Page 73 of What You Left Me

“Petra?” Aminah turns to look at me. “What are you doing?”

God. I’m standing here staring like I’m in a trance. I don’t explain myself to her. I get my empanada and come back to the couch. When I sit down, she hugs me. I love these people for holding me up as I, in unpredictable patterns, laugh and cry and sigh my way through this life.

We catch one another up on what’s going on for the rest of summer. We all have official plans now. Even Aminah. You gave her the courage to talk to her parents. She lives with them again. She’s going to take the year off then reevaluate the possibility of school. I’m trying to convince her to go to Notre Dame with me. Isn’t it weird you did that? You never even met her, and because of what happened to you, she made a change for the better.

I’m talking to my parents too. I found the courage to tell them what really happened to me. What Ryan did. They believe me, which means more than I knew it would. And they’re encouraging me to speak up, so that he never does this to another girl again. I’m working on being brave enough to do just that. We’re starting counseling next week. But now’s not the time for that whole story.

This day is about you.

“What’s up?” Turrey asks as he walks down the stairs, cool and confident as ever. Without hesitation, he takes the spot between Daniel and me. He gives Daniel a kiss and grabs his hand.

After a moment, he grabs my hand too.

This gesture, as small as it is, feels bigger than us. We are forever linked by what we’ve been through. One weekend that lasted longer than all of high school. I grab for Aminah. An unspoken ripple effect begins, and she grabs for Brooke, who grabs for Cameron, who moves herself off the couch to close this little circle. Once united, we stand up and bow forward, leaning in so our foreheads touch, a prayer for you pulsing through our fingertips.

“To Fly,” Turrey says.

“To Fly,” we repeat.

It falls silent again, our prayers continuing on in squeezes and breaths, memories spoken only in the mind, just for you to hear. As I look at the heads dropped down in this imperfect huddle, I realize you live inside our circle now, Martin. Forever you’re the space between. The voice that floats into our heads when we need it most. The air that fills our lungs when it feels like breathing is too much. The ground that steadies us when our legs want to give out. Our best companion on the other side of waking life.

You’re not stuck anymore, Martin.

You’re free.

40

It’s a hot day in mid-June, humid and unforgiving. Yellow sunlight beams down on hundreds of heads haloed in yellow caps. What a powerful color yellow can be in mass quantity. It screams to be noticed. It begs for a smile. Petra obliges because she made it to the finish line. The diploma’s in the mail. She passed the Honors Algebra II exam. She’s graduating high school.

Justgraduating.

Steve Taggart stands on the stage giving the valedictorian speech he’s prepared for his whole life. Something about birds taking flight. It doesn’t matter. Petra’s not really listening because Steve’s not really talking. He’s nothing but a golden flicker of a distant memory. The last part of the last time anything was ever the same. He may as well be a mirage. Some far-off goal that keeps moving out of reach when you try to get closer.

For now, for this, Petra’s content keeping her distance.

“You know, I’ve felt like a lot of things since this day, but never a bird. Sorry, Stevey.” Sitting next to Petra, elbow pressed gently into her rib cage, graduation gown crumpled underneath his plastic chair but cap still on his head, is Martin. “Hate the robe, but I can’t lie, I’m into the cap.” He tips it in her direction.

“You’re here,” Petra marvels.

Sunlight doesn’t wash out his face like it should. It holds back to let Petra see him. The yellow of her gown strengthens the deep amber around the rims of his pupils. So bright and alive he looks, all yellow himself, his huge smile beaming at her, reaching out like hands to pinch her cheeks back into her own version of uncensored happiness.

“Hope you don’t have anywhere to be,” he says. “I’d like to steal a tiny slice of your forever tonight. Today. You get it.”

“This is just a dream, isn’t it?” Petra realizes.

“Only if you want it to be.”

Petra nods. It doesn’t matter that she knows graduation happened ten days ago, and Martin died, and she went to his party today, and this is all in her mind. What happens in sleep can be as real as what happens when awake.

Her hand grazes Martin’s. He takes the cue and grabs on. Their fingers lace together so neatly, the promise of stories yet untold woven into a tight bundle between them. Martin’s pulse, so alive, beats into the top of her hand through his fingertips, thumping into her bloodstream.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” Petra says. “You didn’t make it easy.”

He squeezes her hand tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“No. You did everything you could. More than you should have. I get the only apology.”