“You’re getting out and seeing the sites?”
“We are.”
“Are you eating?” Her eyes skim my face.
“I am.” Leah’s staring at me from the other side of the screen. She doesn’t understand how I can answer in two-word answers. She is the world’s biggest chatterbox.
“Is it beautiful?” Mom asks and I find myself smiling out of natural instinct. Capri is the most magnificent place. We’ve only been here for three days, yet I can commit to memory every sparkle of the sun on the copper landscape and every crash of a wave against the granite rock. It is as if I were meant to be here. I just feels right.
“More so than I’ll ever be able to describe.”
Mom’s eyes crinkle as her cheeks rise up. “That’s good to hear, baby.” She shifts in her seat and then leans forward again. “I’m glad you’re together. It’s your brother’s birthday soon. He’d be so happy you two are in such a beautiful place.” Mom’s eyes tear up at the mention of Luke, and I have to turn my head to the side and take in a deep breath.
Luke.
We don’t talk about Luke. At least, I don’t. What is there to say? If it wasn’t for me and my stupid relationship and my stupid desire to get out, then he would still be here.
I can’t stand to see the sadness in my mom’s eyes, nor can I handle her seeing me break down. I turn the iPad away and point it back toward Leah whose mouth is wide open. Her face is giving me a what-the-fuck expression.
Rising from the bed, I leave Leah to talk to my mom while I head out of the room. I open the sliding door, step out on the portico and walk through it to the grassy area looking over the Marina Grande.
The sun is still out but the sky is taking an orange-ish color, as the sun is in the early stages of its decent. Plopping down on the grass, I pull my legs in to my chest and rest my chin on my knees.
I am so far away from home. So far away from the troubles that leave me feeling broken and afraid. It doesn’t matter how far away you are from your problems, they live with you, deep inside your soul. You cannot escape.
My throat heaves out, and I bellow from deep inside my gut. I know I am a bitch. No one needs to explain it to me. My poor mother lost a son and instead of thinking about how sad she must be that her baby boy’s birthday is in two days and he isn’t here to see it, I am so caught up in my own selfish head. I can’t comfort her, because I don’t even know how to process it all.
Luke was my baby as well. I was only four years old when Mom and Dad brought him home, but I remember it vividly. He was wearing a soft blue layette with white ruffle trim.
The first time they placed Luke in my arms I was nervous. He was so small and delicate. The adults kept on chanting things like “Watch his head” and “Hold on tight.” He had light red hair and these dark eyes like mine and Mom’s. When they looked up at me for the first time I was in love.
When Luke was old enough to sleep in his own bed he would go in properly at night, just as Mom and Dad told him to. But every night, like clockwork, he would crawl into my bed when the adults were asleep. He said he was afraid of the dark, but I think he just wanted to be close to me. When they found us snuggled together in the morning they never said a word.
When Mom started driving me to Pittsburgh for music lessons, Luke would come for the ride. He had to endure four hours in a car and more hanging with my mom in a lobby, waiting for me to finish my lesson. Leah kicked and screamed when she had to go, so Mom made arrangements for her to stay with a friend on those days. Luke was different. He came because it was important to Mom and me.
I went to college two hours away from home at the time Luke started high school. My formative years were much different from his. I was a music geek who spent my free time playing the violin. Luke lived the life. He was on the varsity football team and held keg parties in the woods. I looked forward to our weekly phone calls during which he described every escapade of the week. Sometimes he asked advice about problems with girls or a fight with a friend. I tried to give him solid advice and I’d like to think he took it.
The last year and a half, we spoke less as he partied it up at Ohio State, and I settled into my career. Still, once a week we were on the phone. The bond was still there and still strong.
I can’t talk to my mom about Luke, because I am still trying to figure out how such an awful thing happened.
I raise my head and wipe away the tears that are soaking my face. Leah comes around to look at me. As soon as she sees my red, splotchy face, she falls to her knees.
“Oh, my God, Emma. Are you okay?” She holds her hand out to me and puts it on my back, rubbing up and down in comfort.
When my palms are full of moisture, I use the backs of my hands to continue wiping my face.
“I’m fine. I . . . I’m just not ready. Okay?” I look up at Leah, who is nodding.
“Sure. We don’t have to go there right now. I just—” She moves her hand in broader circles on my back and takes a seat next to me. “I thought you were doing better. Youaredoing better. You know that, right?”
I sniffle and try to breathe while I pull myself together. “I know I am. I just can’t talk about him yet.”
Leah pulls me into her side and rests her head on top of mine. She breathes out a sigh and sits with me, looking out onto the world in front of us. “We all lost Luke. We are all grieving. You are not alone in this,” she says. If I were her, I’d hate me. “You went through a lot, Emma. You lost your music and your brother in one night. We are all giving you time to heal. But at some point, you’re going to have to let someone in.”
I turn and face her. Leah was a mess at Luke’s funeral. She cried and grieved like everyone else. Even though she was sad, she did manage to give an awesome eulogy. She told funny stories and reminded people about the incredible life he lived. Luke would have loved it.
Looking at Leah now, I see a woman who is concerned for the well-being of her sister. I don’t want her looking at me like that.
