“Do you think maybe you do this kind of thing a little too much? As a Band-Aid, when you’re unhappy?”
I considered, then burst out laughing.
“What?” He turned on his side and put his head in his hand, studying me.
I grinned. “This is an intervention. You are intervening me.”
He shrugged. “How am I doing?”
I looked at the dark space under my bed, into the farthest corners I couldn’t see, feeling his eyes on me. “Yes. I probably do this too much. It’s nice to turn the feelings off sometimes.”
“I hear yoga is good for that.”
I snorted. “Yeah. Tried it. You know, I can still remember the night I realized exactly how good alcohol could make me feel. Like I could leave my own brain and go on vacation.”
“That is nice,” Ben said. “Personally, I like the gym. That’s where I get a break from my brain.”
I sighed. “I concede the point. I might be getting a little old for this.”
Silence grew between us. It wasn’t the uncomfortable silence of one person catching the other at a rather bleak moment in her life. It was a peaceful quiet between two people who’d known each other for a long time, who were lying side by side, arguments cast away. Walls down.
“It’s probably the tequila telling me to say this,” Ben said, “and I kind of hope you don’t remember in the morning. But...I’m lying here, and all I can think about is the night we met.”
I looked over at him, but he was staring at the ceiling. A small smile lit his face. “You weresocool. It was like you didn’t care what anyone thought. Like you had this secret, and no one could touch you. And there I was, with this massive chip on my shoulder, determined to one-up everyone I met, which in reality just meant I cared a lot what everyone thought. I always wanted to be more like you.”
That was a surprise. No one ever wanted to be like me. “Ben, the secret was, I’d given up on people. I didn’t care anymore, for the most part. I don’t think that method suits you.”
“Maybe not. But it was intoxicating to watch.” He closed his eyes and laughed. “You probably thought I was such a fool back then. I told you I loved you so fast.”
He yawned, the lines around his eyes creasing. “I had all these plans. I’d get the clerkship, become a judge, run for office. Marry you, become a political power couple. Start a family, become the world’s best dad. I had it all figured out. And then it crashed and burned.”
“It atomic-bomb exploded.”
He smiled sleepily. “It never turns out how you expect, does it?”
As I watched, his face relaxed. A minute passed, and then Ben was asleep. He really was a scientific marvel.
He’d left me alone with only his words for company.It never turns out how you expect.I exhaled, long and deep. It really didn’t.
There was something I needed to do. I sat up, crept through the messy house—a problem for Future Stoner—and found my jacket. Then I slipped out the door.
I lay on ice-cold dirt, a place where grass normally grew. But it was winter, so there was only chilled, packed mud. At least there were stars. I rolled over and looked at the gravestone. It stared back at me rather judgmentally.
“Hi, Dad.”
I brushed dirt off my leg. “I know what you’re thinking. And no, I did not break your rule about drinking and driving. So, you can stop with the attitude. I walked here, thank you very much.”
I dug in the ground, getting mud under my fingernail. “How? Well, I bought a house just a few blocks away right after you died. It was a very normal knee-jerk purchase because I am a very well-adjusted person. Who just happens to want to pass by this cemetery once a day on her way to work.
“You’re dead, by the way. In case the cemetery thing threw you. But I guess you probably knew that. It’s still a shock to me. Sometimes I forget when I’m asleep, and then when I wake up, I have to remember all over again. I think it actually hurts as bad as when Alexis told me the first time. But obviously, that’s not your fault. Unlike everything else! Which is a joke, by the way. I know you were always fifty-fifty about my sense of humor, but now you’re just going to have to suck it up.”
I sat up. “Man, do you remember howangryI was at you? Obviously, who could forget. Eleven years we didn’t talk, which is almost as many years as we did talk. That’s sad, Dad. When I think about that sometimes, I get very, very sad.”
My voice seemed to die in my throat. “I always read all of your corny Christmas cards. You had a very dad sense of humor, if we’re being honest. I did appreciate you signed them by yourself, without Michelle.”
I leaned forward and scratched dirt from the words in the tombstone.Richard Thomas Stone. Beloved Father and Husband.The last four words covered over so much messiness.
“After you died,” I said, “I felt like if I kept being angry at you, it would keep you alive somehow. Like if I kept things normal, kept this thing between us unresolved, it was only logical that one day I’d still get the chance to resolve it with you. And before you say anything—yes, I know that’s very narcissistic, thinking what I do has some effect on cosmic forces like life and death. But there it is. That’s why I’ve driven past you a million times, but never visited.”
