My head buzzeswith all the thoughts and questions spending the day with Hailey has provoked.
After Earl called from the garage to let us know the damage—a new transmission, which will cost more than the car’s worth—Hailey had me take her home. She said she needs to practice, which I don’t think is a lie, but I think it’s also a convenient excuse to get away from me. Even though we spent hours together, I would’ve happily continued hanging out with her. I offered to take her to dinner, and I think she was on the verge of accepting when Earl called. After that, she sighed and asked me to take her home. I managed to convince her to let me take her through a drive-thru for some fast food before I dropped her off, but that was it.
I know she’s worried about her car situation, but she’s trying to put a brave face on it. “I have a gig tomorrow. Don’t forget, you promised to give me a ride,” she’d said, wagging a finger in my face.
As if I could forget. Not after the way I’ve largely forgotten about her for the last ten years. I’m not doing that again.
But now the question is, what are we going to do about her car? This one doesn’t run, so it’s still sitting at Earl’s. He told us that we could take a couple days to figure out what we want to do—whether she wants him to rebuild the transmission or if she wants to junk it and get something else—so it’s not something that has to be figured out tonight. But with my flight home looming over me, I’d like to figure it out tomorrow at the latest.
She has a gig, though, so I’m not going to bring it up untilafter.
I’m no musician, but I assume that it’s like a game. You don’t want to be distracted and in a weird headspace right before you have to perform.
It’s more than just her car, though … When I asked if she needed anything else last night, she said health insurance.
Clearly she doesn’t have any, and if she’s gigging and freelancing and doing food delivery, I guess it makes sense that she wouldn’t be able to afford the extra. And I know things have changed with the tax credit insurance discounts, which maybe put that even more out of reach …
The thing is—and the thing that worries me most—is that I don’t know if it’s just a general idea that it’d be nice to have health insurance because then she could see a doctor when and if the need arises or if there’s something specific that sheneedsto get taken care of but can’t.
And especially after Hunter, the idea of her having something wrong and not being able to get care …
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. The sun’s getting low, washing the landscape in golden light as I drive back out to Poynette.
I need to visit Hunter. I would’ve loved to have shared that with Hailey, but she clearly doesn’t feel the same way. I haven’tbeen back to his grave since before my parents moved, and now that I’m here and spending time with his sister, the urge to go there is too compelling to resist.
Maybe it’s a good thing that Hailey insisted on going home. It gives me the time and space to do this without making her feel weird. Or at least, no weirder than I already have.
Turning on the radio, I try not to think too hard about Hailey and her problems, taking deep breaths and trying to focus on the beauty spread before me—the blue sky with a few clouds scudding across it, the cities and towns giving way to countryside with its rolling fields dotted with picturesque barns. The turn off for the cheese factory, where my parents always insist on taking out-of-town guests. That was one of our first stops after I got back in town, and my mom loaded up on fresh cheese curds just for me.
I should stop on the way back and get some to take home with me when I fly out.
Though … maybe I should change my flight. If I stay longer, that’ll give us time to sort out Hailey’s situation.
Plus, the thought of leaving her …
Another deep breath. I’m being present right now. I’m not stressing about Hailey. Not while I’m driving.
The sun is low, sitting just above the horizon when I get to the cemetery. I park on the street outside of it and walk slowly through the front gates along the path, scanning the tree-lined field dotted with stones. A lot of them are large, upright stones, but there are many flat ones in between those, with a few large pillars here and there. One’s a memorial to soldiers killed in World War II, I know. And there’s a monument near it holding alcoves for veterans.
I turn away from that area. Hunter’s past them, near the back, where there are fewer graves. Or there were when he died,at least. It’s filled in more now, and it takes me a minute to find his headstone.
Standing in front of it, I stare for a long moment at the engraved granite—Hunter David MacKay, beloved son, brother, and friend. I remember feeling so honored that they included friend, assuming it was for my benefit. That memory is quickly followed by the stab of hurt at how quickly and easily his parents rejected me as soon as the funeral was over.
In movies, they always show people talking to the graves when people visit them. I kinda thought I’d do that too. But now that I’m here, that feels … awkward.
Glancing around, I check to make sure I’m still alone. A car drives by on the road, but they don’t stop, and no one else is around.
It’s just me.
Just. Me.
Hunter’s not here, even if this is where he’s buried. I don’t get a sense of him. Not that I did even right after, but I wanted …
I wanted to be able to talk to him. To feel like I was talking to him.
Clearing my throat, I decide to just give it a try. Fake it till you make it, right?
“Hey, uh, Hunter. Good to see you, man.” I shake my head. “God, that’s stupid,” I mutter. “I can’t see you. I’m talking to a big rock with your name carved on it and standing on top of your grave. It’s nice here, though.” I look around. The summer humidity has my skin damp already, but the occasional breeze rustles the leaves in the trees, helping make the heat and humidity bearable. “You’d like it here. Especially now. The sun is setting, and the sky’s all orange and pink and the trees are pretty. There’s flowers around.” None on Hunter’s grave, though. The cemetery’s well maintained, so his grave isn’t covered with dead leaves or weeds or anything, but there aren’t flowers, either realor fake, like there are on a lot of the other graves. Do his parents ever come here?
