I ignore it and slide a fifty-dollar bill on the counter anyway. Money feels like such a small thing compared to the welcome I’ve been given here, the kindness that keeps meeting me at every turn. “Then consider this a thank-you donation.” I turn and start walking out the door.
“Josh, that’s way too much,” Tina calls after me.
But I’m already gone.
* * *
I findCara’sgravesite easier this time, parking my car on the dirt trail just off to the side of it. I grab my guitar, the flowers, and the beach towel that I brought, and as an afterthought, the notebook sitting on my seat. My plan is to sit with Cara, talk to her, and then work on her song. I spread the towel out and place the flowers gently on the headstone and then take out my guitar.
“Hey, sis,” I croak, talking aloud to her, something that felt strange to me the last time I was here. “I told you I’d be back.”
Then I tell her everything I’ve never said before. I tell her how much I loved Melanie when we were seventeen and that when I lost her, I lost Melanie too. I tell her how we’ve reconnected, and it seems as though we’re getting our second chance, a thought that thrills and terrifies me at the same time. Then I tell her everything I am ashamed of—my drinking, my own accident, my lack of ability to move past it. This time, when I talk to her, a weight lifts off my chest. I’m not sitting here crying and feeling guilty. I feel almost free.
I pick up my guitar and start strumming the chord progression that I’ve decided fits but I’m still unsure of the lyrics. I don’t want the song to be sad; I want it to feel uplifting. I want Cara’s spirit to be ingrained in the words.
“The sound of her name, soft in the air. Melody’s fading, but she’s still there,” I sing softly. “She could light up a room just walking through. If you knew her then, you still do.” I pause, jotting down those words. “Hmm,” I say, putting the pencil between my teeth. I close my eyes and try to picture Cara. I picture her laughing over a spaghetti dinner, telling my parents and me about her day. I picture her fighting with me over the bathroom. I can see her scoring the winning goal at the state championship.
The second verse comes easier then, as memories flood my mind of times we spent together. Most of my memories are from the summer before she died. Because Melanie and I were close, Cara and I spent more and more time together. She’d stopped thinking of me as her annoying younger brother and began thinking of me as a friend. I will always cherish those summers spent around the fire pit, laughing and talking about our dreams, making music with Mel. I pick up my pencil and begin to write feverishly.
“
We keep her alive in the stories we tell
Every late-night fire, every found seashell
We talk about her like she just stepped out
Like she’ll walk right in when the sun goes down
[Chorus]
So here’s to the girl with the wildflower soul
Gone too soon, but never let go
The sound of her name still carries me home
Through every high note and every low
She’s the laugh in the dark, the tear in your eye
She’s not just a memory—this isn’t goodbye
No, this isn’t goodbye
So we raise our glass and we play her song
Tell the same old jokes like she’s not gone
She’s the heart of the night when the sun sinks low
The reason we dance when the music is slow
I pausewhen I get stuck. I need Melanie to help me with the bridge, and I’m sure I’ve been here long enough. I pack up my things and stand, stretching. Maybe some old photos of Cara would help. I’m sure Mel has some around her house. I drive back quickly, only one thing on my mind.Finish this song, play it for Melanie, tell her I want to do this thing with her. For real.
When I get in my car, I do something I haven’t done in a long time. I dial my parents.
My mother answers on the first ring. “Josh? Is everything okay?”
