All This Time(33)

She’s always avoided talking about her sister. No sad stories. This is big for her.

“We were identical. In almost every way,” Marley says, and the dark cloud behind her eyes comes over her. From the furrow in her brow to the battered hunch of her shoulders, it consumes her. It’s like an entirely different person is sitting in front of me. “When I lost her, I lost my voice. But now, with you…” She stops, looking back at me, her eyes clearing just the tiniest bit. “I feel like talking again.”

“Talk all you want,” I say. “I’m here for it.” There’s a magic in this moment where she’s letting me in, and I don’t want to break that spell, so even though I want to take her hand and comfort her, I don’t.

She twists the dandelion around in between her fingers. “A life without Laura,” she says, her voice soft. “It feels more impossible the longer she’s gone. It feels wrong.”

I wait a little while, but she doesn’t say anything more.

“I get that,” I say, sitting up. And I do. Everything about life after the accident has felt wrong. Except this. “But maybe we can both try to find something that makes it feel a little less wrong. Together.”

“How?” she asks.

The words hover on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t know where to begin. Then I think of how we met that day in the cemetery, an idea coming to mind. “Stories. You said we could both be storytellers, right?”

She nods, her face thoughtful.

“Well, I want to hear one of yours,” I say. She straightens up and crosses her arms. “All I got that first day was ‘Once upon a time.’?”

“No way,” she says, her shoulders tense. “I have no idea if they’re good or not. I mean, what if you hate them?”

“I’ll love them. I know I will,” I promise her.

“You can’t promise something like that,” Marley says with a laugh.

“Please?” I ask, and I can see the hesitation in her face. The silence stretches between us until she finally breaks it, letting out a long, dramatic sigh.

“Okay… but only if I get to read some of your stuff too.”

I’m so happy she said yes that I’m already nodding before I realize what I’ve agreed to.

Damn, she’s good.

She holds up her pinky. I wrap mine around it, promising. Our hands linger, fingers sliding toward wrists until her hand is completely in mine.

It feels like waking up again. Every fiber in me feels alive, wanting me to close the gap between us, the smallest shift an earthquake.

“Marley…,” I start to say, but she quickly pulls away, her eyes lingering on my lips.

“Do you feel that?” she whispers.

I do. The air around us buzzes, the space between us crackling.

I reach out to take her hand again, but just as my fingers meet hers, she moves away from me, pulling herself out of the moment. She stands quickly and brushes off her clothes, abruptly stuffing her hands into her jean jacket. “I should go.”

“Marley,” I say, collecting myself. “You don’t have to go.”

She starts walking away, her yellow shoes standing out against the green of the grass.

“This is a sad story waiting to happen,” she mumbles, her voice barely audible. When she gets to the path, she turns to look at me. “Just friends, Kyle,” she calls to me. “That was the deal.”

I nod, watching as she leaves, disappearing between the trees. I look down to see one yellow dandelion sitting next to me.

I pick it up, wondering what it would have been like to kiss her just now, her eyes on my lips a moment ago. Maybe Sam was right about something else.

Do I really want to be just friends with Marley?



* * *




On Thursday morning I walk to the cemetery. I still have a lot to figure out, but I think I finally have the right words to say to her. To Kimberly.

I stop short when I see a figure kneeling at her graveside, a long arm reaching out to place a big bouquet of tulips against the headstone.

Sam.

Of course.

“The tulips,” I say as I come closer. “They were from you.”

“They were her favorite,” he says, his eyes focused on the headstone. KIMBERLY NICOLE BROOKS.

I kneel on my stiff leg and run my hand across the uneven stone.

“It’s not fair,” Sam says, watching me. “You’re moving on. She can’t. That might be a dick thing to say, but…”

“I get it, Sam. Trust me, I’ve felt like a dick constantly. Going to get ice cream. Watching movies on my couch. Even laughing. It all felt wrong, doing it without her. But if that’s true, the two of us will spend the rest of our lives stuck right here,” I say, gesturing to the cemetery around us, to Kimberly’s headstone.

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t stop me either.

“I finally realized what Kimberly was saying. I didn’t get it before. I didn’t listen to her before. But I finally, after all this time, understand what she wanted from me. For me. The best thing I can do to honor her is to stand on my own, Sam. Like she wanted. I need to let go.” I pause, looking at him for a long moment, realizing he needs this just as much as I do. “So do you.”