“Thanks,” I say.
“Of course.” His reply lifts my mouth into a short smile. It’s funny the little things that get passed down the line. I don’t remember it, but I have a feeling my dad said that to people a lot too. We’re a lineage of men who try to do the right things. I’m honored to inherit that.
“You see her today?” He’s talking about Elle. Last night was the first one I didn’t go over to her house at midnight to coax her to sleep.
“Not yet. I said I’d meet her there, so she can ride with Morgan.”
Grandpa nods and steps forward, resting his hand flat over my heart. He pats twice and meets my eyes before heading back downstairs.
Eleanor missed another week of school. I don’t know if she’s coming back. I don’t know if she’s eating. She barely talks. It’s as though she and Morgan traded places. Her sister spent the last few weeks mentally preparing for this moment. Eleanor spent those days living her life. Then the switch flipped; it flipped everything.
Deciding I look appropriate enough to do right by Addy, I leave my room and head downstairs to meet my mom and Grandpa Hank. I stand up straight so my mom can inspect me, and her face falls.
“It doesn’t seem right to say you look nice,” she says.
“You should have seen the tie before Grandpa helped,” I add.
“Well then, that’ll do,” she replies, stepping close to straighten the knot to her liking.
“I think I’m going to drive myself.” Both of them nod in agreement, understanding my desire to be alone, and my hope that maybe Eleanor will let me drive her home later.
We all head out together, and we’re at the service hall within minutes. It’s only a block away from Toby’s, and I can’t help but glance at the sign as I pass and think about the laughs shared with Eleanor inside that store. What I wouldn’t give to hear her laugh like that again.
I park next to my mom at the far end of the parking lot, leaving most of the spaces open for family and those who knew Addy best. We huddle together on our way into the hall, and I find Morgan once I’m inside. My mom and grandpa take a seat near the back while I slip out to talk with her. She texted me early this morning asking if I could talk to her before the service.
We make polite smiles to a few people who arrive as we step outside. Morgan hands me an envelope as soon as they pass and I stare at it, not sure I want to know what’s inside.
“I need your help, Jonah. It’s Elle,” she says, and my heart squeezes.
“Okay,” I agree. Elle is an automatic for me. I study the packed manila envelope in my hand, though I don’t dare unfasten the flap. I’m afraid everything will spill to the ground.
“She’s going to quit. She’s going to skip the showcase competition and turn down Woodsman-Still in Texas.”
My head lifts at that.
“Why would she do that?” The question is rhetorical. I know why. Guilt. Loss. Grief. Self-blame. Punishment she thinks she deserves. A lack of passion.
“She can’t, Jonah. I feel like it’s my fault, maybe. I was so hard on her, and now—” Morgan breaks down a little but dashes away the threat of tears and draws in a breath for strength. “She can’t quit, Jonah. She’s too good at what she does. And it makes her so happy. Addy, she would want her sister doing her thing for everyone to see.”
A soft smile breaks through her devastated face and I find I’m smiling at that thought, too. She taps on the envelope in my hands.
“You’re a smart kid. I thought maybe you could figure out how to do something with this stuff, like a video or something. There’re pictures and there’s a memory card in there with a bunch of videos of Elle and Addy together. She just needs to see how happy she made her sister. A push back in the direction of trying again.”
The weight in my hands suddenly feels a lot heavier than a bunch of paper and a microchip. I don’t know that I can deliver all that she wants, or all that Eleanor needs. But I will try. I will try so fucking hard.
“Okay.” I nod, giving her the temporary relief that comes with hope.
She hugs me once more then slips inside, making her way to the front where her family is one member smaller than it should be. I hover outside, peering through the doors for as long as I can before joining my family that carries along a ghost of its own.
One at a time, people stand and share stories that are meant to offer healing. Every word seems to open a wound, though. It’s Thanksgiving next week. There is nothing in this space that feels worthy of thanks.
Zoning out on the words from the pulpit, I turn my attention to the envelope, slipping it open carefully to get a sense of what’s inside. It catches my mom’s attention when I do, so she unfolds her hands from her lap to help me sort through the contents one item at a time. There are photos of Addy as a baby being rocked to sleep in Eleanor’s arms. Addy getting hearts painted on her cheeks like her sister. A tea party with nothing but Barbie, a stuffed teddy bear and Eleanor as guests. I hold on to the image of the youngest Trombley dressed up in her big sister’s cheer uniform for a long while, my heart soothed by the story that goes along with it.
I think maybe I can do this. If the video is anything like
