Page 4 of All the Broken Pieces: Vol. 3

Chapter 4

There’s no picture of Zach to be found on Facebook. I try my feed, Tim tries his. We search through everyone else’s as well, and Google anything that might pull it up. Nothing. Tim leans back in the desk chair, his sweat-soaked shirt now dry. The man smells of summer, leather, and caulk. I’m in a folding chair next to him, staring at the flickering computer screen.

Tim sighs before turning to me, “The options are still the same, Abby. It’s either him, or it’s not. If it was Zach, that doesn’t mean he’s walking around.”

“But the scar—”

Tim’s face crumples with an emotion that looks much too close to pity. I glance away, but he places a hand on my shoulder. When I don’t look at him, he gently presses a finger to my chin, turning me toward him. “Zach didn’t have a scar. That’s your answer, Abby. It wasn’t him. Our Zach is gone, okay? I know Facebook has screwed with you before. It’s done the same thing to me. All of a sudden there’s movement on his page, and I think he’s there for a half a second. It’s cruel. I get it.”

I try to keep my lips in a straight line, but they wobble. The tiny flinches turn to a tremble, and before I can cry, Tim pulls me against his chest and mutters apologies for the smell. “If his grave was here, I’d take you there. We could talk to him and say good-bye, but he’s buried 3,000 miles away.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do when he died. I was too shocked to think clearly.” Tears streak my face, but there are no sobs. I’m aware of Tim’s hands on my back, dead center, where a friend would put them—but he’s stronger than Vi and holds me tighter.

Tim pulls back, and wipes the tears from my eyes. “I’m not blaming you.” After a long moment of silence, he offers carefully, “Abby, what if we started our summer off with saying good-bye? Would it help?” His face is so pained that I can barely look at him.

I stand and wrap my arms around my middle as I think of that grave. They don’t know, Tim doesn’t realize the type of place Zach is buried. It’s normal there, but not here. It’ll kill him to see that concrete grave. I didn’t understand until it was too late. I’m biting my lips, trying to keep them from falling open with sobs, when I sense Tim behind me.

“Abby, there’s a time to let go and say good-bye. Maybe it would do us both some good? I can’t stand seeing you like this. If it would help—”

I cut him off, blurting out, “You’ll hate me for it.”

“What?” Confusion spreads across his face.

I tug at my hair and feel myself shrink smaller. I look away from him and then shift my gaze, glancing out of the corner of my eye. I explain, while holding the ends of my hair over each shoulder. “The graves there aren’t like here. It’s an island. When you see where he’s buried, Tim—my God.”

He’s there, his hands on my elbows, gently anchoring me to the present. “Abby, you did what you had to do. I won’t blame you. Please, believe me.” His eyes hold mine, completely earnest. “Is he in an unmarked grave?”

I shake my head. “God, no. I wouldn’t do that to him.”

“Then, what?”

Tears roll down my cheeks. I try to blink them away, but it’s pointless. There are too many sorrows inside me. Too much guilt, and it comes flooding out. “The graves are concrete cellars with headstones. Like a basement.”

He laughs once, and when he sees the horror on my face, he catches my eye. “Not a basement, more like a catacomb. A tomb. I’m sure it’s a good resting place. Lots of sun and sand.”

“He’s in a basement.”

“No, he’s in a tomb. Abby, people used to be buried in crypts and holes in the city walls. This is no different. Actually, it’s a good resting place. You don’t need to feel like you failed him with this. I promise. I’d tell you.” He shakes his head and holds my gaze. “This isn’t a bad thing.”

I sniffle, not really sure that he won’t be angry about it once he sees for himself. Zach’s grave looks like a storm cellar. Swallowing hard, I sway in place, wondering if I can bear to see it again -- if it would help or harm. Sometimes I wish I buried him here, so I could go there, and leave flowers, or something. Maybe I’ve been wanting closure, to say goodbye. I never had the chance, and when I buried him, I didn’t say it then, either. Shock kept me from doing what I should have, from saying good-bye. Tim never said those words either.

A few shaky breaths make me shiver. Avoiding his gaze, I breathe, “Maybe it’s not a bad idea, but you have to promise not to be angry with me about the grave. I couldn’t bear it.” That’s the God’s honest truth. His disapproval on this would break me.

Tim pulls me to his chest again and holds me there. I feel his breath on the side of my face before I hear his voice. “Nothing you do or have done will make me upset. Not about this, Abby. Ask Patel. I don’t want to cause you harm, but if it helps—I’ll be there with you. We can have a memorial, me, you and Vi. Say what we want and then show us some of the things he liked most about the place. It’ll be hard, but maybe once that is done, we can move forward. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been stuck. It feels like I’ve been torn in two, Abby. I can’t seem to get to whatever’s next.” His voice catches and for the first time in a long time, I realize Tim is crying. Soft tears from him are rare. Angry sobs, I’ve seen, but not this.

Before I realize it, I’m cradling his head in my hand, running my fingers through his damp hair, cooing nonsense, telling him it’ll be all right. That his idea is a good one and maybe it’s what we both need. “I didn’t realize you were stuck in the same spot. I thought I was alone with this. First Zara and then Zach.”

He went from having siblings to being an only child. Tim chokes on his words, “I’ve been right here with you. I just hide it better.”

I shove him playfully, trying to get a smile. “No, you don’t.” He arches an eyebrow at me. “Yeah, fine, you do.”

Tim swipes at his eyes. “I thought the four of us would be in the same retirement home, with Zara chewing on sugar cubes and Zach drinking so much coffee that he vibrates. You’d wear those hats you made in the 1990’s but they’d barely fit over your old lady poodle hair.” He laughs.

“And what about you?”

Tim wraps his arms around me again, holding me tight, anchoring me to the present, while speaking of a future that will never happen. The moment is strange, surreal. It’s as if time’s stopped and the living room fades away. We’re on the same path, shoulder to shoulder, and I never noticed he was there with me, gutted from pain and loss. He hid it with a smile and determination that made me think he was over it. But he’s not. There’s comfort in the realization. I’m not alone.

“I’d look like this.” He gestures to himself. “Maybe smell a little less, but otherwise unchanged.”

We’re both smiling at the thought. A moment passes and we’re serious again. I can barely breathe the words, “I thought we had more time.”

“So did I, Abby. So did I.”