Page 104 of The Outsider

Swallowing hard, John nodded, never looking away from the headstone. I felt his fragility in the rigidness of his body, in the way he didn’t return my touch. I recalled the words of the song from a deeply painful place inside of me that I rarely visited. A place where my father still lived, as vivid and real as he’d ever been, yet remained forever out of reach.

I am the sun that shines

The blue sky and shady pines

I am the deepest valley and highest peak

The glistening raindrop hitting your cheek

I am thewind that sings

In the sails of your ship

I am where your dreams go

The goodbye on your lips

Search for me in the snow as it falls

In the light of the meadow

My love, I am everywhere

And nowhere at all

Listen for me when you hear

The bluebirds sing, the raven’s call

The lush symphony of spring

There, I’ll wait for you

At the end of everything

My voice was soft but strengthened with each verse, and I remembered my father singing those same words to me. I couldn’t have known how prophetic they’d be.

The dead we love never leave us, Claire,he’d murmured to thirteen-year-old me.Take it from a man who survived the end of the world. They become one with all things.

“Beautiful,” John murmured, and when I lifted my head from his shoulder, his cheek was wet, sparkling in the dim lantern light. “He wrote that?”

“Not long before he died. Knowing what I know now, I wonder if he wasn’t preparing me for a life without him.”

I followed the tracks of his pain with my lips, gently kissing them away.

“They’d be so proud of you,” I said softly. “Like I am. Like we all are.”

He nodded tightly, jaw clenched. There was something he still held back. I waited quietly.

“How is it possible,” he said after a moment, “that after we do everything we set out to do, and everyone is safe, that I still feel…pain?”

He let out a long, ragged-sounding breath. “Don’t get me wrong; I’m so happy to be home. Even more happy you’re herewith me. But today, it was like it hit me: none of it brought them back. I’m home now, but they’re still gone.”

“Oh, my love,” I murmured, wrapping my arms around him. “I know.”

“And now,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper, “home is different to when they were here—to when I was here. Since I’ve been gone, people have died, babies have been born, things have changed. I wanted the home I had with them back, but that’s gone forever. And some part of me still feels homesick.”

My heart felt like it would break, but I only squeezed him hard.

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