“You need help?” Owen asks.
Will shakes his head. He stands up carefully and walks slowly to the other side of the casket, past Julie’s photo from when she was younger, before she got sick. He looks very handsome in his dark suit, his beard neatly trimmed for this event. He’s still in pain after the surgery that barely saved his life, but he doesn’t let it show on his face, as if he must be strong for his sister one more time.
Owen still has flashbacks of finding Will covered in blood, as pale as a ghost. If the sheriff hadn’t made sure there would be an ambulance close by on standby, it would undoubtedly have ended with Will’s death.
“It’s strange to say goodbye to someone you’ve said goodbye to so many times in your head,” Will says, watching the casket. Owen knows he’s not comfortablewith so many eyes on him. “I had years to prepare for this moment, and it still managed to sneak up on me.” He clears his throat and glances at his sister’s photo. “Julie was a happy person, even when she had every reason not to be. She helped you put things into perspective, because she was the definition of a good person being dealt a bad set of cards. She deserved much better than what she got, and I hope she’s getting it now up there with our mom.” It looks like he’s trying to keep talking, but he gives up and shakes his head. “Thank you for coming.” He returns to his seat, grimacing silently and holding his stomach.
Owen reaches for his hand, holding it firmly as they watch the casket being lowered and disappearing from sight.
*
“The best thing about recovering from surgery is using it as an excuse to get away from things,” Will says as Owen drives them back after the funeral. They said that Will needs his rest, which gave them a pass from hosting people for the rest of the day. “And God, I hate suits.”
Owen smiles. “Too bad you look so good in them.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but it’s back to flannel from now on.” After a few minutes, Will quietly says, “I should have said more. I had more things I wanted to say.”
“If they were meant for Julie, I don’t think it matters when and where you say them.”
“You’re right.” He leans his seat back.
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes, but less when I’m lying down.”
Owen drives them across familiar roads back to town. He’s only been here a couple of months, but Kansas City already feels like a part of his past. He rarely gets nasty looks anymore as he walks around town, whether alone or with Will. He doesn’t know if the sheriff has had a hand in that, and it doesn’t matter. Owen can once more see the beauty in this small community, but he still keeps his guard up.
He parks in front of Will’s house and goes to help him out of the truck. Once inside, Owen takes off his shoes. He bought them for the funeral, and now his feet are sore. He’s about to ask Will if he wants something to eat when he notices the distant look in his eyes. He’s staring into space, breathing heavily. Owen walks over and rubs Will’s back. “Let it out.”
“What?”
“Let it out, Will.”
And he does. His face contorts with sobs. Owen turns him around to lean against him, wrapping his arms around his back. Julie passed away while Will was still recovering, and he hadn’t yet had the chance to grieve properly.
“She deserved better,” Will says.
“I know, but at least she had you.” She never knew how much her brother sacrificed for her well-being, and that’s for the best.
Once Will calms down, Owen helps him out of the suit before removing his own as well. They lie in bed, the window open with the curtains swaying in the breeze. Owen traces the skin around Will’s healing scar with his fingers. He shuts his eyes until the images of Will bleeding fade from his mind, but he knows they’ll return.
“It’s okay,” Will says and strokes Owen’s cheek, as if he can read his thoughts. “You’ll think about it less with time.”
“I hope so. Maybe…”
“Maybe?”
“I’d like to draw you with the scar. It’s a part of you now, and I must draw every part of you.”
“You must?”
“Yes.” He moves to sit. “Please?”
Will nods. “All right. How do you want me?”
*
Will falls asleep at some point, and still Owen draws. Every line and curve must be perfect. It feels crucial to get this right, though he’s not sure why.
