around in Kelly’s head, leaving her more confused than she already was.
She gazed past the dark clouds. Her throat tightened, and she gritted her teeth, missing her brother, needing him, and fighting back her tears. Despite her efforts, teardrops poured over her cheeks and left her sobbing.
“Robby, I’m so sorry I blamed you for dying. I’ve been so selfish. But you were all I had left. I know I’ve blamed you for dying, never thinking how terrible it was for you. But being left alone, losing you—” She sobbed, unable to continue. “Oh God, I miss you so much.” She wept until she started coughing, choking on the tears, rainwater running into her mouth. Looking away from the headstone, she pulled herself together and wiped her runny nose with one hand, the hard rain washing it clean.
“You know…” she started again, “Mom clammed up. She packed all your pictures away, all your stuff, and if I even mentioned you, she’d change the subject and start babbling about what she’d just crocheted or some nonsense.”
She wiped away her tears and stared at the inscription on the cold granite headstone. She read it again, feeling the familiar ache inside.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” She drew herself up, startling a sparrow sitting in the wet grass behind her. “I’ll be right back.”
Kelly crossed the cemetery lawn, her heels squishing into the soggy ground. At the car, she opened the door, reached in and grabbed a bouquet of flowers she’d purchased from a street vendor. She slammed the door and hurried back to Robby’s grave.
Fanning the flowers across the headstone, she said, “I got these for you.” She swallowed hard, closing her eyes against the sting of fresh tears. “I love you, Robby. After a few more moments of silence she whispered, “I need to go. I’ll see ya around, little brother.”
When she straightened, she spotted a chip of granite from one corner of the headstone, half concealed by the brown winter grass. She stooped and retrieved the stone, rolling it over in her palm. Clenched in her fist, the jagged edge cut into the soft cushion of her palm. She winced, feeling oddly consoled and less alone. She tucked the granite chip in her pocket then with reluctance, dragged herself from Robby’s headstone and hurried back to her car.
Chapter Thirteen
T he words “road trip” took on new meaning for Kelly. In her youth, during college, when it wasn’t unusual for humans of superior intelligence to suffer from symptoms of extreme insanity, she’d thought nothing of jumping in the car and driving for two days for a beer in Mexico or a ferry ride across Seattle’s Puget Sound. After driving from California to Florida, her enthusiasm for road trips ended.
The last week had been grueling. Her Bon Voyage party had taken place Sunday night at the apartment. Packing to that point had progressed at a snail’s pace, and she couldn’t spare the time away from the apartment. Fortunately , several loyal friends had shown up to help. Unfortunately , Kelly had woken up with a hangover the next morning. Armed with aspirin, orange juice, and an ice pack strapped to her throbbing head, she’d completed the packing late Monday night. Tuesday afternoon, after the movers left and the apartment was clean, her hangover had disappeared. Go figure.
She’d crammed the car with the leftover stuff no one knew what to do with—small boxes full of questionable necessities, trash bags stretched with clothing yanked from the closets, house plants, puzzles and games for Lacy, pillows, an old comforter, and last but not least, Skunk, the beloved pet rat. Finished at last, there’d been just enough space left in the car for her and Lacy.
The cross-country drive took them five days, one fuel pump, and part of Kelly’s leather checkbook, which Skunk had feasted on during an escapade through her purse. Now, Monday morning, Kelly’s energy reserves were depleted.
“Never again,” she swore out
She gazed past the dark clouds. Her throat tightened, and she gritted her teeth, missing her brother, needing him, and fighting back her tears. Despite her efforts, teardrops poured over her cheeks and left her sobbing.
“Robby, I’m so sorry I blamed you for dying. I’ve been so selfish. But you were all I had left. I know I’ve blamed you for dying, never thinking how terrible it was for you. But being left alone, losing you—” She sobbed, unable to continue. “Oh God, I miss you so much.” She wept until she started coughing, choking on the tears, rainwater running into her mouth. Looking away from the headstone, she pulled herself together and wiped her runny nose with one hand, the hard rain washing it clean.
“You know…” she started again, “Mom clammed up. She packed all your pictures away, all your stuff, and if I even mentioned you, she’d change the subject and start babbling about what she’d just crocheted or some nonsense.”
She wiped away her tears and stared at the inscription on the cold granite headstone. She read it again, feeling the familiar ache inside.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” She drew herself up, startling a sparrow sitting in the wet grass behind her. “I’ll be right back.”
Kelly crossed the cemetery lawn, her heels squishing into the soggy ground. At the car, she opened the door, reached in and grabbed a bouquet of flowers she’d purchased from a street vendor. She slammed the door and hurried back to Robby’s grave.
Fanning the flowers across the headstone, she said, “I got these for you.” She swallowed hard, closing her eyes against the sting of fresh tears. “I love you, Robby. After a few more moments of silence she whispered, “I need to go. I’ll see ya around, little brother.”
When she straightened, she spotted a chip of granite from one corner of the headstone, half concealed by the brown winter grass. She stooped and retrieved the stone, rolling it over in her palm. Clenched in her fist, the jagged edge cut into the soft cushion of her palm. She winced, feeling oddly consoled and less alone. She tucked the granite chip in her pocket then with reluctance, dragged herself from Robby’s headstone and hurried back to her car.
Chapter Thirteen
T he words “road trip” took on new meaning for Kelly. In her youth, during college, when it wasn’t unusual for humans of superior intelligence to suffer from symptoms of extreme insanity, she’d thought nothing of jumping in the car and driving for two days for a beer in Mexico or a ferry ride across Seattle’s Puget Sound. After driving from California to Florida, her enthusiasm for road trips ended.
The last week had been grueling. Her Bon Voyage party had taken place Sunday night at the apartment. Packing to that point had progressed at a snail’s pace, and she couldn’t spare the time away from the apartment. Fortunately , several loyal friends had shown up to help. Unfortunately , Kelly had woken up with a hangover the next morning. Armed with aspirin, orange juice, and an ice pack strapped to her throbbing head, she’d completed the packing late Monday night. Tuesday afternoon, after the movers left and the apartment was clean, her hangover had disappeared. Go figure.
She’d crammed the car with the leftover stuff no one knew what to do with—small boxes full of questionable necessities, trash bags stretched with clothing yanked from the closets, house plants, puzzles and games for Lacy, pillows, an old comforter, and last but not least, Skunk, the beloved pet rat. Finished at last, there’d been just enough space left in the car for her and Lacy.
The cross-country drive took them five days, one fuel pump, and part of Kelly’s leather checkbook, which Skunk had feasted on during an escapade through her purse. Now, Monday morning, Kelly’s energy reserves were depleted.
“Never again,” she swore out
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