Page 66 of Every Heartbeat After

It’s a terrifying feeling, to desire the one thing that’s most painful to lose.

“I’ve been thinking… Well, I’m not planning to come back here. After this year.” I pause, waiting for an objection that never comes. Then I clear my throat. “I’ve been trying to figure out where I go from here. Not the literal here, but the metaphorical one. You know?”

He remains silent, save for a grunt to let me know he’s heard me. Deep down I know he’s not judging. Maybe it’s my inner critic, or perhaps it’s no one at all. Either way, I find myself jumping to my own defense.

“I love the Carmen; don’t get me wrong. My parents are everywhere. Hell,I’meverywhere. This place has been the backdrop of all my favorite memories for as far back as those memories go. I know it seems stupid, wanting to give that up on top of everything else. But it hurts, too, Gary. I see her here. I see them both here. They’re in every room, at every corner. They’re playing in the water and cracking jokes at the bar and slow dancing on the balcony to the sound of the waves. It hurts so goddamn much.

“Every good memory I’ve ever made here is tainted by that one really bad memory. The one where they’re dead, and they’ll never not be dead, and coming here summer after summer without any sort of forward momentum feels a bit like I’m just following in their footsteps, marching toward the inevitable end.”

My chest is heaving with the effort it takes to breathe through the pain. My lungs prickle and sting. Tears burn the backs of my eyes. I don’t know where all these words came from. Only that they’ve been living inside me far longer than I even realized—since long before Gary’s name popped up on that DNA test.

Finally he lets out a somber sigh. “First of all, there’s nothing stupid or foolish or wrong about the way you’re feeling. The only thing wrong with grief is that it has a reason to exist in the first place. If the people we loved hadn’t bothered dying, we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all, now would we?”

I sniffle my agreement. He presses on.

“When Wendy first died, I lived in limbo for an entire year. Couldn’t go forward. Couldn’t go back. It was all I could do to hold completely still and hope another wave wouldn’t knock me down while I was catching my breath.”

That’s how my grandparents’ deaths felt. Like one wave, and then another, crashing over my already bruised and battered soul. Then a swath of relief when I’d finally buried them both, if only because I knew there would be no one else left to lose. I’d never have to endure that type of pain again. I felt horrible guilt afterward, for managing to be relieved that they were gone. Then I quit my job as a stylist and went to work as a server in a food truck for a while, distracting myself with the change of pace.

Always distracting. Pretending. Putting on a smile and swearing I’m fine, when I’m not even sure whatfinemeans anymore.

Gary inhales deeply like he’s steadying himself. “After that year, I took down all the art she’d hung on the walls of our place. I couldn’t bear for it to look the same as it had when she was here. My world had been permanently altered inside. How could it still look the same on the outside?

“But eventually, after years and years of living in that silo of grief, I started letting people in. The patrons at the bar. Zoey and her friends, those heathens. I found people to love and be loved by, and I thought, man, I wish they’d known Wendy. That she could’ve known them. So one day I dug those old pieces of art out of storage and one by one, gave them away. A painting for each of my newfound family. A way for Wendy to know them, and for them to know her. For us to share the burden of my love for her, when it had nowhere else to go for so long.

“It’s okay if this is your last summer there, Tess. Whether that’s forever, or for just a little while, until you find people you love that you want to share your parents with. Or share with your parents.”

Just as he says it, Kit jogs into view. He pauses at the shoreline, hands on hips, and peers out at the horizon with an unnatural stillness that I envy. He looks wholly present. Or perhaps just whole. Not lacking in the ways I’ve always felt I am. Lacking a family. Lacking a future. Simply existing in the present, rowing fast from one buoy to the other because it’s my only guarantee.

“You still there?”

“I am,” I croak. I’m crying in earnest now. The teardrops blend with the damp splotches my freshly washed hair has left on my blouse as they fall, and I’m grateful for the disguise. “I’m just taking it in, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry I made you cry,” he says with a sigh. “I just love you, kiddo. And I want you to be happy more than anything.”

Just like my parents. Such a seemingly simple ask, but one I struggle with so fiercely.

“I love you, too, Gary. Thank you for everything.”

“Oh, I did nothing but wax poetic about my own heartache. You’ll find your way. I promise you that. And whatever it looks like, I’m here for you. You know that, right?”

“Yeah. I do,” I whisper. More to keep my voice from cracking than anything. “Any souvenir requests?”

He chuckles softly. “Surprise me. Something my sister would’ve liked.”

I nod though he can’t see me. Smile, because I hope she can. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Bye, kiddo.”

“Bye, Gary.”

Kit begins his final stroll up the beach toward the wooden walkway that will lead him past the showerheads, a sight that has my heart skipping a beat, and to the Carmen, where he’ll take an elevator back to me.

And, just like I promised, I’ll be here.

ChapterTwenty-Six

Kit

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