Chapter 82
The last
funeral Claire had attended had been for Jamie’s father, and the thing that she
remembered most about it was the weather.
It had been typical of an Iowa winter – bitterly cold, the sky overcast
and dreary, the dead brown grass frozen beneath patches of muddy snow. The heavy gray clouds had spit sleet as
they’d laid Mr. Turner to rest, and Claire recalled thinking how appropriately
the atmosphere outside matched their moods within.
Today
couldn’t have been more different. The
sun was shining brightly through the leafy green trees; there was hardly a
cloud in the cerulean sky. Birds sang
cheerfully from the tree branches as several children cut across the
freshly-trimmed grass beneath them, hand in hand with their parents. Had it not been for the headstones lined up
neatly among the trees, Claire might have mistaken the cemetery for a park,
just a nice place to take the kids on such a beautiful day.
But despite
its outward appearance, this day was not a beautiful one, and these kids
weren’t here to play. They were
unmistakably Casey’s classmates, and they, like Claire, were here to pay their
last respects and bury a friend far before his time.
Sighing,
Claire reluctantly turned off her car’s engine and pulled her key from the
ignition. Leaning back against her seat,
she closed her eyes, taking a moment to collect herself. Today will be the worst part, she told
herself. All you have to do is get
through this.
Knowing she
could not delay the inevitable any longer, she unfastened her seat belt and
opened her door. She climbed out of the
car, her heels clicking as they hit the street, and walked around to the curb
at which she had parked. She smoothed
out her black skirt and took a deep breath before starting across the grass,
cutting the same path she’d seen the kids and their parents take. Halfway to her destination, she found a paved
walkway and followed it to the spot where rows and rows of black folding chairs
had been set up, facing a flower-adorned altar behind which a dark mahogany
casket was displayed.
A lump rose
in her throat at the sight of the small casket.
She’d already seen it at the visitation two days earlier; the top half
of it had been open then, showing Casey from the waist up. With the rosyness restored to his once-pale
cheeks and a black Marlins cap hiding his bald head, he didn’t look sick
anymore. He looked like a sleeping boy
who could wake up at any minute, tear off the tie that had been knotted neatly
around the stiff collar of his dress shirt, and run outside to play
baseball. Claire hoped that the moment his
body on Earth had finally failed him, his lively spirit had awoken in Heaven
and done just that.
The thought
made her smile through the tears that had already started to blur her
vision. Casey had been sick for so long,
spent so many months in a bed, too ill to go out and play. Now he was free from the disease that had
brought him such pain and confinement.
If there was any blessing in disguise hiding amidst what would otherwise
be considered a tragedy, she’d found it.
Still, as
she sat down and surveyed the other black-clad guests that mingled solemnly,
speaking to each other in hushed tones, she could not avoid the heavy feeling
of melancholy that descended upon her.
Most of the funeral guests were young, many not much older than her,
some far younger. In the front rows were
the relatives; she spotted Mrs. Brenner being hugged by another woman who had
the same dark hair – her sister, perhaps, one of Casey’s aunts. Most of the children present were seated near
the back, along with their parents. In
front of them was a row filled solely of women, their ages varied. Claire couldn’t be sure, but she wondered if
they were teachers, from Casey’s school.
She didn’t
expect to see anyone she knew, other than Casey’s immediate family, but she
spotted a few nurses from the oncology ward at the hospital a couple of rows
behind her. Shauna, the transplant nurse
she and Casey had shared, was among them.
Her eyes locked with Claire’s, and she raised her hand in a limp wave. Claire nodded at her in return, offering a
grim smile before she turned to face forward again, blinking back tears.
Her head
was down when he approached; she never saw him coming. But all at once she heard his voice ask
quietly, “Is this seat taken?”
Her eyes
shot up and widened. “Nick!” she
cried. It took her a few seconds to get
over her shock at seeing him there; when she’d called to tell him that Casey
was gone, he hadn’t mentioned coming back for the funeral.
Nick
offered her a wan smile. “So can I sit?”
he asked, motioning to the empty chair beside her. “Or-“
“Yeah, sit
down,” she replied quickly, turning towards him as he sank down at her
side. “I didn’t know you were coming!”
He
shrugged. “I wanted to be here. I got a flight back Wednesday night. Guess I missed you at the visitation.”
“I guess we
went at different times,” she said softly, still stunned at the knowledge that
he had been in town for three days already.
But she supposed that was just how it was going to be from here on out. They weren’t together anymore, and if hadn’t
been for Casey, they wouldn’t have been in touch at all this past month. He had no reason to let her know his plans.
“I’m glad
you came back for this,” she offered, breaking the uncomfortable silence that
had already fallen between them.
Nick nodded
vaguely and muttered in a low voice, “I’m glad you’re here too. I-I don’t think I could get through this
alone.” Dropping his voice to a mere
whisper, he added, “I hate funerals.”
She glanced
over to see him tugging at the collar of his shirt as if it were choking him;
he looked very uncomfortable. Smiling
sadly, she lay her hand on top of his free one, giving it a pat. “Same here.
But we’ll get through,” she murmured, and all of a sudden, she was very
glad to have him there by her side as well.
She’d come to the funeral alone because no one in her family and none of
her friends had known Casey the way she had.
Nick was the only one who understood what she was going through… and so
they’d go through it together, as they always had.
She left
her hand on his as the service began, and it stayed there throughout the entire
thing, as they listened to the minister read passages from the Bible and speak
about Casey’s brief life and the good memories he would leave behind. It was a nice service, as nice and as
positive as a funeral could be, but it was still sad. No matter how much the minister stressed that
Casey was a child of God, a child so special that the Lord wanted to bring him
back to Heaven now, Claire could only think of how Casey had only been eleven
years old. He should have had so many
years of life left ahead of him, so many more milestones to reach, so much left
to do. He’d always wanted to be a pilot
when he grew up… but now he wouldn’t get to.
He wouldn’t get to finish out fifth grade, or go on to sixth
either. Hell, he wouldn’t even be able
to get through the rest of the Harry Potter books she’d been reading to him.
It was
these little things, the simple things she’d always taken for granted when she
was his age, that brought the tears to her eyes. She tried to fight them, but in the end, they
spilled over, running slowly down her cheeks and making the minister’s image
swim before her as she blinked and tried to focus.
In the
midst of it all, she felt a warm hand on top of her own and glanced down to see
that Nick had put his free hand over the top of hers, sandwiching her hand
between his two. Catching her looking at
him, he offered her a tiny smile. She
did not try to hide her tears, but managed a sad smile back in spite of them. As they both turned back to face the altar
again, she felt Nick’s thumb lightly running over her knuckles. The compassionate gesture brought more tears
to her eyes.
The service
ended with a prayer, and when Claire unclasped her hands and lifted her head at
last, she found Nick looking at her in sympathy. “You okay?” he asked softly, rubbing her
shoulder.
She
nodded. “I will be. Why, do I look like a mess?” She rubbed at her eyes; they felt sticky with
tears, and she was sure they were probably nicely puffed up and bloodshot by
now.
Nick
shrugged. “You look like someone who
cared a lot about Casey,” was his answer.
She smiled;
he was so sweet… “Thanks, Nick.”
Together,
they made their way up to the front to pay their respects to Casey’s family. Mrs. Brenner was misty-eyed, yet miraculously
calm. She hugged them both tightly and
thanked them for being there for Casey, “when he needed his friends the most.”
“That was
hard,” murmured Nick as they slowly walked away from the gravesite. Claire nodded her agreement. Nick cleared his throat. “I dunno about you,” he continued, “but after
that, I don’t really feel like just going home.
Do you wanna maybe… I dunno, get some food or something, and just…
talk?”
She noticed
the sense of hesitancy in his voice and hated herself for putting it
there. “Sure,” she replied. “You can pick where we go… I’m not very
hungry.”
“Eh, me
neither, but it’s something to do. Well,
if you don’t have a preference, how about the old standard – pizza and shakes
at Leonardi’s?”
She had to
smile at that. It seemed so
inappropriate to go out for pizza after a funeral, but she knew Casey would
have more than approved. “Sure,” she
agreed. Leonardi’s really was the old
standard for she and Nick; it was their place, through the good and the
bad. Dinner dates, birthdays, and
successful physical therapy sessions were grouped with evil girlfriends and
canker sores from chemo as perfectly legitimate reasons to go to the homey old
pizza parlor. And now, the death of a
mutual friend.
As they
walked back across the cemetery to get to their cars, Claire spotted something
black lying in the grass. “Hold up a
minute,” she told Nick, darting over to inspect it. Bending down, she realized it was just what
she thought it was – a sleek, black crow’s feather. She picked it up, gingerly running it through
her fingers and picturing in her head a similar feather, which sat in a box of
keepsakes she’d just moved into her new apartment the previous weekend. It was her magic feather, like the one Dumbo
used to fly, given to her by Casey five years ago. The one she held in her hand now looked
almost identical to it.
“What’s
that?” Nick asked, coming up behind her.
“A feather?”
“It’s a magic
feather,” she whispered, fresh tears springing to her eyes. Straightening, she said, “I need to go back,
Nick… it’ll just take a minute. You can
go ahead; I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”
“Are you
sure?” he asked, looking at her in concern.
“I can walk back with you.”
“No, it’s
okay. Go ahead; I’ll be there in a
little bit, I promise. There’s just one
last thing I need to do.”
Perhaps
sensing that she would rather go back alone, Nick finally nodded. “Okay.
See you in a few,” he said, and turned away, continuing to his car while
she turned and hurried back to the gravesite, walking as fast as she could in
her skirt and heels.
Most people
had left by the time Claire made her way up to the small mahogany casket, which
was now heaped with flowers. Standing
next to it, she reached out and rested her hand lightly on the smooth, rounded
lid. Bowing her head, she murmured a
quiet prayer and crossed herself. Then
she tucked the black feather in among the colorful flower blossoms.
“I know
you’re probably up there laughing at what a cheeseball I am, Case… but I want
you to have a magic feather of your own.
Use it to fly,” she whispered and then hurried away, tears pouring down
her cheeks once again.
***
In the
parking lot of Leonardi’s, Claire pulled her car into the empty spot right next
to Nick’s black BMW and shut off the ignition.
Flipping down her sun visor, she adjusted the mirror on the back so that
she could see her reflection. She still
looked like a wreck, her face red and swollen from crying. Good thing she hadn’t worn any mascara – she
had known better. She’d been bawling at
the drop of a hat lately anyway, and today… well, she’d always known she would
never get through this without tears.
She had
tried to take her time driving over – it was hard trying to see the road
through watery eyes, not to mention the fact that her vision had been sort of
cloudy lately anyway, for reasons she hadn’t had time to think about. But she couldn’t dawdle too much – Nick would
think she’d stood him up. After what
she’d done to him already, she couldn’t have him thinking she would abandon him
the day of Casey’s funeral.
Sighing,
she reluctantly opened her car door and climbed out. She kept her head down as she hurried across
the parking lot and into the restaurant.
Only then did she look up, just briefly enough to scan the room for
Nick. Her heart did a flip-flop when she
spotted him just where she’d suspected he would be – in the wraparound booth in
the very back corner. Their booth.
Out of the corner
of her eye, she saw a waitress coming over to seat her. “I’m with the guy over there,” she muttered
quickly, gesturing vaguely to Nick in the corner before hurrying back to join
him. “Hey,” she said as she slid into
the booth. Normally, the two of them sat
close to each other in the very center of the curving booth, but today, Claire
kept her distance. She would have liked
to lean against him, have him put his arm around her and pull her into a close,
comforting embrace… but she resisted, knowing she couldn’t. It was too soon… too weird. She knew she couldn’t play hot/cold with him
like that; it wasn’t fair to him.
“Hey,” he
replied quietly, giving her a brief once-over.
“You look like hell.” He offered
her a gentle smile.
She forced
one in return, doubtful that it actually looked convincing. “As do you,” she shot back dully. He looked more composed than she did, on the
outside anyway, but she could tell he had taken this hard too. He had a definite disheveled look, and she
could tell he’d raked his hand through his hair more than a few times – it was
sticking out in all sorts of funny places by now. If the mood hadn’t been so solemn, she would
have laughed… but there was no laughter inside her today.
“What
should we get?” Nick asked, scanning the menu.
She could
tell from the way he asked that he didn’t really care. Neither did she. She was afraid she’d throw up if she ate
anything, but she shrugged and answered anyway.
“How about the usual?”
He glanced
up. “I thought you weren’t hungry.”
“I’m not.”
“Me
neither.” He shrugged and slid the menu
aside; it wasn’t as if they needed it anyway.
“How about we just get a couple of chocolate shakes? Chocolate always helps.”
She nodded
apathetically. When their waitress came,
she let him order while she stared down at the table, absently counting the red
squares on the checkered plastic tablecloth.
She nearly jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning her head, she realized that the
waitress had already left their table and that Nick was looking at her in
concern… oh, and touching her shoulder.
“Claire, I
just wanna say… I’m sorry. This is hard
enough for me, but I know it’s gotta be killing you. You were closer to him than I was; you knew
him longer.” He paused, and she watched
his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed with difficulty. Licking his lips, his throat apparently dry,
he added falteringly, “This is… what happened is… horrible.”
Tears
pooled in her eyes again, unexpectedly.
After the last few days – and especially after this morning – she didn’t
think she’d have any tears left. But
they just kept coming. Blinking rapidly,
she looked down and murmured, her voice catching on every word, “I just can’t
believe it. I-I’ve known this day was
coming, but still… I wasn’t prepared…”
“How can
you really prepare for something like this?” Nick asked quietly.
She didn’t
answer. But she kept talking, letting
the thoughts that had been in her head for days… no, weeks… maybe even
months... come pouring out. “I just
can’t stop asking, ‘why?’ Why him? He was so close to cure point, to five years
in remission, Nick. He’d been fighting
it longer than either of us… he thought he’d beat it. Why, out of all three of us, was he the one
to… to-” She could barely get the word
out. “-die from it?”
***
Nick
swallowed hard again and cleared his throat, unable to get rid of the lump that
had been in it all day. It was a good
question Claire posed. Hadn’t he
wondered the same thing himself? Why did
it have to happen to Casey, this cool eleven-year-old kid who had beaten cancer
in the past and had his whole future still ahead of him? Why had he, a guy who had already seen the
world and lived his life’s dream, managed to cheat death, yet Casey could
not? None of it made sense. Was it all random, or was this God’s “plan,”
as people liked to say?
If it was
God’s plan, then God sucked at planning, in Nick’s opinion.
Perhaps the
scariest thought was that the way Claire had worded the question (“Why, out of
all three of us, was he the one…?”) was not even the way God… or fate… or
whatever… worked. Cancer had taken
Casey’s life; it could still take either of theirs. The possibility frightened him, especially
when he thought of it happening to Claire, but he could not deny that it
existed. What was to keep her leukemia
from coming back, even despite her bone marrow transplant, like Casey’s
had? Or what was to prevent another
freak tumor that had been hiding out for the last year from popping up
somewhere else in Nick’s body? These
were the questions that still haunted his nightmares some nights; he wondered
if the fears would ever leave him. Even
that hallowed five-year mark didn’t seem so sacred or certain anymore.
“I don’t
know,” he mumbled, finally answering Claire’s question… which was probably one
of those questions that wasn’t meant to be answered, but that was beside the
point. “Maybe it should have been me,
huh?”
Claire
stared at him, her eyes widening slightly.
She swallowed, and then, blinking, said, “I-I didn’t mean it that
way…”
Nick
frowned; the old Claire just would have smacked him and snapped, “Oh, shut up,
you know that’s not what I meant!” The
Claire sitting next to him now just looked incredibly uncomfortable… and way
too serious. He understood, under the
circumstances… but God, in a month’s time, had things really become that
awkward between them? Well, of course
they had… she’d left a ‘Dear John’ letter on his staircase. It was her fault things were awkward;
it was her fault she was uncomfortable now.
He was
struck by a flash of anger towards her, but before he could act on it, he
quickly reminded himself that it was not the time. She’d been through something horrible. They both had. And it was something that no one but the two
of them could understand… not their other friends anyway. The guys had been sympathetic when he’d heard
the news from Claire and explained why he had to go home for a few days. And sure, they’d all suffered losses, so they
could relate. But they hadn’t known
Casey. It wasn’t the same. Claire was the only person he could talk to
about this, and for her, as far as he knew, it was vice versa. They had to stick together through this.
He flashed
her a quick, reassuring smile. “I know
you didn’t. You’re right though – it
doesn’t make any sense. That’s all I
meant. Why him? Why not us? Don’t get me wrong – I’m glad to be alive,
and I’m definitely glad you are, but… you know.” He shook his head. “Nothing makes sense…” he muttered.
She managed
a tiny, wry smile. “Thanks for saying
you’re glad I’m alive. So does that mean
you don’t hate my guts for… for doing what I did?”
Nick
studied her for a moment and finally offered a tiny, close-lipped smile in
return. “I could never hate you,
Claire,” he answered quietly. “I don’t
know where I’d be right now if it weren’t for you. Maybe wherever Casey is… except I wouldn’t
have known Casey, so what good would that do?”
Making a
noise that sounded like half a laugh and half a sob, she closed her eyes
briefly. When she opened them again,
they were bright with tears. “God, have
you ever seen me cry this much in one day?” she asked, gesturing to her
flooding eyes. When he just gave her a
sympathetic smile in return, she shook her head. “Nick, I’m so sorry… I’m a mess lately. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but
everything is getting me all emotional, and it makes me overreact. What I did to you… the way I did it… was
wrong. I-I don’t know what I was
thinking. There’s just been so much shit
going on… all this stress… I-I just felt like I needed out, right then. I know I hurt you, and I’m sor-“
“Claire,”
he stopped her before she could keep on babbling; he could barely understand
her as it was, with how fast she was talking.
“Don’t apologize. We’ve been
through it already; you’re just digging up shit I’ve already tried to bury.”
She bit her
lip, looking at him with her wide, tear-filled eyes. “I’m sor-“ she started to say again and then
shook her head, cutting herself off.
Changing directions, she asked, “You’d probably be better off right now
if it weren’t for me, you know. You’d
still be in LA, doing what you love, not sitting here, in pain because of me
and a kid I got you attached to, listening to me ramble and watching me cry.”
Nick let
out a dry chuckle and scoffed, “You don’t know that. How can you even say that? Would you say that about yourself with
Casey? If you could go back to the day
you first met him, knowing what you know now, knowing that this day would come,
would you have avoided him? Never gotten
to know him, so you wouldn’t have to be sad today?”
Claire
sniffled, yet smiled sadly through her tears; she knew where he was going with
this. “No, of course not. I’m glad I knew him.”
“Me too. And I’m glad I met you too. We’ve been through a lot of shit together,
and a lot of pain… and yeah, you’ve caused some of it, but then again, I’ve
caused you some too. But we’ve also had
a lot of good times together… and I wouldn’t trade those for the world,” Nick
confessed honestly. “Claire, I just hope
that one day, we can go back to being friends… if nothing more.”
She nodded
tearfully. “Of course we can. You’ll always be my friend.” She reached over and took his hand, and he
gave her a tiny smile. He didn’t just
want to be her friend; he wanted to be her husband. But he also wanted her in his life, and so
for now, this would suffice.
Their
waitress finally returned with their milkshakes, piled high with whipped cream,
a red cherry dotting the top of each.
When she’d set one down in front of each of them and turned away, Nick
looked over at Claire. “So,” he said,
clearing his throat as he reached for his milkshake glass, “As a little send
off, I think we should toast or something.”
He held the glass up, and beside him, Claire did the same, her eyes
shining with tears above her mound of whipped cream.
“To Casey,”
Nick proclaimed the obvious, and they clinked their glasses together, toasting
the life of Casey Brenner with chocolate milkshakes.
***