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“I don’t want to sit in here by myself.” She tucks her legs into her body. “We should go out and do something.”
“I’m up for that.” And up for anything that doesn’t involve being closed off in a small room with her. I need fresh air; her scent is clinging to me, torturing me. “Where do you want to go?”
She pushes off the bed and stalks toward the box. “I have an idea.”
SAM
The tree line of Logan Martin Lake graces the pink and amethyst sky like mountains. Dipping low and rising high, the dark pines stretch endlessly across the shore. Houselights dot the twilight, and docks reach over the water. The night air is a balmy mix of Alabama’s hot summer and the lake’s humidity, caressing my skin with a warm, light breeze.
I walk the shoreline, my hands clamped tightly to the picture box, as Holden trails behind at a distance. He was quiet on the ride over. I don’t think either of us spoke a word. I’m not sure he’s ready for this part of the trip. I’m not sure I’m ready.
But taking in the scenic beauty, I can’t think of a better place to spread Tyler’s ashes while we’re here. It’s close to the speedway, and I feel like if Tyler and I had taken this trip together, we would’ve ended up here. We would’ve watched the sunset, and kissed under the stars.
I feel like such a cheesy romantic right now. And my heart aches at the moments we didn’t get to experience together. All the lost memories we’ll never get to make.
After we parked, Holden asked if I wanted to do this alone. And maybe I should have said yes. But I believe Tyler would want his brother to be a part of this. I glance around, hoping Tyler will appear. I want to tell him . . . so much.
Holden has stopped walking, and I find a sandy spot to plunk down on near the lake. The sounds of water lapping and crickets, and the distant noise of traffic from the freeway, pull me under. And all I can do is cling to Tyler’s box.
“Do you remember,” Holden says, his voice low, like he’s trying not to disturb the tranquility of the lake. “When we were kids. That day my mom took us to Hunting Island? When my dad was away on business, and we were driving her crazy because it was too hot to go out and play.”
I laugh. “Yeah. Shannon was ready to ship us off to a third world country.”
I don’t look at him, but I can feel his hesitant smile. Hear the happiness mingling with the sadness in his voice. “Tyler loved those big puddle things on the beach. I don’t know what they were called, but all the kids always played in them. And even when we were tired and ready to go, and Mom was screaming, Tyler kept playing.” He settles down on the bank beside me and rests an arm over his knee. “This is a good spot, Sam. He’d like it here.”
My throat grows thick as a burning begins behind my eyes. I swallow hard to keep from tearing up.
Tyler, where are you?
I swallow again, and look down. Run my hand over the satin box. I’m not ready.
Holden’s hand covers mine. “Let me help.”
Unable to speak, the lump knotting in my throat, I nod. Holden stands and reaches down for me, and with a deep breath, I accept his hand. A cool wind circles us, and I watch as strands of his dark hair whip around his eyes. The lowering sun casts his face in shades of shadowy grays and purples.
Putting the box between us, I take one corner as he takes the other. We lift at the same time, and then I hold the box out and lightly move it back and forth. The breeze catches the loose remains, picking them up and swirling them into the air, then out over the lake.
I feel a hot tear roll down my cheek.
Holden places the top back over the rest of Tyler’s ashes, pulling the box from my trembling hands. His gaze is far away as he looks at the sunset-glittering lake, and I wonder what he’s saying to his brother. I wonder what secrets are between them—the ones I’ll never know.
And I wonder if Tyler is lost in his limbo right now.
I pray the buoyancy of the lake will call to him, lifting him out of the darkness.
As we walk toward Holden’s truck, night blankets the sky. He stuffs his hand in his pocket. “I could use a drink. You game?”
I haven’t had a beer or any other alcohol in over five months, since before Tyler died. My last being at a party where Leah talked me into downing Jell-O shots and then dancing with her on a table. I smile to myself. “All right. I’m game.”
Even though Holden claims he’s never been to Alabama before, he handles the roads like he’s lived here his whole life. He seems to know how to find everything, and I’m starting to be grateful that he talked (more like coerced) me into doing this together. I wouldn’t have been able to visit the lake traveling by train.
And as we pull into a shady-looking bar, the parking lot dim and the outdated brick building covered in graffiti, I know I never would’ve ended up here. “Uh, are you sure about this?”
He chuckles. “It’s fine. In Atlanta, I’ve gone to shows at some really seedy places, and the people are harmless. Looks can be deceiving. And a place like this, they’re less likely to card you.” He glances at me, a smirk tugging up one side of his mouth. He bites his lip ring before he continues. “You’re safe with me, anyway.”
Trying to ignore the tingling sensation that grabs my stomach, I open the door and hop out. A low boom from the music within vibrates the front door as we approach, and it doesn’t look like there’re any lights on in the place. Holden holds the door open for me, his arm stretched high above my head, and I walk in.
Holy shit. It’s an effin biker bar.
