When You Were Mine (28 page)

Our phone rings, and for a second I think it’s Charlie, but I haven’t even put down the receiver. Time is doing something funny. Doubling back on itself so that it’s hard to tell when things have occurred. It feels like my parents have been sitting on my bed for years, like there was never a time before I knew Rob was dead. Which would mean—and I can’t even believe I’m thinking this—that there was never a time he was alive.

At the same time, I expect him to come waltzing through my door. To suggest we skip the last day and go see a movie.

My mom stands up, and for the first time I realize she is
dressed. Fully dressed. She has on black pants and a cream sweater and even pearls, which she never wears. I imagine her getting dressed this morning, choosing an outfit that would be able to take her through whatever today might bring. She doesn’t look like herself, and I know she put these clothes on after she heard. That she took the time to look presentable, that she needed to pull herself together in order to stare down the pain she was about to cause me. Before she came in here and told me that Rob was dead.

“I’ll get that,” she says, and she looks at my dad. She puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, and he stands up.

“I’ll come with you,” he says.

My mom looks from me to my dad, and I can tell she’s nervous about leaving me alone.

“I’m just going to get dressed,” I say. “Then I’ll come downstairs.”

My mom looks relieved, but not much, and she kisses me once on the cheek before she disappears with my dad down the hallway.

When I’m alone, it starts to sink in, to bear down on me from all directions so that it feels like I’m suffocating, drowning. I once read somewhere that if you are in a burning building, you should drop to your hands and knees because the air is cleaner down there, or something. I do that now. I’m on the
ground in my room, coughing and sputtering, when Charlie steps inside.

“Oh, God,” she says, in my doorway, and then she’s on the ground next to me, gathering me into her arms.

The funerals take place three days later. Rob’s is in the
morning, Juliet’s in the afternoon. We’re not invited to Juliet’s. My uncle calls and tells my father he doesn’t want him there. They blame Rob’s family for the accident. And, by association, mine.

Juliet’s parents are the only ones who think it was Rob’s fault, though. There are huge skid marks on the road by the Cliffs where Rob’s car went over, and no evidence of any oncoming traffic. The rumors at school are that Juliet grabbed the wheel and led them off the road, free-falling to the water. Tormented, tragic love. Or at least that’s what Olivia said. The worst part is, the rumor keeps building on itself, picking up tiny kernels of truth and spinning them into unrecognizable form. Juliet couldn’t stand that Rob still had feelings for me. She found
out we were seeing each other. If she couldn’t have him, no one would. . . .

Charlie helps me pick out a dress. A black one from Macy’s that feels like plastic when I put it on. Tight and hot and sticky.

“You look nice,” Charlie says with a sad smile. She has basically lived at my house since she came over the other morning. I think she left once to get a toothbrush and change of clothes, but that’s about it.

“Thanks.” I smile wanly. I wonder if Rob would like the dress, and then I push the thought out. I can’t think about that. I can’t think about anything.

When we arrive at the church, everyone is already sitting. My parents go to the front. They sit right behind Rob’s parents, and I can see my mom with her arms around Rob’s mother’s shoulder. Just the way I would sit with Charlie. I wonder what my parents think. Whether they suspect suicide too. Rob’s little brothers sit beside them, their hands in their laps and their faces blank. I motion for Charlie to slide into the back pew, and she does. She doesn’t ask why I don’t want to move more forward, and she doesn’t suggest something different. She just sits. A few seconds later Olivia sits down next to us.

Everyone is dressed in blacks and grays, and it’s impossible to tell anyone apart. I know that somewhere in here are John
Susquich and Matt Lester. I know that Lauren is probably here too, and Dorothy Spellor and maybe even Brittany Fesner. I know that Becky Handon will be here, and Taylor too, and probably even Jason. Mr. Davis and Mrs. Barch and Mr. Johnson. But I can’t tell anyone from anyone else. It reminds me of the first morning of school, of sitting in the back of senior seats with Rob and seeing everyone, and noticing how connected we all were. Except no one feels connected here. We’re not a spiderweb, not even close. We’re just tiny particles of anonymous dust drifting past each other in the darkness. We’re lucky to ever even knock each other off course.

The service is nice enough. Jake gets up and says some things. I’m actually surprised at how well he speaks. It’s like he’s a different person up there, and I wonder why he doesn’t act like this all the time. Why usually he peppers all his sentences with so many words that mean absolutely nothing. But maybe it takes something like death to wake someone up.

My mom asked if I wanted to say anything today. I assume Rob’s parents suggested it, but maybe she thought of it on her own, I don’t know. Either way, I told her no. It’s not that I don’t have things to say. I just don’t know which ones to share. Which stories, I mean. I guess I’m not sure how to remember him. Was Rob my best friend or the guy who broke my heart? Was he my boyfriend or the boy next door? I want to get up there and talk about how he was the one, the person I was supposed to spend
forever with. But I can’t do that. They died together; they’ll always be remembered together. It’s decided, once and for all. He was hers. The rumors don’t matter; they’ll fade. The circumstances and the details will have no relevance after a year or two. People may remember it was suicide, but my name won’t be attached. It will just be the two lovers, fused together forever. Sitting in the church, listening to Jake talk about Rob, I can’t help but keep asking myself this question: How do you mourn something that never really belonged to you?

I feel Charlie reach for my hand, but I tuck it underneath my leg. I don’t want to be that close to anyone right now. The thought of her squeezing my hand twice makes me inexplicably angry. It was fine when we were just talking about heartbreak or book bags, but those traditions shouldn’t carry over into something this serious. None of our theories apply to death. . . . Wasn’t she the one who first figured that out?

“That was nice,” Charlie says when we’re outside. It’s sunny today, too sunny for a funeral. Everyone is wearing sunglasses, like we’re at the beach or something. Olivia is off comforting Ben, and it’s just the two of us standing there.

“Nice?” I didn’t mean for it to come out icy, but as soon as it does, I realize I’m not sorry. Everyone is acting like this is so sad, so tragic. No one has said how wrong this is. How it never should have happened.

“I just mean,” Charlie starts, “that Rob would have liked it.”

“It was his funeral,” I shoot back. “I don’t think he would have been so psyched.”

Charlie, oddly, is not wearing her sunglasses, and she squints at me in the sun.

“I didn’t mean that,” she whispers. “I’m just trying to say—”

“Save it.”

We’re standing by the edge of the cemetery at the Cliffs. If I look over my left shoulder, I can see the two boulders hanging over the ocean. The rocks where Rob and I spent so many nights. The rocks where he kissed me. The rocks where he died. For a second I want to go over to them and jump, to hurl my whole body off that cliff too. I was right to be so scared of falling. There are a million things in this world that can end you, that can in one tiny second obliterate the life you work so hard to keep alive. Our entire lives are structured around not dying. Eating, sleeping, looking both ways before you cross the street. It’s all, all of it, to keep us safe from the thing that we know is going to get us anyway. It doesn’t even make sense, if you think about it. It’s the world’s biggest joke. Our entire lives are set up around not dying, knowing all the while that it’s the one thing we can’t avoid.

But death shouldn’t have come so soon.

The one thing I could have done to save Rob, I didn’t do. I could have invited him in. I could have listened when he said
he missed me. I could have paid attention to the rumors about Juliet. I could have gotten help. Maybe then they wouldn’t have been in the car that night. He wouldn’t have been driving drunk. They wouldn’t be dead.

“This isn’t your fault,” Charlie says beside me. Her arms are crossed around her body, and I can see the goose bumps on her pale, freckled skin. “I don’t care what happened in the car that night or what it had to do with you. It’s not your fault.”

“How the hell would you know?”

Charlie recoils as if I’ve just slapped her, but she doesn’t say anything at first. She just looks down at the grass underneath us and shakes her head. “You think you could have stopped this? That you pull the strings?” She looks at me, hard, and for a minute I’m reminded of the Charlie that I love. The fierce, powerful, won’t-take-crap-from-anyone Charlie.

Maybe it’s because of that that I tell her. “He came back to me.”

She doesn’t look surprised. She doesn’t even uncross her arms. “So what?”

“So what?” I can feel my voice rising. Something in the back of my throat is breaking. Like a guitar string that has just snapped. “He asked to be with me, and I said no. He should have been home in my house that night. He shouldn’t have been driving.”

Charlie shakes her head, but the movement is almost imperceptible, it’s so slight. “It wouldn’t have mattered,” she says.

“Because Juliet grabbed the wheel?” I dare her.

“Not quite.”

“So you don’t believe that? You heard he was in love with me, right? That it drove her to take both their lives?” I’m hissing now, spitting venom. “Why don’t you explain to me how it wasn’t my fault? Because any way you spin this, I could have told him to stay.”

She blinks and glances at the church, then back at me. “Look, you think I like history because I’m fascinated with the possibilities, with how it could have happened, but you’re wrong. I like it because it’s the one thing we actually know in life. The past is the only thing we can count on. The present? The future? They’re anyone’s guess.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that there are some things that are out of our control. Some things that are just
supposed
to
happen
. We can’t stop them. There’s nothing we can do.”

“We have choice,” I say. I taste the word on my tongue and say it again: “Choice.” Not fate or destiny but free will.

“Yes,” Charlie says, “but not about everything.”

“About what, then?” I’m not looking at Charlie anymore. The lump in the back of my throat is bubbling up, and I can feel hot tears begin to sting the backs of my eyes. I won’t cry, though, not here. I’ve cried in front of Charlie hundreds of times, but if
I do it now, here, she will be right. If I cry, I’ll be admitting he’s really gone.

“You can choose to be happy,” Charlie says. She offers the words firmly, like she’s offering me her hand. “You reminded me of that this week. Happiness is a choice, Rose.” I think about sitting in her car earlier on Monday, talking about her mom. It might as well have been years ago. “I think you can choose not to blame yourself too.”

“Hey,” Olivia says. She and Ben have come up behind us. He has his arm around her, tucking her firmly to his side, and her head is on his shoulder. She’s wearing the same black dress she had on for prom last year. I know it has a snag on the zipper from when she couldn’t get it up and Taylor pulled too enthusiastically.

Charlie’s bottom lip is quivering, and Ben lets go of Olivia, drawing Charlie into a big hug. They stay that way for a while. I forget sometimes that they’re related. That everything that happened with Charlie’s mom happened to Ben’s mom too. It’s overwhelming, and for a moment the magnitude of it all, the fact that death has touched all of us, is almost too much to bear.

“Do you guys want to go to Cal Block?” Olivia asks. I expect Charlie to spin around and tell her how insensitive she is being. That we can’t possibly order the special
S
like everything is the same, when Rob and Juliet are dead, but she smiles at Olivia. “Sounds perfect,” she says. “Rose?”

But I’m not looking at them or thinking about
queso
. I’m watching someone who has just left the church. He has on a black suit and a blue tie, and he’s standing by the doors, holding them open as people stream outside.

Len sees me too, and for a moment the world folds in on itself and the ground under us zips us together so that the only thing that exists in the entire universe is the two of us. But he doesn’t make a move to come over to me. He doesn’t even wave. Instead he just tips his head. And that one curl swings down onto his forehead.

Then he turns away and walks back in the direction of the parking lot. I wonder if I’m supposed to feel something, but it’s like all the emotion has been wrung out of me. I just feel empty. I squeeze my eyes shut, and when I open them again, Charlie is looking at me. “What do you think?” she asks gently. “Cal Block?”

I shrug to say,
Sure, whatever, I don’t care. Nothing matters. Nothing even exists anymore
. But I’m not sure my shoulders are working. I’m not sure I’m even breathing.