Page 79 of He Has It All (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Chapter 20
Chelsea
The last time I came to this cemetery with my mother I was nineteen years old. We buried my brother. Ryan was there then too. All his family was, just like now. The boys lined up, Gramps, then Maggs and Levi and last, Mr. and Mrs. O’Rourke.
My aunt on my dad’s side sent her condolences. I have no grandparents. No other aunts or uncles. Two cousins I don’t know. It’s just me now. The last of the Wildes. That alone should make me feel lonely. Would have made me feel lonely if Ryan O’Rourke wasn’t standing at my side, tall and strong and stalwart, holding onto my arm.
Not that I need it right now. I’m up to this. Did all my crying and zoning out the last three days. Some yelling too, at Ryan when he tried to insist that it was all right for him to miss last night’s game. No way would that be all right. His dad was on my side and, for once, he did what his dad said. And for once, his dad didn’t look at me like I was a little girl not to be taken seriously.
Maggs took his place at my side while he was gone playing hockey. Her mother took her place when Maggs had to work. But today, everyone is here, a lot of my friends too, including Pink. Ham and even Eli and his wife are standing together.
We’re all graveside. The casket sits above the hole opened up in the earth, in front of the tombstone with my father’s name and next to the grave with my brother’s name on it. Maggs and Ryan and their parents made all the arrangements for me. They’ve done everything for me for three days including blowing my nose and wiping my tears.
Today I have no tears left. Dressed in my navy blue suit, I stand ramrod straight and tall on a gorgeous autumn day to say good night to my mom one last time. And I realize it’s no more sad than any other good night, that maybe she’s where she’s wanted to be for a long time. Life was torture for her.I wasn’t enough to make up for the loss of her husband and son, not enough to live for.
A quake of despair shakes me, but I drag in a deep breath, listen to the priest’s words, try to concentrate on the sound of his voice, hold on to the moment, hold on tight to Ryan’s arm. He leans in and kisses me on the temple, a soft reassuring touch, tender and so new and unfamiliar even as it warms me. Ryan is my rock, but knowing this is disconcerting to me because I’ve been trained all my life to not need a rock, to think of Ryan as a unicorn, a nice daydream, but not real.
And yet . . . he’s here. The priest ends his mournful prayer, makes the sign of the cross, and steps back. Bagpipes play because my mom and dad were Scottish and we had bagpipes at Dad’s burial and at Jason’s too. Mrs. O’Rourke insisted on it and arranged it. I hear her weeping nearby.
The casket is lowered and I feel it like an earthquake beneath my feet, as if I have nothing left to stand on, my foundation, my family, gone. The first crack in my truce with despair happens in a small way, when friends begin to leave, saying goodbye and turning to me.
It’s Mike who splits my soul open with his face, the sadness there reminding me so much of Mom’s. I feel the tears nearing the surface, the clenching of my gut, the tightening of my chest, my breathing as if I’m on top of Mount Everest. He hugs me but I don’t feel him. Tears start to flow and things get blurry. I can’t feel my legs.
Ryan lifts me , holds onto me and takes me away from the grave, away from the saddest place on earth.
* * *
When I wake up,I’m surprised it’s the morning. I don’t even know what day it is. My first thought is of Ryan. Last night I told him I didn’t need him to stay. It was a lie. As I sit up and look around my room, my childhood bedroom, my next thought is of my mom and I tense, waiting for the pain to slam me, to knock me back down on the bed where I can find relief in sleep.
But the phone rings, shattering my gloom, and I pick it up and clutch it to my ear as if it’s going to connect me back to my life, to reality. Whatever that is now.
“Hello,” I say, my voice low and sultry without any intent, only grogginess to blame.
“Hello to you too.” It’s Ryan, his voice strong and vital. And just like that, my heart perks up and starts beating like it wants to live. I throw my blankets off and stand, looking out the window as if maybe I can see him next door. Then I remember he’s not there.
“Chels?”
“Ryan?”
He snorts. “You up for company after my morning skate?”
“I’m always up for your company.”
“Hey that’s my line,” he jokes. I smile, but he can’t hear that. “Sorry,” he says.
“No, it was funny. Didn’t you hear me laugh?” Now he laughs. “Come over any time.”Stay. Forever.
“See you soon.”
He ends the call and I’m halfway between wanting to get on with life, with Ryan, because we were getting somewhere before . . . I lost mom. And wanting to get back into bed and live there under the covers. But the wavering disappears in a second, pushed away by my stubbornness or maybe by the memory of my brother and his bravery and wanting to be like him.
So I get into the shower and turn it on cold. Time to wake up all the way, to get past this to find the new reality of my life. How bad could it be with Ryan in it?
How disconnected can I feel when I have friends and people who care about me?
There’s no shortage of food or people in the house later. I have so many visitors, after everyone but Maggs leaves, I finally ask if it’s a holiday and that’s why no one is working. Maggs tells me it’s Saturday.
“Don’t you have Saturday things to do at home? You don’t have to sit here with me all day.”
