The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood #1)(17)

“How do you know it’s his regret?” She said it in the present tense. The now. My skin’s tingling with little pinpricks.

Taking a step back, she puts distance between us. “I know it is because it’s all he ever talked about, Holden. And I want to fulfill it for him, to take him on his trip, spread some of his ashes along the way.” She shakes her head. “Just forget it.”

I see her shutting down. I feel it. And I can’t stand it. Without thought, I gain back the distance between us and say, “I’ll do it.”

I’ve lost my mind, too. But hell. I believe her. I know that Tyler always wanted to do this. He had maps plastered all over his bedroom walls. They’re probably still there. And spreading his ashes in the places that he wanted to see more than anything sounds like something he’d have asked for—if he’d been given the chance. If he’d had time to think it through.

“Really?” Her head tilts, gaze narrows. She doesn’t trust me. I don’t blame her.

“Yeah,” I say. “But there’s a stipulation.”

She crosses her arms, waiting.

“I’m going with you.”





Sam

Holden’s the crazy one if he thinks I’m really letting him go on this trip. I almost laughed in his face back there. He’s the last person I want to be around for any amount of time. But I do need him to break into the Marks’ family mausoleum (really, they have one of those). The idea had just hit me; I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before.

Holden got busted for breaking and entering when he was in middle school. If anyone can get me on the inside, he can. But after that, I’m finding a way to ditch him.

A small sense of justified revenge swells in my chest. I’d love to see the look on his face when he realizes he’s been cast off—seems like poetic justice.

Shaking my head, I refocus on my laptop screen. Honestly, I’m not so jaded over what happened between us anymore. If it hadn’t have been for Holden and his douchebaggery, then Tyler and I may have never gotten together. Well, we would have, eventually. I believe that. Holden just sped up the process.

After I log in my route, I click “purchase” on the Amtrak website. I had to dip into my savings to buy the train ticket, which isn’t cheap. But my savings are for emergencies. This can definitely be classified as one.

I have a car, a cute little silver Scion coupe. And it would probably be cheaper and more comfortable to travel that way. Only I haven’t driven since the night Tyler died. I’ve tried, but every time I get behind the wheel, my heart-rate increases, my palms get clammy, and the world looks off. Like a dream. It’s like I lose all touch with reality, and all I can think about is what if I hit someone? What if someone hits me?

Dr. Hartman offered to prescribe me Xanax, but really, with all the pills she has me on, or at least thinks she has me on, I’m not sure adding one more prescription is ideal. The thought of becoming a personal pharmacy gives me even worse anxiety. And if you’re fearful of being too zoned out to drive, then how is doping yourself up going to make it any better? Wouldn’t that make it worse?

Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyway. The train will go from point A to point B and so on. I won’t have to worry about anything other than fulfilling Tyler’s unfinished business. I’ll leave a letter for my parents so they won’t flip out and report me as a missing person, then I’ll deal with the aftermath of my actions when I get back.

I won’t think about it until then.

I won’t think about what will happen when I do fulfill Tyler’s unfinished business, either.

Glancing at the framed photo of Tyler and me, his arms circling my waist, his cheek resting on top of my head, my smile bright and beaming, I feel the loss of him so deeply my breastbone aches.

If this works, and Tyler’s able to cross over, then the end of this trip will be my last goodbye to him. I look down at the map, Santa Rosa Beach circled in red. The last destination of our trip. We were going to stay there for a few days after traveling the country—our wind down stop. The knowledge of it steals the air from my lungs, and I can’t catch my breath.

Tyler hasn’t returned yet, and I’m starting to freak. What if he can’t find his way out of the darkness this time? What if he’s already lost, already forgotten me?

“We gotta go, Sam!”

The panic gripping me heightens with the shrill ring of my mother’s voice. Like hitting a wall, I remember my session. Crap. I was hoping to get out of it, but I forgot to tell her I wasn’t feeling well. But really, this will be my last meeting with my psychiatrists until I get back. And then I’m sure they’ll just have me committed. I can pull it together for one afternoon.

With one last look around my room, hoping Tyler will appear, I kiss my hand and touch the photo of Tyler, then close the door behind me.

Sun-glinting cars rush by us on the highway, the hot June sun reflecting off their shiny surfaces and glaring in my eyes. I plunder through my bag and dig out my sunglasses. Trying to stay focused on my meeting, I mentally recite what I’m going to say to Dr. Hartman—what she needs to hear to believe I’m improving. My thoughts keep returning to Tyler, though. Wondering where he is. And Holden. Stressing if he’ll really go through with my plan.

My mom reaches for the stereo knob to turn up the volume. Gold Dust Woman blares out of the rattily speakers. I roll my eyes, but can’t complain, even if listening to Stevie Knicks every time we’re in the car makes me want to crack my head against the window. She’s not only driven me to every one of my sessions, but everywhere else for the past five months.