Page 24 of Someone Like You
No way Dawson was going to miss that.
The spray of flowers between the chairs and the casket were almost entirely white roses. Only a few red ones made up the center. Dawson took one of those. He knew the difference. Red would always be the only right color for London.
Dawson moved to the edge of the hole where the casket was positioned on a contraption that would soon lower it into the earth. He stared at the dark mahogany and his eyes blurred. For a long moment he wasn’t standing graveside saying goodbye to London.
He was on a bridge watching the falls at Multnomah. And the rain on his face wasn’t from the gray sky overhead, it was mist off the tumbling water. And she was looking intently at the sight and her words were like music in the air.
Life feels like that sometimes.And she was tipping her face back toward the blue sky.The hours and minutes keep slipping over the rocks and washing away in the river below. Time we can’t get back.
She was just there, in his grasp. Their shoulders touching. The faint smell of her shampoo and perfume consuming his senses. And she was taking his hand and leading him off the bridge up the hike and they were talking about eagles and their Grad Night Anniversary and the coffee shop. He closed his eyes and let the rain wash over him.Her voice still rang in his ears and heart. He blinked and like a reflection in a puddle the memory vanished.
It was time.
He set the rose near the top of the coffin, away from the dozen or so white roses. Because the two of them were set apart, they’d been that way from the beginning.Don’t fall in love with me, Dawson. Don’t fall in love with me.
Once more he wiped the rain from his face, then he turned and walked back to Louise and Larry. He looked each of them deep in their eyes. “I’m sorry.”
They nodded and took turns hugging Dawson. There was nothing more to say, so he continued across the soggy field to his truck.
With everything in him, Dawson wanted to run back and get her, take her out of that cold, wet, wooden box and bring her home. In case maybe this was a mistake and eventually she was going to be all right. The thought was irrational, but it hit him all the same. Not because it made sense.
But because this was the first time in all the years he’d known London that he’d ever left her behind.
DAWSON COULDN’T FINDBingo.
The other family members had left Louise and Larry’s house, and the afternoon was waning, but Dawson hadn’t seen London’s dog since they got there. He poured a cup of coffee and moved into the living room. The yellow-haired dog wasn’t near the recliner or by the front door, or at the foot of the stairs. None of his usual spots.
“Bingo.” Dawson did a few soft whistles. “Come here, boy!”
Larry was sitting in his recliner, staring out a window. “Check her closet. He’s been staying there.”
The news was one more punch. Dawson jogged up the stairs and opened the second door on the right. London’s room. He stopped at the entrance and caught his breath. The place looked the same, as if London were only out running an errand and she’d be back any minute. Even though she’d moved into her own apartment years ago.
The air here still smelled like her. He walked to the closet and sure enough Bingo was there. Curled up near a pile of her clothes.
A sob welled up in Dawson’s throat, but he stifled it. Nothing good could come from standing in her room crying. He needed to get them both out of here. “Come on, Bingo, come on, boy.”
At first Bingo only stared at him, his eyes droopy with sadness. Like it would take physical force to move him from London’s closet. But after a few tries, the dog struggled to his feet. He was comfortable around just the four of them—Louise, Larry, Dawson and of course, London. Her most of all. London might as well have been queen of the world for the way Bingo followed her around and stayed near her. Of course he was sleeping near her clothes.
Dawson wanted to do the same thing.
Bingo took his time and the two of them walked downstairs to the living room. Dawson found his coffee and took a spot at the end of the sofa. “Come on, Bingo.” Dawson patted the floor next to his feet. “Right here. Come on, boy.”
Bingo hesitated but eventually he came. With London’s dog nestled up next to him, Dawson took a deep breath. There. Now the Quinn house felt a bit more normal.
Louise had taken the other recliner. No music played in the background, no television. Just the silent reality that the memorial was behind them. All that was left now was the getting back to life. The moving on. The getting up each morning and learning to walk with their new reality.
“I keep thinking of everything we did wrong.” Louise gazed at London’s high school senior portrait on an end table across the room. “We meant to take her to Vacation Bible School every summer when she was little. But we were always headed to the pool or the park.” Regret rang in her voice. “So many things seemed … more important.”
“She’s in heaven, Louise.” Larry’s words were low, desperate sounding. “You heard her … those last few minutes.”
Only then did Dawson realize something. Louise and Larry didn’t know the details of her final day before the accident. He cleared his throat. “London’s definitely with Jesus. I know she is.”
Her parents turned to him, silent, waiting.
Dawson anchored his elbows on his knees. “I never told you about that day. Before she was hit.”
Tears filled Louise’s eyes and she folded her hands in her lap. “I’ve wanted to ask so many times.” She looked at Larry. “We both have.”
