Crossing Paths (34 page)

My dream was vivid and impulsive. I was running and running, quickly coming to the edge of water. It was either a large lake or maybe the ocean. The sun was setting on the horizon. It was beautiful…until I saw a wooden box floating in the distance. The box was long and deep. It floated effortlessly toward the horizon.

As I looked around, several people stood at the edge of the water. They looked like they had been standing for some time as their feet were buried in the sand while the water washed in and out around their calves. They were all waving. Their faces showed varying emotions—some sadness, some happiness, and some even indifference.

As the box reached the horizon and appeared to drop over the edge, everyone began to smile and turn away. I stood there, staring at the thin line drawn between the water and the sky. The box was gone, but I was still there.

In an instant, I realized the sun was no longer present, and I was standing alone in the dark. I slowly turned away from the water only to find the sun rising directly behind me. A figure was standing before me, shadowed by the striking light. He walked, placing one foot carefully in front of the other, as did I. As we inched closer to one another, I could make out his face. I blinked my eyes, attempting to focus, and then he was gone. The rest of my dream was spent in a feverish search, running through the sand, as the sun blinded me.

Dreams. Who knows what they mean?

I change my soaked T-shirt and go back to bed, trying in vain to achieve more sleep.

When my alarm clock goes off, I’m still awake, and I don’t feel like going to work.

Saturday

This has been the saddest week of my life. After Julie passed away, Cohen spent most of his time planning the funeral with her parents. Yesterday, I went with him to help finalize a few last details. I wanted to be there in case he broke down and needed someone. I still can’t believe that she’s gone.

I sit on the bed in my childhood room with clothes splayed out in front of me. It was hard enough figuring out what to wear to my grandma’s funeral. She was ninety-four years old, and she lived a good life. She had children and grandchildren. Heck, she had great-grandchildren. Absolutely nothing was missing from her life.

This funeral is a stark contrast.
How do I figure out what’s appropriate to wear to the funeral of a twenty-eight-year-old woman?
Since Wednesday, I’ve been wondering what people will say about her today.
She was a beautiful person. She made really good cupcakes and cookies. She knew everyone because she cared about everyone.
But she had no children. She was still missing pieces of her life—important pieces that weren’t guaranteed.

Standing from my bed, I choose a long black dress with beautiful black lace and a gray sweater to wear in the cold church.
Julie would want me to look pretty.

I hear a soft knock on my door. “Come in.”

“Are you decent?”

“Yes, Liam.” I smile.

He has been here with me all week. Even when I begged for him to go home so he wouldn’t have to miss work, he just pulled out his laptop and claimed he could work from anywhere. When my parents found out everything Liam had done to get me to Washington safely and quickly, they fell in love with him instantly. We’ve had several talks about our relationship now, and I feel good about where we are. Although we’re not in the best of circumstances, I’ve been able to see a wonderful side of Liam through it all.

“Need any help getting indecent?” He grabs me around the waist and pulls me into his chest.

“No, I don’t think that would be appropriate with my parents down the hall.”

“Damn. I always forget about the parents.” Leaning down, he kisses me softly on the lips. “I just came up to tell you that your brother is here.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I should be ready in a few minutes. Just tell them that I’ll be right down.”

“Alright.”

After he walks out of the room, I sit back on the bed. My thoughts linger on my brother’s comments about missing someone I love.
Do I really miss Liam the moment he walks out the door?
My smile spreads across my face.

Once I’m dressed, I walk down the stairs and head into the living room where everyone is gathered.

My dad immediately embraces me in a hug. “You look wonderful, Care.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Glancing around the room, I see my brother sitting on the loveseat in the corner. I walk over and take a seat next to him. For a moment, we just sit. The silence is good. His fingers are intertwined as he repeatedly rubs one thumb roughly against his palm. I rest my hand on top of his and give him a small smile. I know his nerves have to be on edge. His shoulders visibly relax, and although he doesn’t smile back, at least his frown is a little less depressing.

After June left, we talked about everything that went on between the two of them in Texas. I found it hard to believe that he didn’t think about the possibility of her being my roommate and best friend.
Come on, how many Junes are there?
He said he just didn’t think about it.
Such a man excuse.
His story of their first meeting in the airport and then again in New York was adorable. Knowing how June felt during that time, hearing his version made it that much better.

I did confront him for not being honest about Julie. His reasoning made sense, but it wouldn’t make it any easier for June to understand. He kept saying that it was difficult to bring up the topic. First, he struggled with whether to tell her his feelings because they work together. Then, he thought if he started off with, “Hey, I’m actually married, but my wife can’t communicate with anyone or eat on her own,” things probably wouldn’t go too far. Add those two issues to the fact that my brother still blames himself for Julie’s accident, so he doesn’t feel worthy of finding love again, and I can see why it might have been difficult.

I tried to call June all week to see what made her leave. When I finally got in touch with her yesterday, she obviously knew my brother was married, but it was difficult to get any more information out of her. I’m just hoping that when I get home she will open up about the whole situation. She said she’s not mad at me, but I wouldn’t blame her if she stayed upset for a while. I still think I did the right thing, but sometimes, the right and the wrong solutions don’t give very different outcomes.

Feeling a hand rest on my shoulder, I look up to see Liam smiling sweetly down at me. “You ready? I think it’s time to go,” Liam asks.

“Sure. Cohen, do you want to ride with us?”

“No, Julie’s parents should be here soon. I’m going to ride with them. I’ll see you there.”

I give his hand a quick squeeze and then he shakes Liam’s hand. Liam and I walk out the front door and head to the vehicle with my parents. Liam and I sit in the backseat of my mom’s car. He holds my hand the whole way, and I am lost in bliss. I do feel a tinge of sadness that Julie will never meet Liam. She always wanted me to find someone special.

Saturday

Riding in the backseat of Julie’s parents’ car reminds me of our first date.

We called it a
real
date although her parents were with us the whole time. They even sat next to us during the movie. Our hands rested on the cup holder in between us. We eventually got up the nerve to hold hands, but no other portion of our bodies touched during the entire movie. Our palms were sweaty, and I had to drop her hand to wipe mine on my jeans several times.

It’s hard to say whether my nerves would have been better if her parents had at least sat on a different row. As I wipe my sweaty palms on my black slacks now, I look over to the empty seat next to me, remembering the love Julie and I shared. It was wonderful and short-lived, but it was worth every minute.

We pull into the parking lot of the church. Laura leads me to a side door where the minister greets us. I give him a quick handshake and head into the small hallway. Flowers and potted plants line the room, and I wonder why they haven’t placed them in the church. As I walk around the corner, the sanctuary comes into view, and I quickly realize that there is no more room. Colorful flowers, potted plants, small figurines, teddy bears, and cards fill the front area. An easel, holding a large picture of Julie, sits beside her casket.

I stop in my tracks, staring at the open lid.
Can I handle this?
I close my eyes, bend my neck from side to side, and take in a series of deep breaths.

“Son, you don’t have to go right now. We can just sit,” Julie’s dad says to me, placing his arm around my shoulders.

Even after everything, he still calls me son. After the accident, I often wondered if he would stop referring to me as his son and begin using my given name again. If I were to tell the truth, I thought they would disown me completely. At this point, I’m not sure what value I bring to their lives, except for pain and suffering.

We sit on the second pew, reserved for family, and I continue to stare at the open lid. All at once, it beckons me and disgusts me. I have been through every emotion since Wednesday. After we realized Julie wouldn’t be recovering, I went through the stages of grieving, but a therapist once told me that I would likely go through them again when her death became final. I wonder what stage I’ve returned to now.

After forty-five minutes of staring at the open lid and feeling people file in around me, I decide to see her again. I walk alone, placing one foot in even steps before the other, to the front of the sanctuary. Why this room can’t have a different name during sad events, I’m not sure. This room is nothing like a sanctuary to me. I have no peace and no rest. It doesn’t provide me with shelter or refuge. Instead, in this moment, I feel like an animal being viewed from a distance. I can feel everyone’s eyes on my back as her face comes into view.

She is pale and beautiful with her golden hair falling softly over her shoulders. They have chosen to put her in a white-and-yellow gown as if she were just sleeping. Her favorite color was yellow. The gold band that I gave her when I proposed still fits around her ring finger although it’s very loose.

As I look down to my left hand, I realize I didn’t wear my ring today. Closing my eyes, I try to push out the thoughts of what others will think. They will just have to understand. If they want the truth, I haven’t worn my ring consistently for over a year.

I reach out to Julie’s face and brush my hand against her cheek lightly. Once I feel that I have gazed at her for long enough, I return to my seat and continue staring straight ahead.

Soon, the service begins. We have it all planned out. The preacher speaks, music plays, and people sing. Then, it’s time for the part I am dreading the most—they call on me to speak. I stand tall and walk up the steps to the podium. When I adjust the microphone, it squeals loudly for a moment. I see a few people cringe at the sound, but most people just continue to look at me with what I see as mixed emotions of pity and distaste.

Placing my notes on the flat wooden space, I begin. “Julie was my wife for ten years.”

Breathe.

“From the moment she entered my life when I was ten years old, she captured me.”

Breathe.

“When I turned sixteen, she missed my birthday party, but later, she brought me a cupcake decorated like a baseball. Many of you have had her cupcakes, so you know that from that moment on, my heart was hers.”

I don’t look up to see a reaction.
Breathe.

“We got married young and struggled through college together. Well, I guess she plowed through school and started a career while I struggled through college. She was always supportive, always giving of herself. She loved her job. She loved making something that people could enjoy during special times in their lives.”

This next part is going to be hard to say out loud. I close my eyes and steel myself against the hurt. “A little over two years ago, her accident was the worst night of my life. I don’t think I could ever apologize enough to her for letting her leave the house alone that night. I loved her very much. I loved her with my whole heart. I will miss her smile and gentle attitude for the rest of my life. I know you share in this loss, and I thank you for giving your time to honor her memory.”