Page 133 of Full Tilt
Only you.
I could see a receding shore beneath a sky full of stars. Millions upon millions of stars. Millions upon millions of moments. All of them with her name.
I loved her more than I had ever loved anyone and was loved in return. The knowledge was safe in me, locked in my heart, and when I stopped fighting it and let my eyes fall closed…
I couldn’t see the shore anymore, but I knew it was there.
A wind whispered, like a breath. My final breath.
I will love you forever.
CHAPTER
FORTY-SEVEN
Four days later
I sat on my bed, still wearing my black dress though the funeral was long over. My hand clutched a balled-up tissue, damp with tears and blackened with mascara.
From the bits and pieces I could remember, it had been a beautiful service. Friends from Carnegie came, along with professors and instructors. A representative from the Chihuly Studio brought an exquisite glass sculpture of white lilies for Jonah’s mother and a note of condolence from Dale himself. The world had lost a vibrant new talent too soon, he wrote.
A minister spoke, Dena recited a poem, and everyone took turns speaking about Jonah: telling funny stories, sharing poignant memories. Over and over, I listened to people tell how he made them laugh, how he brought out the best in everyone. How his belief in them made them brave. I think that was me.
Afterward, Beverly came over to where Theo and I stood together, a small brass urn in her hands.
“The desert, at night, under the stars,” she said, pressing the urn into Theo’s hands. “It’s what he wanted. But I can’t do it. I can’t…”
I can’t either,I thought, sitting alone on my bed.I don’t wantto be here without you. I need you.
Only a knock at my front door roused me to move. Tania stood outside, still in her funeral black, her eyes red-rimmed. In her arms was a cardboard box.
“I can’t stay,” she said. “I leave for Seattle tomorrow and still have a ton of packing.” She put the box in my hands. “But this is for you.”
“What is it?”
“Jonah made it for you. I helped, but he did the work. God, his artistry… He was a master. He breathed his life into his glass. I’ll never work with anyone better.”
We hugged goodbye, both of us stiff with grief, both knowing if we lingered here, we’d collapse. We made a hurried plan to see each other when she came back in a week. If she came back.
I took the box to the couch and set it on my coffee table to open it.
Inside was a sphere of glass, about the size of a cantaloupe, heavy and dark. Crystal stars smattered against the dark blues and black. A planet—red, green and black—hovered in the center, surrounded by swirls and spirals of light in pale blue that seemed to possess their own illumination. A piece of the night sky trapped in an orb.
“The universe,” I murmured, cradling the orb on my lap, running my hands over its smooth surface. Its exquisite beauty caught up my breath. Afraid I would break it, I searched in the box for some kind of stand to set it on.
A note lay at the bottom of the box. Carefully, I set the sphere aside and drew out the folded paper with shaking hands. My eyes filled when I saw his handwriting. I touched the words, hearing his voice speaking behind every pen stroke.
Kacey,
If you’re reading this, it means I’m (hopefully) at some celestial diner, stuffing my face with bacon and French fries, and drinking real beer. When I’m done, I’ll tip the waiter in rolls of nickels. Because anyone can hit a jackpot, right? You just have to play.
And you have to live. You taught me that. My life was stale and shuttered until you. Colorless and drab until you. I kept my broken heart to myself, until you came and took it in your gentle hands and breathed life into it. Into me.
You taught me how to find life within every moment. You healed my heart, Kacey, when nothing else could.
This ball of glass and fire is as close as I’ll come to showing what you’ve been to me. I tried to put everything you are and everything I feel for you all in one place. But capturing the enormity of you is impossible. It’s not enough. Nothing will ever be enough.
You are a universe, Kacey.
