Chapter 39
Jack
Three Months
Istep out of my Jeep slowly, the gravel of the road crunching under my boot. I haven't been back here since the night of the accident. I've gladly added twenty minutes to my routes to avoid coming anywhere near this road.
It's been three hundred and sixty-five days since that night. I don't think three hundred and sixty-five million would be enough to prepare me for this.
I walk a hundred yards or so down the shoulder, coming to a stop at the exact spot where my friend died.
"I'm so sorry, man," I whisper, staring at the pavement. A year's worth of rain and tire-wear have erased the bloodstains, but I can still see them clear as day. I sink slowly to my knees, overwhelmed by the weight of the loss—a weight that hasn't gotten a single ounce lighter with the passage of time. The grief doesn't stop being heavy. But I'm getting stronger.
I'm learning how to carry it.
***
"So, uh, I don't know how to do this," I say awkwardly, my hands shoved in the pockets of my jeans. "But it felt important, you know?"
With a groan, I sink down onto the grass at the cemetery. I thought facing the scene of the accident would be a good step for today, but seeing the 'where'didn't do any good for my heart. I needed,wanted, to come see the 'who'. To come see my friend.
Stretching my legs out and leaning my weight backwards on to my hands to prop myself up, I cross my ankles and turn my face up to the sky. It's an uncharacteristically mild day for Texas in July, the cloud coverage and breeze acting as my saving graces.
"Anyway, I wanted to come talk to you, especially today."
I clear my throat, already fighting back tears.
I guess this is going to be harder than I thought.
Talking to the ceiling has been a lot easier than talking to the gravestone in front of me now.
"I can't believe it's been a year," I say with a wry chuckle. "So much has happened since you've been gone. And there's not a day that goes by that I don't wish you were here for it all."
I inhale deeply, determined to get through this.
"Your parents are doing good," I continue. "I don't know if I told you this, but they sold your shares of the bakery to your co-owner, so it's still running strong. They renamed it though, it's just 'Aaron's' now. I know you'd hate that, but everyone else loves it, so suck it up."
"Everyone else is fine," I rattle off, unable to stop now that I've started. "Ellie and Griffin still act like newlyweds, which would be gross if I wasn't so damn happy for them. I've never seen two people more perfect for each other, except maybe you and Abby."
I pause, letting the words hang in the silence.
"David is, well, himself," I keep going. "And I'm okay," I say softly. "But I miss you, man. I miss you so goddamn much.You're the closest thing I ever had to a brother, and I feel like a part of me went with you when you left. You know I've been through some shit in my life, but nothing has come close to this. Losing you is the worst thing that's ever happened to me."
I close my eyes, tears leaking from beneath my lids. I don't bother wiping them away.
"Abby has been unbelievable, man," I choke out. "She's so strong. Stronger than anyone I've ever met. You'd be so proud of her. She's stepped into motherhood so gracefully."
"You have a daughter," I continue, throat tightening again. "She's perfect. It's unreal. She looks like you, too. She's got Abby's eyes, but I think she's got your smile. And to everyone's disappointment, I think she's going to have your hair. Ellie is furious that she's not getting her tiny ginger angel."
"That's the thing that guts me the most in all of this. That you aren't here to see her."
"But I'm doing everything I can to take care of them. I know this might be weird, but I basically live at your house now. I couldn't stand the thought of Abby doing any of this alone, even if we both know she could do it better than any of us. I hope you'd be okay with that."
"Plus, I finally got that couch you hated so much out of the living room," I laugh. "That was actually my master plan all along. You've got a normal sectional now. It's honestly more comfortable than my bed at the station apartment. But you know Abby wouldn't get rid of that velvet monstrosity, so it's in the nursery."
The slam of a car door makes me jump, and I look over my shoulder to see Abby, walking toward me with Erin in her carseat.
"Hi, Jack Robbit," she says gently, setting the carseat down and joining me on the ground. "I wondered if you might be here."
