It was all a joke, that was it.

I fumbled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed his number, listened to it ring and ring and ring…it went to voicemail. “Hey, this is Kyle. I’m probably out being awesome somewhere, so leave a message and I’ll get back to you. If I feel like it.” The snorts of laughter in the background as he recorded the message were mine.

I felt a small, cold hand take the phone from me. I let her. She tugged me up to my feet, hauling me bodily up. “Come on, baby. Nell needs us.”

I stumbled, and she caught me with her shoulder under my arm. I stared down into her wet black eyes, and I saw a compassion there, a love, an understanding. Her own sadness was taking a back seat to her sadness for me. I didn’t know what to say, what to do. All I knew was I needed Becca to get through this, and I could only hope she’d stay with me, keep loving me through it.

I found myself in the leather seat of Becca’s Jetta, the new car smell almost cloying now. Becca’s iPhone was plugged into the auxiliary jack, and when she started the engine, a song came on: “Your Long Journey” by Robert Plant and Alison Krauss. My eyes burned, and my throat closed. Becca went to turn it off, but I stopped her. She took my hand in hers and drove, letting the music play. A song I didn’t know came on, and I picked up her phone to check the Pandora display: “Been a Long Day” by Rosi Golan. It was a quiet, beautiful song, piano providing a backdrop to a sweet female voice.

We pulled into the Hawthornes’ driveway, gravel crunching under our tires. There were several cars in the driveway already. Becca tangled her fingers in mine as soon as I was upright and out of the car; she basically had to drag me into the house. I didn’t want to go in. I didn’t want to see the grief of other people. That would make it real. If I kept pretending it wasn’t, maybe it wouldn’t be.

Mrs. Hawthorne opened the door, her eyes red but dry. “Jason, Becca. Thanks for coming. Nell is in her room.”

“How is she?” Becca asked.

Mrs. Hawthorne squeezed my hand, touching Becca’s forehead with her own. “Not good. She…she watched him…go. She’s totally unresponsive.”

Becca sniffed softly, and I watched her literally square her shoulders and push her own emotions down. She tugged me by the hand up the stairs, stopping at Nell’s bedroom door. Becca tried the knob, found it unlocked, and went in, with me trailing behind her.

Nell was lying on her side in her bed, eyes dry, a note clutched in her hand. A cast covered one entire arm. She stared into middle distance, not even registering our arrival. I didn’t know what to do, where to look. She was clothed in an old hoodie of Kyle’s and a pair of black underwear, lying on top of the blankets. I focused my gaze on the Avett Brothers poster on the wall as I drew a blanket up to her waist. I sat in Nell’s desk chair while Becca climbed onto Nell’s bed behind her, brushing a lock of hair out of her face.

“Nell?” Becca’s voice was hesitant. Obviously, she didn’t know what to say. “What—what ha-happened?”

Nell didn’t answer for a long time. When she did, her voice was a raw, barely audible whisper. “He…died.” Her eyes flicked up to me. “He’s gone.”

I choked, shaking my head. “I—fuck. How?”

She visibly withdrew into herself. “We were…arguing. A storm, crazy wind. It…blew a tree down. It was supposed to be me, but he…saved me. Pushed me out of the way. Saved me. It should have been me, but it’s him.”

Neither Becca nor I knew what to say to that.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Becca finally ventured.

Nell physically flinched, but she didn’t respond. I watched her nails claw into her palm, digging in so hard I was sure I’d see blood trickle down her hand.

We sat in horrible, heavy silence until it became clear Nell wasn’t going to say or do anything else.

“We’re here for you, Nell. I’m here for you. I love you.”

Nell’s teeth clamped down on her lower lip when Becca said those last three words, biting so hard her pink lip turned white.

Becca led me out of the room, leaving Nell in the same position she’d been in when we arrived, eyes open and staring into nothing, a white scrap of paper clutched in her hand.

Mrs. Hawthorne pulled us into the kitchen. “How is she?”

Becca shook her head. “She s-said, like, three sentences. I don’t know, Mrs. Hawthorne. I’m ww-worried about her. She’s nearly catatonic.”

“Maybe she just needs time.” Mrs. Hawthorne was staring out the kitchen window.

“Maybe,” Becca agreed, but an odd note in her voice told me she didn’t exactly agree, although Mrs. Hawthorne didn’t seem to catch it.

“The funeral is Wednesday.” People were coming and going, bringing in dishes of food. I saw Mr. and Mrs. Calloway sitting on the couch, his arm around her thin, trembling shoulders. Mr. Hawthorne sat on the couch next to Mr. Calloway, offering a stony, stoic silence as comfort.

Becca took me home and slid into my bed next to me. I’d never been in my room with her before. We never came here because I knew my dad would be a dick and make a scene, and I didn’t want Becca to have see that. In this moment, though, I couldn’t summon the energy to care about my father. I just knew I needed her beside me.

I wasn’t sure how long we lay there in silence, Becca’s arm curled around my chest, her face pressed to my back. I felt wetness seeping into my thin cotton T-shirt, but she never made a sound.

My door banged open, slamming violently into the wall. “Who’s f**king foreign piece of shit car is parked in my goddamn spot?” He filled the doorway, huge, wild-eyed, not swaying but clearly intoxicated.

Becca shrank behind me. “It’s mine, Mr. Dorsey. I’m sorry. I’ll move it.”

“Fuckin’ right you’ll move it,” he snarled. “Get your car out, and stay out.”

“She’s not going anywhere,” I said, not looking at my dad. “Neither is her car.”

“Why the hell is she in your bed, boy? Don’t you know any better?”

“Kyle Calloway died.” I said it, and it broke me.

A tear fell from my eye, just one, and I couldn’t stop.

“Are you f**king crying?”

Becca rose to a sitting position behind me. “Kyle was his b-best friend, you know. His best friend is dead.” Her voice was hard and quiet, but I heard the tremor of fear. She was terrified of my dad, for good reason. “Give him a break.”




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