Midnight Lily(64)

She narrowed her eyes at me again. "Goodbye, Lily. Be well." But the look on her face belied her words. If a person could be assassinated with a final glance, I'd be lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

I didn't stand up. My hands were shaking with anger but also with humiliation. It was almost as if Jenna was the very embodiment of all my deepest insecurities. She walked out of the room, and a moment later I heard the front door close quietly behind her. I heard the soft sound of my grandmother's shoes moving back toward the kitchen and let out a long exhale. A moment later I heard a clatter from the kitchen and my grandmother say, "Oh dear, what a mess."





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


Ryan



My legs didn't want to cross the threshold, but I knew in my heart it was time. Holden's house. Taking a breath, I stepped inside. I'm here, buddy. I'm finally ready. Everything looked exactly the same, and yet a still emptiness filled the space, a sense of loneliness that had never been here before. God, I’ve missed you. Holden's housekeeping staff had been kept on, so everything was neat and clean—no dust, and fresh vacuum lines were visible on the living room carpet. I wanted to flee this place, flee the feelings it was bringing alive inside me, flee the despair bubbling up my throat, but I didn't. With a heavy heart, I climbed the grand double staircase in the foyer to what had been Holden's bedroom. I'd do a little bit today, and then I'd save the rest for another day, as it didn't need to happen all at once. This house was paid for, and even if it wasn't, I had plenty of money to keep making whatever payments needed to ensure its upkeep. I went directly to Holden's massive, walk-in closet and took a couple suitcases off the shelves. Jenna had been right—people would probably fall all over themselves to bid on Holden's underwear, but that didn't feel right. I'd quietly drop this stuff off at a homeless shelter—or one of those charities that helped provide interview attire for indigent people—luggage included, and I wouldn't say a word about who had owned it. That's what Holden would have wanted, and no one knew that better than I did. He’d been generous to a fault but not showy. Never showy. And everything he had done for charity, he’d done anonymously.

Shoes were dumped unceremoniously in the suitcases, then jeans and T-shirts. I'd bring a garbage bag up here next time and throw away his personal clothing items. I was still so f*cking pissed off, so maybe I really would auction them off on eBay. I just wasn't sure whom exactly I was so angry with—him, myself, maybe both. I sighed. "Sorry, man, but I am. I'm so damn mad. I f*cking am. You should be here." I sat down on the small bench in the middle of the room and just stared around, letting a few tears fall. This was okay; this was normal. This was the way normal people grieved. And why had I come here today when I had planned to come weeks ago and decided I wasn't ready? And I was here now—the day after Lily had rejected me? Why? To prove I was strong enough to handle this? To prove I wasn't the damaged goods I'd been made to feel like? To prove I could grieve normally? "Christ," I muttered.

I carried the suitcases into the hall and took one last look around his room. Eventually, I'd have to do something with the furniture. Either that, or I could sell the house furnished. I walked downstairs, lugging the overstuffed suitcases and set them down at the front door. I looked back up the vast staircase. The office. It was the only other place I could think of that I'd need to clear personally, the only other place he might have personal items, personal correspondence, etcetera.

Inside the room, there were a couple bookshelves, but the only books in it were ones I could tell had been placed there for show by a decorator. Holden had never read or been interested in reading War and Peace in his life. I had to chuckle at that. Holden had been many things, but a bookworm had not been one of them.

We so rarely hung out in his office, I didn't recognize most of the items, but a box on the bottom shelf looked vaguely familiar. Picking it up, I placed it on the desk. What I saw when I opened it caused my breath to catch. Oh shit. Photos of us as kids. As I flipped through them, memories skated through my mind: how we would use BB guns to shoot at cans in Holden's backyard for hours after school when we were supposed to be doing homework. How Holden would get model car kits for his birthday and Christmas, and his dad would build them with us. How Holden would grow impatient and I'd end up finishing them while he chattered relentlessly about anything and everything, just there, keeping me company. The time a kid at school tripped me in the hallway and laughed as I wiped out, and later Holden spent his allowance money on shaving foam and squirted about fifteen cans of it through the vents in his locker. Watching R-rated horror movies when I spent the night at his house, even though we weren't allowed, and then being too scared to go to sleep. Tears were streaking down my cheeks, even after I closed the box. In some strange way, now that Holden was gone, I felt like I'd done all those things alone. It felt like I kept losing Holden in little pieces: first in his physical presence, then in the things I could no longer remember—the sound of his voice, the unique phrases he liked to use. Once his house was cleaned out, I would lose proof of him in the items he owned. And then I'd be truly alone. No family. No best friend. No one.

You never really lost him. He'll always be a part of you. Always, Lily had said.

Lily. And suddenly peace broke through one of the cracks in my broken heart, just like those small flowers that somehow—impossibly—grew out of fissures in the rocks at the edge of the forest stream. Holden had changed me; he had saved me, in so many life-altering ways, whether he was here now or not, whether I got to keep him forever, or whether I didn't. I clenched my eyes shut, holding back another flood of tears. Despite the peace that flowed through my heart, an aching sadness settled inside, too. I recognized this moment for what it was: I was saying goodbye. I was finally strong enough to let him go. I tilted my head back and held my fingers up in the shape of a V. "Thank you," I choked out. "Thank you so much, buddy."