“No! C-come b-back!” I grasped air and twisted in the bed.
He was there instantly, still naked, still wet. He slid into the bed with me and wrapped himself around me. “I’m here, my love. I’m here. I’m not leaving you. I’m here.”
“B-Ben…” I turned in his arms and pressed my face to his chest. “W-why? God, b-Benny…”
“I don’t know, honey. I wish I knew.” He smoothed my hair against my scalp, and his breath was on my ear.
“Ben-Benny…” I sobbed, and couldn’t stop once I’d started. I heard hinges creak, and Jason’s weight shifted, then returned. A thought struck me. “K-Kate? I have to tell Kate.”
“She knows. She’s been told.” He held me against him. “I’m so sorry, Becca. I’m so sorry.”
I sobbed until I slept, and then when I woke, I sobbed again until I passed out once more. I’d been dressed at some point, and Jason was gone when I woke a second time. Full dark hung thick beyond my window, sliced by a sliver of moon. I found him in the kitchen talking to my parents, a cup of coffee in his hands, dressed in track pants and a gray hoodie with his last name across the back.
Father was the first to see me. He crossed the kitchen in two strides and clutched me against his chest. “Rebecca, I’m so sorry you saw that. God, figlia. I’m so sorry.” His voice broke. “I failed him. I failed…”
I couldn’t take the cloying scent of his cologne, the unfamiliar feel of his embrace. I pushed away from him and found Jason. He pulled me into his arms, and I broke down again. He sat down on the high bar chair and lifted me onto his lap, smoothed my hair away, held me.
Mother was silent, but I felt her sorrow. I peered at her, saw her face streaked with tears, eyes red.
I felt Father behind me. “Rebecca, I—”
I didn’t blame him, wasn’t angry at him, but I couldn’t take his presence. I writhed away from his touch and twisted to look up at Jason. “I-I-I c-can’t be h-here. Take mmm-mmm—me away. Take me s-somew-w-w-where else. Anyw-w-w-where.”
He stood up with me in a fireman’s hold and carried me away. I heard a door open, and I smelled my mother’s scent. Cold, small fingers touched my forehead. I opened my eyes to see her brown eyes shimmering above me. She didn’t speak, just brushed my forehead, her lips pressed into a thin, hard line.
“He-he’s gone, M-mmm-Mom.” I fisted Jason’s hoodie in my hand as I locked eyes with her. “He killed hims-s-self. Hung himself from a f-f-f-fucking t-t-t-tree!”
“I know, I know.” It was all she said.
“W-w-why?”
She shrugged, shaking her head. “I have not…any answers.”
Jason carried me out into the warm summer night, a gentle breeze riffling my hair, smelling of flowers and cut grass and nighttime. A frog croaked somewhere, and a cricket sang a shrill song. He set me on my feet, and I heard the creak of his truck door opening, the pale, dim yellow glow of the cab light familiar, the ding-ding-ding of the open-door alert chiming. I climbed into the truck, grateful for something familiar. He started the truck with a grumbling roar, and music began immediately: “To Travels and Trunks” by Hey Marseilles. My music, rather than Jason’s country.
I felt Jason watching me, and he knew me well enough to leave the music on. “Rhythm of Love” by Plain White T’s came on next, and I let my eyes close. I could almost forget, nestled in the warm familiarity of Jason’s truck.
“Where do you want to go, baby?” I felt the right turn out of the subdivision, and then the left onto the main road.
“Anywhere. Just…drive.”
The Civil Wars played next, “Kingdom Come,” and I laid my head on Jason’s lap as he drove. I felt dirt and gravel rumble and plink under us, and Jason’s hand rested on my side.
We drove, and we drove. I slept, and woke in Jason’s arms, my head against his chest, early morning cold frosting me, sunlight gleaming golden-red through the windshield. I saw the branches of our oak tree, each one familiar. I knew how many branches the tree had, knew the scar of an ax or saw on one side, the knot near the joining of the trunk and a low branch, the place where birds liked to nest near the top.
I had a moment of peace, just the cold and Jason’s arms and the truck and the tree and the sun. And then I remembered, a waking nightmare flashing through my mind. I shuddered, choking back tears. Jason’s arms clutched me, and I knew he was awake.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much, and I’ll be here with you every single moment.”
I nodded against his chest. “I l-love you, t-too.” I cringed at the stutter. “I’m s-sorry.”
“Sorry? For what?”
“I k-keep…keep stutter…r-r-ring.” Mid-word stutters were the worst. I hadn’t stuttered in the middle of a word since junior high.
He made a sound almost like a sob. “Never apologize. You know that. I love you. Always, forever, no matter what.”
“P-p-prom—promise?” I clutched him desperately.
“On my soul. On my life.”
I needed him. I wasn’t afraid of admitting that, not ever. Especially then. I knew he was the only thing that would get me through this crushing sorrow, this haunting vision of Ben swinging and twisting in the air above me.
He held me, and he didn’t let go.
FOURTEEN: Elegy
Jason
Two days later
I had to literally hold Becca upright as we entered the viewing room at the funeral parlor.
Why is it a “parlor”? It seems like such a flighty, frivolous word. Parlors are for sipping tea and laughing at flat jokes, not mourning the loss of a loved one.
I’d tried to call Nell to tell her, but she never answered, never returned my call. I didn’t leave a message, because how can you pass news like this via voicemail?
Becca was…just broken. It crushed me to see her like this. She was always such a bright person, lively and lovely. Quiet in public, but still vibrant. Now? The sunlight had been leached from her smile, the sap sucked from her eyes. I held her against my side, pinning her there with my arm. She clutched my ribs tight enough to restrict my breathing. I half-carried her across the same carpeting with the fleur-de-lis pattern, past the same out-of-place paintings of old English foxhunt scenes as when Kyle died. Not the same room, thank god. I don’t think I could have taken that. This one was subdued, with wood-paneled walls and pale charcoal carpeting and brass lamps, some ubiquitous hunt scene artwork and three rows of folding chairs.