“No,” he shouts. “No!”
I sit on the porch, letting more tears fall as the commotion on the other line intensifies. It’s overwhelming this feeling. I wish I had more time with her. I wish Noah had more time with her.
The line goes dead, and I realize Noah’s hung up. A foreign emotion lodges itself in my throat. Why did he do that? Was it an accident?
There’s banging on the door, and with one last glance at Ms. Sullivan’s body peacefully seated on her porch, I get up and go answer it.
Chapter 26
Lily
Rain. All it’s done is rain the week following Ms. Sullivan’s death, so it doesn’t surprise me when the clouds dump on us on the way to the graveside funeral. It comes down in sheets, hammering against the windshield. The wipers swipe back and forth, struggling to keep up, but it’s almost useless. The water streams down the glass, thick rivulets distorting the road ahead into a blur of gray, muting the taillights of the procession we follow.
I steal a glance at Noah, dressed in a black suit and tie. His hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles pale, and his smooth jaw locked. His eyes are focused on the road, refusing to meet mine as they have all week. I’ve tried to be there for him this week, tried to be supportive in the background, giving him the space he needs, but I’m feeling like an unwanted passenger.
Unless he’s had to, he’s avoided the house. I have, too. Because it seemed weird, like I was a creeping leech, I couldn’t stay in the house overnight, and I resorted to sleeping back in my car. The first two nights I camped out in the driveway, but then I ended up making my way to the gym parking lot. I only went to the house when Noah asked for some paperwork or neededsome information. I thought he would’ve invited me to stay with him in the cabin, but he didn’t, and I didn’t ask.
Inside the truck, Max rides along, content to stare out the back window at the streams of water rolling sideways across the window. Every so often, he gets bored and licks at them.
It’s suffocatingly quiet, except for the rhythmic thump of the wipers and the deep hum of the truck engine. Lightning flashes somewhere far off, illuminating the deep, furrowed lines on Noah’s face for the briefest moment.
My chest clenches. Watching someone you love shatter, knowing there’s nothing you can do to take their pain away—it hurts. Even though it’s not my grief, it might as well be.
Noah sighs, letting his one hand fall to his lap as he picks a hangnail, and I reach for him. My hand finding his, cold and clammy. I squeeze for a moment, hoping he will clasp my hand, but he’s limp, then he releases me to grab the wheel again.
Snapping my head sideways, I choose to look out the window instead. It hurts to look at him. It’s a helpless kind of sorrow and the burn behind my eyes stings as the tears fall.
Is this what his mom meant when she said he would carry the weight alone? I want to stay true to my word, to help him, to ease the pain, but it’s like he wants nothing to do with me.
Am I the burden now?
The rain beats harder, drowning out my mild sniffles and I’m grateful it fills the silence between us.
I know he won’t look at me. If he does, he might break, and if he breaks, he may not move forward. So, I sit watching the storm rage around us as we continue to the Pinebrook cemetery.
We arrive toward the front of the procession, and as we wait, I take a minute to fix my simple knee-length black dress that’s damp and clinging to my body like a second skin. I fumble with the umbrella in the door, readying it for when I have to hop out of the truck.
Noah reaches into the console for Max’s leash, and he pops up in the back his tail wagging.
“Sitz!” Noah barks, and I jump.
Noah rubs a shaky hand over his face, closing his eyes. “Sorry, damn it.”
Timidly, I reach over and take the leash from him. Opening the door and my umbrella in tandem, I shuffle to the back door and open it for Max.
“Bleib,”I say, willing Max to be on his best behavior. I hook him to the leash and command him to heel at my side.
A few seconds later, Noah slides out of his truck, no umbrella. He tugs at his tie, adjusting it, and moves toward a group of townspeople preparing for the trek into the cemetery.
Pinebrook Cemetery sits on a sloping hill, the kind that would feel peaceful to look out over, but today, under the heavy storm, it feels anything but. It’s surrounded by towering pines swaying violently in the wind, bending and groaning under the force of the rain. Water runs down the worn stone pathway, pooling in the dips and carved out crevices between the graves as we walk it.
My secondhand kitten heels sludge through the mud, the earth soft and mushy. Noah shoves his hands in his pockets up ahead of me. He’s easy to pick out of the crowd walking to the gravesite, the only one without an umbrella over him.
As I walk, Max stays in contact with my knee and I swear it’s only him that keeps me going at this point. I can’t help the cutting feeling that I in some way caused this outcome.
It’s been playing on repeat all week. If I’d been right next to her, could I have helped? Had I not lingered at the kitchen window daydreaming of Noah walking up the stone pathway, would I have been there with her and known she needed help? Seconds matter in life and death, and maybe I’m to blame for those few seconds I wasn’t there.
I can only assume Noah blames me—he can’t even look at me.
