Page 13 of To the Moon and Back
Kari walked up, dabbing at the corner of her own eyes. “It’s beyond sad. I mean . . . the emotions here. Just heartbreaking.”
“So much pain.” Ashley looked at the birthday card again, then at her sister. The three kids were a few yards away, still studying other items on the fence. “Are they ready to move on?”
“Actually, Jessie and Amy and I are headed to the restroom. Cole, too.” Kari took a step toward the kids.
“Okay.” Ashley hesitated. “You go ahead. I’ll stay here.” She glanced at the fence and then back at her sister. “Come find me when you’re done.”
“Okay.” Kari smiled. “This has been so special.”
“For me, too.” Ashley searched her sister’s eyes. “I feel closer to Erin because of the story you told.”
For a quick second Kari reached out and squeezed Ashley’s hand, then she turned and met up with the kids who were a few yards away, and the group headed toward the museum.
Ashley faced the fence once more. As she did, she noticed she wasn’t alone. A few feet away stood a guy who looked like he could be Landon’s brother. Tall, dark hair. Strong and fit. Maybe in his late twenties. He wore sunglasses and held what looked like a rolled-up letter. Ashley took a few steps back and watched him.
The guy was clearly caught up in his own world. He took a blue ribbon from the pocket of his jeans and tied it around the rolled-up paper. Then he slipped it into the fence. Ashley narrowed her eyes. Who was the letter for? And how was the man connected to the bombing?
Something about him looked familiar, but Ashley didn’t think she’d ever really seen him before. Maybe just that he resembled Landon. The guy turned and caught her staring. She managed a weak smile and a quick nod before she focused her attention again on the fence. In her peripheral vision she saw the man shove his hands deep into his navy blue sweatshirt pockets and walk the other direction. He definitely didn’t want to talk to a stranger.
Ashley watched him go. What’s his story, God? He looks so hurt. The man seemed isolated and distant. Like whatever his connection to the bombing site it was deeply personal. Maybe even devastating. She stared at the white paper and the blue ribbon. Why was the man here today? Ashley wished she could’ve asked him. But more than that she wanted to know something else.
What was in the note?
5
S omehow, Amy felt closer to her family here at the memorial site. As they met up with Aunt Ashley and headed toward the field of empty chairs, she breathed in the quiet air. Maybe it was the other people who had come here today. Some of them were probably tourists.
But she had a feeling lots of them were survivors like her.
Long ago when she was little, her mother had read her a story about an ugly duckling. The little duckling was different from his siblings. Everywhere they went, he felt set apart. He imagined the other ducks whispering about him, feeling sorry for him.
Then one day the ugly duckling came upon a family of swans. And suddenly he realized he wasn’t different or ugly after all! He was a swan.
That’s how Amy felt today. Her aunt and uncle loved her as much as they loved their own kids. Amy knew that. Her cousins treated her like she was a sibling. No one was mean to her and she’d never seen them whispering about her.
But they felt sorry for her. Of course they did. Her entire family was dead. Amy understood that, and she was thankful for her home and the way she had been accepted and loved by her aunt and uncle. Still, no matter how much they cared for her, no matter how much they still hurt over their own losses, none of them could ever really understand how it felt to have your whole family die.
Here, though, it was different. At the memorial—especially on the anniversary of the bombing—there had to be at least some people walking around who knew what it was like to be so young and to lose a parent in a sudden moment. Amy was sure of it. They were here because they were still healing. Here because they wanted to remember the person they’d lost.
Amy and the rest of them reached the chairs, and quietly they walked the rows. That was Amy’s idea. Because each person should be remembered in some special way, she told the others. They didn’t stop and read every name, but they paid their respects.
That’s what Aunt Ashley called it.
Amy could picture her parents walking these very rows, noticing each of these exact chairs. Of course they had. Her mom had loved visiting here, she definitely would have taken time to see the chairs.
They were almost done. Today’s time would end in the museum, where they would read about the events of that April 19.
Amy wished she could meet everyone here who was just like her. The family of swans. The survivors. People still stuck somewhere between 9:01 and 9:03 that Wednesday morning. But since that couldn’t happen, she let herself believe that everyone she could see, everyone they passed by knew her pain. She smiled at a few of them and nodded at others.
Her aunts and uncles and cousins were her family and she loved them with all her heart.
But these were her people.
• • •
THE GUY KEPT returning to the fence. Checking on the letter. Looking one way and then the other, like he was waiting for someone. Ashley noticed him the whole time they visited the chairs and afterward as they left for the museum.
Amy was doing well. She hadn’t brought up the sapling again, and she seemed at peace having spent time here. But through it all, Ashley kept an eye on the fence. Whoever the guy was waiting for, the person apparently hadn’t shown up.
