A Million Miles Away(8)

“Ingrid,” Kelsey said. “It’s okay.”

Gillian put her hand on Ingrid’s back, and they smiled close-lipped smiles down to her. They told her to call them anytime.

“Well,” Davis said jauntily. “What now? You want some inedible food?”

“No, thanks.”

For the first time in Kelsey’s dad’s life, she imagined, he hadn’t been up for cooking. Her mother didn’t care much, either. One of the aunts had gotten tasteless crackers and cold lunch meat from Dillons.

Kelsey spotted two of Michelle’s ex-boyfriends talking to each other, the film student and the Brazilian. She felt like vomiting, but she didn’t have the energy for that.

“I have an idea,” Davis said, brightening.

A time machine was Kelsey’s first thought. A potion. An eraser. Nothing was making any sense.

“Kansas City.” He gave her a knowing smile. “Let’s get you away from all this. Let’s go to St. Louis. Let’s go to Colorado.”

Kelsey didn’t have the energy to get up from the couch, let alone take a road trip. She got a strange urge to ask Davis to smack her in the face. She wanted him to wake her up, to shake her, to tell her to crack so all of this would come pouring out of her, and then away.

A memory came to her, peaceful, of the morning before everything changed. In it, she saw Peter. Kelsey hadn’t thought of Peter once, but she supposed she should have. Did Peter know about Michelle? She couldn’t imagine that anyone would have told him the news in Afghanistan. His family probably hadn’t even met Michelle yet.

But they loved each other. He should know, and Kelsey would tell him.

Kelsey hugged Tabbie tighter to her, bouncing her on her knee.

“Can I go now?” Tabbie asked, trying to unhook Kelsey’s hands with her chubby little fingers.

“No,” Kelsey found herself saying. “Please don’t go.”

But Tabbie squirmed, slipping through her arms, and the warmth of her was suddenly gone, leaving Kelsey alone.





CHAPTER FIVE


A few weeks later, Kelsey still had not cried. Or talked. Or eaten very much. There was a part of her that had wanted to cry, but it seemed like every time she moved, someone put their hands on her internal organs and squeezed. Why did it hurt to be alive? The Maxfields’ counselor had told Kelsey that in lieu of tears, her grief must be manifesting itself physically in other ways.

To throw it in her face, Kelsey imagined, her parents had gone and volunteered their house for a support group. Mourning parents and widows and widowers and lovers sat for hours on folding chairs in their living room, drinking their coffee, nodding at one another with bags under their eyes.

“Are you going to come to grief group tonight?” her mother would ask.

“Not tonight,” she would reply. Or ever.

Kelsey could hear strings of their testimonies from downstairs whenever she emerged from her room.

“… like there’s a hole next to me in the bed, dug into the mattress. And all I want to do is fall into that hole.”

“I keep thinking I see him around town. I swear. I’m not supernatural or nothing like that.”

“… and I said, God, I know there’s a reason.”

Their frail voices made them sound as if they were the dead ones. And what was worse: her parents’ voices among them, talking about Michelle as if she were the Patron Saint of Daughters. Like they had forgotten all the fun, stupid things about Michelle that made her herself, like that time she’d spent all of her birthday money on a new, elaborate “elfin maiden” costume for the Kansas Renaissance Fair. But that’s not what support groups were about. Thanks to the slogan they all said before every meeting, Kelsey knew exactly what support groups were about.

“LEARNING TO LIVE AND LOVE AGAIN,” they chanted before they sat down. Like a bunch of zombies.

Kelsey had to get out of there. But she wasn’t going to go back to school. Not yet, at least. She found her shoes and the car keys.

As she snuck past the foyer, she noticed a postcard among the unopened mail.

At the airport in Maine, it said. On the plane out tomorrow. Ate a lobster sandwich. Can’t see the fall leaves through the darkness. Love, Peter.


Kelsey drove the Subaru five miles under the speed limit. Because any amount of light hurt her sleepless eyes, she had taken to wearing sunglasses at all times. She yelled along with the lyrics on the radio, and when she didn’t know them, she just yelled. Then she parked and held her breath, waiting for whatever it was she felt to go away.

The sign read KANSAS ARMY AND ARMY RESERVE RECRUITING STATION. It was a tiny storefront in a strip mall at the corner of Louisiana and 23rd, next to a Schlotzsky’s Deli, and it was the only trace of military Kelsey could find in Lawrence.

Inside, one chair sat across from a neat, empty desk with a bell on it. An American flag stood in the corner. The walls were pasted with posters of burly men helping each other over walls, Army Strong emblazoned across their determined faces.

Kelsey reached her hand to the bell and rang it.

No one came. There was no noise from the other room.

She rang the bell again.

“What can I do for you, young lady?” A woman with a blonde bob and an official-looking sweater vest materialized behind the desk. Kelsey jumped.