“No, I’m okay,” I croak. One last inhale, and I pull the handle and step to the curb. Everything here looks the same—the same black door with the gold handle, the same bench sitting off to the side, and the same pillows stitched with owls on the front. I can almost visualize Josh sitting there, pulling his cleats from his feet and banging them together to get out the chunks of dirt.
The door opens before I ring the bell, and Josh’s mom, Patty, is smiling softly. Not the happy kind, but the understanding kind—the kind full of words without speaking. She’s older, even though it’s only been four months or so since I last saw her, she’s wearing years on her body and face. Everything about her is tired.
“Rowe, it’s so good to see you,” she says, and seeing her glassy eyes make mine sting as well. I step into her arms, and she hugs me tightly, her hand gripping the back of my neck. “Come on in,” she says, holding a hand up to my parents who are still out in the driveway. She doesn’t ask if they want to come in too. There’s no need. Everyone knows what I’m here for.
I follow Patty to the kitchen where she has a plate of cookies and a glass of milk already prepared. She always had snacks for me—even when I came to visit when Josh was under their care. She pushes the plate at me, and I pull a cookie into my hand, not really hungry, but not wanting to be rude.
“I didn’t know,” I start, and I can feel the burn in my eyes instantly, so I suck in trying to keep it together. “I would have come. I would have been here. But I didn’t know.”
I put the cookie down on the table and look down to my lap; Patty reaches across the table and puts her hand on mine. “I know you would have, sweetheart. I know,” she says, just holding her hand there for a few minutes while I sob softly.
“Where’s Mr. Anderson?” I ask, doing my best not to notice the small things that are familiar around me. This place is more familiar than my own home at this point.
“He had to work. He sends his hellos though. He’s sorry he didn’t get to see you,” she says, and I nod in response.
“Was it…I don’t know…fast? I mean, that’s stupid…” I fumble through my words, and the more I talk the more my gut hurts. “I guess I mean, did he suffer? At the end?”
“No, Rowe,” she says, the faint smile coming back to her lips, and I know she’s being honest. “He went in his sleep. He had been failing for months. It was his time.”
I nod again and look back to my lap, doing my best to swallow the lump choking my throat. I reach for the milk and take a sip, then pick up my cookie again, breaking off a small piece and eating it. Like everything else, it’s familiar, and it floods my mind with a dozen more memories, so I put it back down.
“Rowe, you know you couldn’t have done anything, right?” Patty asks, tilting her head down to force my gaze up to hers. I shrug, because even though I know I couldn’t have, I feel like I should have tried, or at least been here. “Rowe, my son was gone the day that madman entered the cafeteria. These last two years…while he was here, it wasn’t really him, you know? He was alive, but his mind was gone.”
“But I should have said goodbye,” I say, unable to stop myself from full-on crying now. Patty moves her chair close to mine and pulls me into her arms, her hand rubbing up and down my back while I convulse into huge sobs. “He died, and he thinks I forgot him. That I didn’t love him. ”
“No, don’t you for once ever think that, Rowe,” she says, squeezing me tighter. “I’m convinced, the last thing my son remembers is that last day here on earth with you—talking about summer, and the end of the school year, and your date that night. I like to believe he died playing that memory over and over in his head, the best memory of his life. He wasn’t even aware of anything after.”
“But I never saw him. I couldn’t do it. I was too…too weak,” I say, rubbing my eyes with my balled-up fists.
“I’m glad, Rowe, because you can have that last memory, too. The same one Josh had. His dad and I, we weren’t as lucky. And if I could have chosen never to have seen my son like that, the way he lived…barely…for the last two years—I would have,” she says, lifting my chin to look at her and taking a soft towel to my cheeks.
“I don’t know,” I say, feeling ashamed for being so afraid.
“I do. I know,” she says, forcing me to keep my eyes on her. She studies me for several seconds, then she stands and reaches for my hand. “Come with me. I have something for you.”