Rebekkah’s going to need you even more, don’t you?”
“I’ll always be there for Bek. She knows that.” Byron felt tears on his cheeks. It was okay to cry for Ella, for Rebekkah, for all of them, here with his mother. Ann Montgomery wouldn’t ever think him weak for grieving.
“She’s lost more than anyone knows.” Ann pulled him into her arms. The scent of vanilla and something else that he didn’t know other than the fact that it was home filled the air. “She’ll need you.”
“I was friends with Bek before—not just because she is ... was Ella’s sister. That won’t change.” Byron pulled away from his mother’s embrace. “I’m not a jerk.”
“Oh, I know, baby.” She’d cupped his face in her hands. “I know who you are. I couldn’t be prouder of you. I just ... it’s confusing sometimes being ...” She’d stopped herself then and hugged him.
At the time Byron thought she’d meant “being a teenager” or “being a guy” or even “being a girl’s friend.” He hadn’t known that she meant being the Undertaker to a Graveminder. He hadn’t thought she meant having your future mapped out for you without your consent. She’d known, then, known since he was born.
Once, he’d thought he and Ella had ended up dating because his parents had been close with her grandmother. They’d been thrown together so often that he wasn’t even sure when they’d started dating. They’d slipped from being best friends to being girlfriend and boyfriend without any real discussion. They were meant for each other, a perfect fit. How had she felt when she learned the truth? He wished, not for the first or even the fiftieth time, that Ella had talked to him then.
The second line rang.
“Byron?” his mother called.
“Got it.” He’d grabbed the phone.
Because the family telephone was used primarily for business purposes, his parents had gotten a second line for his birthday a couple of years ago. At the time, he didn’t see the big deal, but over the past year, it had become increasingly important. When he wasn’t with Ella, he was on the phone with her.
“Hi.”
“Hey, I was just getting ready to leave to meet y—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I can’t see you anymore.”
“What?” He sat down. “Ella ...” The sentences were twisting in his head too fast to speak. “I don’t ... why? If it’s what I said about Bek, what happened, it was just a kiss, we didn’t mean to. I love you, and—”
“I know.” She made a sound that was half a laugh. “Actually, that’s one of the few things that made me think about not breaking up with you. It’s good that you had those thoughts about my sister. It means you’re human, normal, not just programmed, right?”
“Programmed?”
“We can think for ourselves. You aren’t just doing things you were forced to do. Neither am I.” She was sniffling now. “That’s good. Having a choice about what you do, who you are, what you love, who you ...” Her words drifted off, and Byron felt suddenly sick.
“Did someone hurt you?” He hated speaking the words, but he kept going. “Were you forced to do something? Talk to me, Ells.”
“I think I loved you before I even understood what love meant,” she whispered. “I really do, Byron. I love you with my whole heart, with my body, with everything.”
Byron leaned his head back against the wall. Ella had said those words to him more times than he could remember. She’d whispered them over and over their first time. She’d laughed and said them the other night. She said them so often, in so many places, that he hadn’t felt lame when she’d said them in front of his friends.
“It’s not enough. I wish it was, but it’s not. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what ... I’m sorry for how it’ll change things for you and for Bek.” Ella’s voice was steadier now. “I’m making my choice, though. Now.”
“You’re scaring me,” he admitted. “I’m going to come over, and we’ll talk and —”
“I won’t be here.” She took a gulping breath. “I need to go ... somewhere. Oh, I wish you could come, that you could see it. You can someday. Just not now ... and I can’t wait. It’s not fair to see it and be told I can’t have it for years ... or maybe at all. I need to go.”
“Wait!” He shoved his feet in his shoes and cursed his inability to keep her on the phone while he ran to her house. “I’ll go wherever you want me to, Ells.”
“I love you. Promise you’ll take care of Rebekkah for me.” She paused and sniffled again. “Promise it. She needs love.”
“Ells, she’s your sister . I’m not—”
“Promise it,” Ella insisted. “That’s my last request. Take care of her. Say you will.”
“No, not if ... your last request? What are you talking about?” Byron clutched the phone.
“Do you love me?”
“You know I do.”
“Then promise me that you’ll always take care of Bek,” Ella demanded.
“I will, but—”
She hung up.
Byron had dropped the phone and taken off running to her house, but by the time he got there, she was gone, and no one knew where she went. They didn’t know until the next day when her body was found.
Now Byron understood: Ella hadn’t been running away from something; she was running to something. Whatever she had seen in the land of the dead was more alluring than her life in the land of the living.
And now I need to take Bek to that world.
REBEKKAH HAD TRIED TO SLEEP BUT COULDN’T. AFTER A FEW FITFUL hours, she was outside walking again. This time, however, she watched the sun rise as she walked toward the cemetery. Day two without Maylene. Over the years, she’d lived a lot of places and spent many days— weeks —without speaking to her grandmother, but now that she was home, each day stretched out in front of her forebodingly.
When she’d visited Maylene, they’d gone from cemetery to cemetery plucking weeds and planting flowers. They’d buried food just under the soil and poured whiskey or gin or bourbon or any number of other drinks onto the ground. It hadn’t felt normal exactly, but it hadn’t felt peculiar either.
Rebekkah couldn’t fill the gap in her life that existed now that Maylene was gone, but following the routine she’d shared over the years with her grandmother helped. Like a handful of dirt to fill in a chasm. She shifted the weight of her messenger bag on her shoulder again. The clink of tiny glass bottles was almost too soft to hear over the sounds of cars and birds, but she listened to them. The whole of it— the birds singing, car engines humming to life, and liquid sloshing in the bottles—felt right. The familiarity was comforting.
At the gate of Sweet Rest, she jiggled the heavy lock until it clunked open. She lifted a hand to the tall iron gate and pushed. It swung inward with a mild creak, and she drew a deep breath. The peace she needed was here. She knew this with a surety that made little sense. Her feet moved over the soil as if a cord had pulled her forward, not to Maylene’s grave, which was in the nearby Oak Hill Cemetery, but toward a grass-covered plot in Sweet Rest. Once she reached it, reached Pete Williams, she stopped. The string that had pulled her there had vanished.
