THREE DAYS LATER, I gallop down the stairs of my family’s home to prepare Melody’s breakfast before she wakes. Unlike the days before her family’s accident, she’s eating. It just isn’t enough to give her the energy needed to get her out of bed. I’m hoping a fruit-boosted smoothie might encourage her to move our daily chats to the back porch.
We’ve communicated a lot the past three days, and Ms. Sprigs, our middle school guidance counselor and teacher for the deaf, dropped off some pamphlets on helping Melody through her grief. Everyone has been really great—even Phoenix and Madden. They’ve given Melody space, and Phoenix has been using the main bathroom, so Melody doesn’t feel cramped.
The only person acting like Melody’s entire life wasn’t upended is my father. It took four hours of crying for Melody to collapse in exhaustion the night of her parents’ accident, but my father’s lecture about me needing to take responsibility for my actions couldn’t wait until the following morning. Even with him having plenty of money in the bank, he wanted me to get a summer job to pay for the repairs to his Audi.
When I said, “Fine, whatever,” he then demanded to know how long Melody was planning to stay like she had any other place to go. I was angry and so close to pummeling his scornful words back into his throat with my fists.
I would have if my mom didn’t intervene. She told him the repairs to his car would be covered by insurance, and for what it lacked, she’d make up for, then she told him Melody could stay for a long as she wanted. He, on the other hand, was no longer welcome.
Although my mom gave him clear marching orders, it took almost an hour of arguing before my father stormed out like he always does. I haven’t seen him since.
“Hey, Mom.” I lean in to place a kiss on her cheek before moving to the fridge. “Any news on Joey?”
I’ll be the first to admit I haven’t done a good job of juggling my responsibilities lately. Between Melody’s grief and Joey’s heart surgery, it’s been once clusterfuck after another, but my mom will never call me out on it.
“He’s good. Keeping Dr. Giorgio on her toes. She said he’ll be moved to the transplant wing later today. If Melody is up for it, perhaps you two can visit him later this week?”
I jerk up my chin, stumped of a better reply. I’m struggling to get Melody to leave my room, so I don’t see her going into town anytime soon.
As I slice a fresh banana into the blender, my mom hesitatingly says, “Can I ask you something, BJ?”
“Uh-huh.”
She waits for me to add strawberries, blueberries, and half a gallon of milk before replying, “We need to discuss Liam and Wren’s funerals with Melody. Father Peters is coming over later today to discuss whether we should have a graveside funeral or one at the church.”
“Graveside.”
A motherly glint flares through my mother’s eyes. “Are you sure that’s what Melody wants, BJ?”
I nod without pause for thought. We haven’t specifically discussed her parents’ funeral, but I know her well enough to know she doesn’t want to farewell her parents in an empty church. The Greggs didn’t trust anyone, so there’s barely anyone to attend their service. A large church service will just make it more uncomfortable for Melody. I want to ease her pain, not increase it.
“Okay.” My mom rubs my arm that’s still vibrating from the blender’s furious buzzes. “I’ll let Father Peters know.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
I stop pouring Melody’s smoothie into a large glass when my mom says, “You should’ve added a dollop of peanut butter to the mix. I bet that would have given Melody the boost you’re seeking.” Fine lines crease in the corner of her eyes when she laughs at my pouty face. “Maybe next time?”
“Maybe,” I agree, smiling for the first time in days.
16
BRANDON
E ight days after Melody’s parents’ accident, and three days following her first outing out of my room, Melody sits quietly next to two identical coffins. The large picture frames on top of the stark white coffins reveal whose funeral it is, but other than that, there’s no indication of the drastic loss the world undertook only eight short days ago.
Melody’s friends hover at the back of the half-dozen empty seats. They understand their friend is in pain, but they have no clue how to comfort her, so they stay away. My family fills the front row, and old teachers of Melody’s and mine take up the second one.
That’s it. Seventeen people to farewell two remarkable souls.
It’s not fair. It truly isn’t.
When Melody frees her hand from my grip so she can present her eulogy at the podium Father Peters has been manning the past twenty-five minutes, I stray my eyes to the procession of funeral cars, needing to distract myself from the moisture burning my eyes. There’s only three—the hearse that brought Liam and Wren to their final resting place, my dad’s Audi, and my mom’s family sedan. My parents arrived separately, which isn’t surprising considering no one has seen or heard from my father since my mother kicked him out. It’s for the best. Right now, there’s so much going on, no one can be selfish. My father isn’t capable of doing that. He’s only ever looked out for himself, so it’s best for all involved that he stays away.
The woman Father Peters brought in to translate Melody’s eulogy solemn tone fades away when I spot an old truck a few spots down from Madden’s Pontiac. It’s not a car I see often, but its rusty roof and paint-peeled body makes it stand out. I swear it’s the same F150 that followed the Greggs’ station wagon out of the hospital’s parking lot almost two weeks ago.
My curiosity doubles when a flash of amber from inside the cab reveals someone is sitting inside. If they drove all the way out to Willow Meadows Lawn Cemetery to say their final goodbyes to Liam and Wren, why stay seated in their car? It’s not like there isn’t a spare seat closer to the service.
Unless they want to remain concealed?
