Her technique was precise. A fold lengthwise. Then the corners, so they met the center crease. Then she folded again until diagonal lines shot out from the middle. Finally, she tucked the whole thing in on itself and brought the wings down. She offered it to you then, a perfect dart, crisp from the heavy paper stock. But you couldn’t take it. You could still see his eyes in the fold of the plane, and you didn’t want to touch it.
Diana just shrugged. Then she cocked her arm back and let it go. She let it fly at a 45-degree angle. And for a moment it just seemed to hang in the air, like it might soar over the entire quarry and light on the top of a birch tree on the distant shore. But the wind seemed to take it then, and it nose-dived toward the water,speeding toward its target like a missile. Finally, it made contact with the surface, rippling the sky, and then just floating there, swelling with water.
It wasn’t a stone monument.
But it was something. Temporary evidence he’d been there. And though you knew it would eventually dissolve, for a moment it felt like he was there with you. You’re not sure how long you watched it. But it still hadn’t sunk when you wiped your nose on the sleeve of your uncomfortable blazer and turned away. Diana pretended not to notice your tears. She followed you this time, and when you got back to the car, she handed you the keys.
You drove on the way back, and you didn’t feel like music this time so you just listened to the road.
When you got back to the church, you thought this might be the last time you saw Diana. When it came down to it, you were both a reminder of the other’s pain, and your last moments together had been filled with shame and confusion. You walked back down the hallway. Everyone was in a meeting room, eating cold cuts. Family, coaches, teammates. You peered in the window and saw your parents nodding at something the reverend was saying.
Get away.
That’s the thought that came next.
As soon as you can.
It was too early for college, but you needed to find a way out of your current life. Away from the painful conversations with your family that were coming, and all the reminders of Sean that would greet you everywhere you went. Nothing was going tochange if you stayed here, except maybe your dosage of medication. Somehow, you were going to have to find a way out.
About a month later, when you’d hit a dead end in therapy, and nothing seemed to be getting better, your parents would sit you down one afternoon with a plan. They’d tell you it was time to try something new. That they couldn’t risk losing another child. Your dad would hand you his phone, open to a website.Find your potential through experiential therapy in nature, it would say, over a picture of a glittering lake.
“Sean would have liked it,” he’d say.
And he would be right. But he wouldn’t have to sell you. By that point, you would be ready to go anywhere that wasn’t the same home and school where everyone knew you as Sean’s brother. Anywhere that wasn’t a museum of his life cut short. Even the middle of the woods.
Back in the church, before you knew about any of this, you were already saying goodbye. You were saying goodbye to this day and to this awful funeral. And in your head, you were already saying goodbye to the only other person you loved. The one you’d just spent the afternoon with.
“I don’t think I can do this sad snack buffet,” she said. “I’m gonna go.”
“I understand,” you said.
Which meant it was time to part. She stepped in to hug you, but you were pretty much already gone by then, so you instinctually backed away. She stopped and just looked at you for a moment, not quite sure why you couldn’t even hug someone who was grieving beside you. You were positive, in that moment, that you would never hear from her again. But later that night, yougot a phone call, and you just watched her name appear on your phone until it disappeared. She called again the next night, and the next. You let them all go to voicemail.
They’re still there, the messages. In your phone. Un-listened to. You’ve carried them around as you sleepwalked through life for the past half year. And you carry them still, in a bag, in the woods, like a penance.
FORTY-TWO
“Case!” she yells.
A flash of pain and you’re back in the canoe.
Diana looks terrified, and you know you were spacing out again. Your paddle is wet, so you must have been helping for a while. But you weren’t present for much of it, and as usual you’re not sure how much time has passed. All you know is that you’re not yet on fire and you still haven’t answered Diana’s question about why you never called her. But she doesn’t seem as concerned about that now. She grabs you by the collar and slaps your face. Hard.
“You can’t go to sleep!” she says. “Do you understand that?”
“Ow,” you say.
“I need to hear a yes,” she says.
“Okay! No sleep. Got it.”
She wipes a tear from her face.
“Nothing good happens if you go to sleep.”
The smoke is even thicker than before, and you pull your damp shirt up over your mouth again. The temperature, too, feels like it’s gone up a few degrees, but then again you might just have a fever.
“Is it…,” you say.
