Beautiful Graves(65)
“Better thee than me.” Joe flicks his cigarette sideways, blowing smoke in the opposite direction. “Humans have a weird fascination with death. You should know that better than anyone.”
He is referring to my tombstone sketches. To my job as a tour guide in Salem. Now that I think about it, I surround myself with death a lot.
I haven’t touched the drawing pad since our kiss, and I’m sure he hasn’t written a word either. Whatever flame ran between Joe and me has been doused since the night Dom died.
“How are you dealing with all this?” he asks.
I take a drag of my cigarette and cough out the smoke. This is horrible. Why would anyone do this willingly? A few times a day too? It feels like french-kissing an ashtray.
“I don’t,” I admit. “I . . . I don’t even feel human. I just exist. You?”
“I have Mom and Dad to take care of. Keeps me busy and going. When you feel like people depend on you, you have a reason to push through.”
I pretend to take a few more drags of the cigarette, just to save face. He looks at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re doing it wrong.”
“Are you referring to life, or . . . ?”
“Smoking. But both, really. You have to let it hit the bottom of your lungs. If you keep it in your mouth, you might get mouth cancer.”
“Because lung cancer is preferable?” I cough out some more.
“That’s it.” He plucks the cigarette from my lips and snaps it in two. “You’re killing yourself, bro.”
The way he mimics Pippa so perfectly, getting her Valley Girl drawl just right, makes me ache both for my best friend and for the time Before. Before Dom. Before Joe. When Mom was alive and Pippa and I were attached at the hip and my biggest worry was whether I was asexual or not.
“What are you going to do now?” Joe asks. He feels it’s goodbye because it is goodbye. There is nothing to keep us in touch now. Dom is gone. Our one excuse to see each other has been taken from us.
“I don’t know,” I say. “You?”
He shrugs. “I go back to work next Monday. The world doesn’t care that you lost your best friend. Your brother. Your fiancé. It’s a blessing and a curse. You’re forced to get back on the hamster wheel, whether you’re ready or not.”
“I’m not ready to human again,” I say.
“You will be.” He swallows hard, his eyes glittering with unshed tears as he reaches to move a lock of red hair from my forehead. “Eventually. And when you do, I hope you find what you are looking for, Ever.”
And then I realize I forgot something. I pull the engagement ring from my finger and hand it over to him. It comes off easily, since I’ve barely eaten all week. “Can you give this to Gemma? Please? I’m sure she’d want this, and she is busy—”
“With Sarah.” Joe pushes off the tree trunk and starts to make his way back to the church. I follow him. “Don’t read too much into that. Right now you’re deep in your feelings. Sarah is a doctor. She is clinical and pragmatic. She is exactly what Mom and Dad need.”
“I’m not mad.” But I am; I just know it’s ungracious to be. “Take the engagement ring,” I reiterate.
“As much as I’d love to be your errand boy, I think you should give it to Gemma yourself.” He tromps past the church. Where is he going?
“I’m leaving,” he says, as if reading my thoughts. “I can’t do this.”
“Can’t do what?” I follow him, running after him.
Joe unlocks his car and slides into the driver’s seat. “Can’t watch them lower him to the ground. It’s fucked up. And knowing Dom—he wouldn’t want either of us to see it. Come with me, Ever.”
He stops. Stares at me expectantly.
I’m standing in front of the driver’s side of his car. The door is wide open.
I look back at the church. People are starting to trickle out.
“My dad and my brother are there.”
“They’ll understand,” he says with conviction.
“Where to?” I ask, stunned.
“My apartment.”
“I don’t trust myself with you.” God, how awful am I that I admit this out loud to the brother of the man I was supposed to marry while he is being buried? Does human selfishness know any bounds?
A grim smile touches his lips. “That makes both of us.”
I take a step back. I don’t want to do something I’ll regret, and I think I might regret this very much if I get into the car with Joe right now. I feel myself shaking my head.
Joe hangs his head down. His signature wilted-flower move.
“I hate this.” Fresh tears sting my eyes.
“Saying goodbye again?”
I nod. How many times can he and I lose each other?
“Hug me?” I shrug.
“Too painful. Have a good life, Ever.” Joe slams his door shut behind him, in the car.
He drives away, taking whatever was left of my happiness with him.
PART 2
TWENTY-ONE
It’s been three weeks since Dom’s funeral, and I’m still in my bed.
Three weeks since I drove Dad and Renn to the airport. Before they boarded their plane, Dad hugged me and told me, “My door’s always open, kiddo. I think you need some time off from Massachusetts.”