts with the line “When I die,” so I stop listening. I don’t want to hear that word. I don’t want to feel its meaning.

My hand tingles with the memory of Charlie’s sticky one in mine. I reach over and take Holden’s hand to stop the feeling. It’s warm and dry, and he holds on as tight as I do.

“ ‘Look for me in the people I’ve known,’ ” the minister reads.

I close my eyes.
No, Charlie. No. I want to see all of you, not pieces.
I squeeze Holden’s hand harder and feel tears slip down my cheeks. My throat aches so much. I am choking on these words.

“ ‘Love doesn’t die, people do,’ ” the minister continues. “ ‘So, when all that’s left of me is love, give me away.’ ”

He says the last words very slowly, carefully, as if he wants to make sure their meaning sinks in. I hate them.

When all that’s left of me is love, give me away.

How could I ever do that? Why would I want to do that?

“Today these words may seem too radical to bear,” the minister says, as if he read my mind. “I know they were to me when I first read them. But over the years, as I think of my sister and the love she spread, I am inspired by this goal. Love doesn’t die. No. Love never dies. And your love for Charlie will not fade. It will grow.”

Beside me, I feel Sara’s shoulders shake as she cries, and I reach over and take her hand in my free one.

“But do not let that love be out of guilt. You all provided Charlie with a beautiful childhood. Many of the people who work at this restaurant have shared stories about Charlie. About his beloved Doll and the pure joy he took in every moment. How he waited at the window every day for his sister Fern to come from school. How he loved his sisters and brother the way only a youngest child can.”

I squeeze my sister’s hand harder and on my other side, Holden’s. I don’t know if I can bear to hear more. I don’t know if I can keep myself from screaming, I hurt so much.

“Charlie was a very special child. Like all children. And so I ask you today to embrace that love you have for Charlie. Let it heal your heart. Let it guide you tomorrow and all the days of your lives. That is the kind of love that is a gift you
can
give away and still never be without.”

Warm tears drip down my cheeks, but I don’t wipe them away. I clutch Holden’s and Sara’s hands tighter.

The minister bows his head, and we all do the same. There’s a long, stretched-out silence that’s only interrupted by the sniffs of people crying. And finally a quiet song the minister sings without any music. But I don’t listen to the words, because all I can think of is Charlie and all that is left of him.

When the minister finishes singing, he quietly puts out the candle that was on the table.

And then it’s over.

T
HE MINISTER MOTIONS
for our family to stand, so we get up and walk to the back of the restaurant. Then people start to come toward us. There are so many. Regulars from the restaurant. People from school. Strangers. They hug my parents. And some of them hug me. I notice that not everyone is coming over to us and I’m glad. From the back, I see the staff bringing out food from the kitchen, and some people I recognize as regulars from the restaurant help spread the dishes out on a few tables they are already moving back into place.

“I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m so sorry.” The familiar words thrum in my ears over and over again. Men’s voices. Women’s voices. Quietly. Gently. Someone hugs me and gets their wet tears on my cheek. I wipe them on my shoulder. I don’t know why they make me feel sick.

Then Cassie is standing in front of me with her parents. She hugs me, but she doesn’t say she’s sorry. She doesn’t say anything. She just holds on.

“You let us know if you need anything, honey,” her mom says. “Anything at all. You come over any time you want.” She and Cassie’s dad both hug me, too. As Cassie walks away, she looks back at me over her shoulder, as if she’s checking to make sure I didn’t disappear.

When Gray comes up to us, he seems uncomfortable. “Hey, Fern,” he says without looking at me. “I, um . . . I’m really sorry about what happened. It sucks.”

I nod.

He moves on to Holden, who doesn’t say a word but wraps his arms around Gray and hides his face in his neck and cries into him. Gray looks like he doesn’t know what to do. He also looks so
big
next to Holden like that. He’s a lot taller and filled-out-looking next to skinny Holden. Gray holds him like he is more of a dad than a boyfriend. Like he wants to protect him. Their long hug starts to back up the line, so people start to go around them. At one point, I see my dad glance over with a sort of surprised look. It’s the first time he’s seen Gray, and I think maybe he is shocked to see just how much older Gray really is. Or maybe just to see them hugging.

I see Sara notice them, too. And I wish she had someone here to hold her like that. Or like Cassie held me. But all her friends are away at school. All she has is the restaurant staff to hang out with, and that can’t be much fun since, except Gil, they’re all way older than she is. For the first time, I realize how truly lonely she must be. I understand why she would sneak off to kiss Gil.

When Ran’s parents get to me, they hug me close. I can feel all their unspoken words and sorrow in the way they hold me. I look around to see where Ran could be, but I don’t see him anywhere, and they don’t explain his absence.

When we finally get through the line of people and Holden lets go of Gray, the minister gathers my family into a small circle.

“You all holding up?” he asks.

No one replies, but I’m sure we’re all thinking,
Not really.

“Well, there is a beautiful spread here. Plenty of food and seats. If you need to get some fresh air, it will be fine to step outside. People will probably want to offer their support one more time before they leave.”

My dad leads Sara and my mom to a table in the corner. My mom looks even more empty than she did earlier.

Holden and Gray walk over to another table, leaving me standing alone with the minister. He smiles at me and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Sara, I hope you and your family know that even though you don’t belong to our church, you can call or e-mail me any time if you need someone to talk to. I know what an impossibly difficult time this is.”

His face is so gentle and sincere, I can’t bring myself to tell him I’m Fern.

“Thank you,” I say.

He hands me a folded piece of paper. “This is for you to read from time to time. It’s the poem I shared. I hope it will bring you comfort the way it does me.” He squeezes my shoulder and turns to make his way to the people and the food.

I put the paper in my skirt pocket and walk toward the door.

Outside, the air is crisp and cool, despite the sunshine. I walk slowly through the parking lot to the picnic tables and sit down. I breathe in the cold air, letting it hurt my lungs. I cross my legs, careful not to kick Charlie — and then remember again for the thousandth time.

I feel the cold air against my ankles.

Charlie.

The carvings under my arm feel rough. I search for the names we carved — was it only last week? But there are so many, I can’t find them at first. I run my finger over the area I’m sure we used and get a splinter. There.

I rub my aching finger on his name, knowing his fingers touched the same spot. I lean forward and put my cheek against the letters, trying to feel . . . I’m not sure what. The ache in my chest does its familiar move up my throat, but I swallow it back down. I swallow and swallow, my cheek pressed against the table, my finger bleeding over some other name.

With my head on the table, I hear car doors open and close as people begin to leave. And then the rustling of dried leaves behind me. Closer and closer.

I sit up and turn around.

It’s Mr. Seymore. He’s wearing a worn suit and clutching a light-blue envelope to his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, stepping closer. But when he says it, it’s not like the others. When he says it, I know exactly what he means.

He holds out the envelope to me. It shakes in his wobbly hand.

“No,” I say. I don’t know what I mean. No, don’t be sorry? Don’t cry? Don’t come nearer?

“Please,” he says. He steps closer. “I didn’t want to go inside. Didn’t want to upset your folks. But I want your family to have this. I — I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say. I don’t know what’s in the envelope, but if it’s money, it’s something Mr. Seymore really shouldn’t part with.

“It’s my fault,” I say. “I should have looked after him better.”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t see him. I didn’t pull out that fast. Always take my time so I don’t get into a fender bender. I’ve done that before. But I was being real careful.”

“I know,” I say. “You didn’t hit him. You stopped in time.”

“But I scared him, poor kid. And he fell back.”

“He was running away from me. I was the Big Bad Wolf.”

He shakes his head again. “Didn’t see a thing. I looked. I was real careful.”

“He was running,” I say again. “He was running away from me. I wasn’t playing with him, so he made up this game.”

I wish he would stop shaking his head. It isn’t going to make any of it not true.

He holds out the envelope again. “Please,” he says. “It’s not much, but —”

“I can’t.” I look again at his worn clothes and remember his old beat-up car. “It wasn’t your fault. It was mine.”

“Fern?” Ran walks toward us through the crunchy leaves.

Mr. Seymore turns toward him, then back to me.

“Please keep that,” I say. “Please.”

His mouth trembles, but he finally nods. He puts the envelope back inside his jacket. I see a hole in the worn elbow of his suit jacket when he bends his arm. He walks away slowly, careful not to trip on something hidden in the leaves.