Chaos and Control(88)
“Bennetta Mary Hart lived life by her own rules. Bennie didn’t let this town, her friends, or her family define who she was. She was not ashamed of her love for gossip magazines and romance novels. She liked vintage sweaters and simple things.” My vision is blurred from tears. I squeeze my eyes closed, forcing them down my cheeks. “Bennie loved music and shared that love with me at a very young age. Everything I know, everything that I am, I owe to her. We are all better for having known her. It’s not fair that she suffered from this disease or that this free spirit was taken from us so soon. But I have to believe that she is in heaven, introducing angels to the glorious sound of Jimmy Hendrix on vinyl. Catch you on the flip side, Bennie. I love you.”
With my last words, I lose all composure. Sobs wrack my body, my weak knees give out as Preston’s arms embrace me and all of my sorrow. The fingers of one hand trace the zipper on the back of my dress over and over, drawing a line from my neck to the base of my spine. I am comforted by his compulsion. I hear people come and go while I’m tucked into the darkness beneath Preston’s jacket. I can’t face any of them. I am overwhelmed with the hurt of losing my sister and best friend. When I get dizzy, I remind myself to inhale and exhale and lock my knees to stay upright. We stand there for what feels like hours.
Preston shifts and presses his lips to my hair. “Everyone is gone, Wren.”
I nod, but don’t let go of him. My mind reels with everything that’s happened. The night that Dylan showed up, Bennie lost her battle with cancer. While I fought for my life at the top of that water tower, Bennie slipped away peacefully in her sleep. No more pain, no more suffering, no more secrets between us.
After hours of relaying my encounter with Dylan to the police—including off-duty Sawyer—we practically crawled back to the apartment and fell into my bed together. It wasn’t until the next day, when I woke at noon, and went to tell Bennie what happened, that I found her. She looked so serene and free, a book pressed open on her stomach to mark her place, a story that would never be finished.
There were too many emotions in that moment. Too many thoughts and feelings when you realize someone you love is gone. Anger came first, selfish anger at what I had lost and what she was robbed of. It was easy to dwell in that anger; it kept the crushing sadness away. But I couldn’t hold on to it forever.
In the kitchen, pinned to the fridge with an AC/DC magnet, I found a note.
Wren,
I’m so happy that you and Preston made up. He is good for you and you for him. Plus, you know I love being right. Let’s go get our tattoos tomorrow! See you on the flip side.
Bennie
Preston ushers me back to the apartment. He pulls Bennie’s favorite Simon & Garfunkel album from its sleeve and places it on the turntable. His movements are slow and reverent, and in the dusty stillness of this room, beautiful. Still in our funeral clothes, I pull him into bed with me. He holds me while I cry. And again when I scream at the unfairness of life and death. In this moment, he is the only thing holding me together when I feel like my world is unraveling.
Bennetta was of the earth Made in the Midwest
She walked clouds
She fell up
She grew gardens of pinwheels Bennetta was filled with music Flat and vinyl
She sang with colors
She danced asleep
She played it for everyone Bennetta was a snowflake Rich in design
She turned counterclockwise She talked silently
She made us all believe in magic Bennetta was
- Preston
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Transference
I stand on the sidewalk and watch as the old vinyl sign comes down. It’s a bittersweet end and an exciting beginning. Preston wraps me in a hug and rests his chin on top of my head. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, and I don’t want to wipe them away. I let them carve trails down my face. This is my war paint, my strength.
The crew hoists the new sign into place, and Preston squeezes me so tight.
“Bennie’s,” I say, reading the bold letters aloud. “Conformity looks good on you, Ben.”
“It’s perfect,” Preston agrees. “Are you ready to open the doors tomorrow?”
I sigh and turn in his arms, looking into the face that has been my saving grace for the past four months. Preston has been the glue holding me together and forcing me to keep going. After losing Bennie, it felt like I was alone, drowning in this heartbreaking sadness.
After being notified that no charges would be filed in Dylan’s death, my first instinct was to run, to hit the road and put this town and all its memories to my back. I thought it would be easier to cut ties with this life. But I realized that I could never leave Preston. Just like I am his medicine, he has become mine.
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. I still can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“We,” he corrects. “We’re doing this.”
I turn in his arms and kiss him eight times, because it’s Thursday.
“Yes. We. Me and you.”
“Hmm. I like how that sounds,” he answers, returning my kisses, and making the last one count.
“Stop trying to distract me,” I whisper against his lips, though my protest is half-hearted. “You know we’ve got work to do.”
“Work shmerk.”