My body begins to shake, sobs racking through me even before my tears begin to fall. It’s the first time I’ve cried since it happened. Time goes by, but I have no idea how long I stand there letting days of pent-up emotions wash over me. Eventually, the heavy rain begins to dwindle, my tears following its lead.

“Zack?” My father’s voice is low, cautious. It’s the same timid way everyone has spoken to me the last two days. I don’t respond. I’ve barely said two words to anyone since it happened. “Come back inside, son. The minister is going to start soon.”

My mother waits just inside the door, the same look of worry plastered across her face that she’s worn since she woke me that morning. The morning everything changed. She puts her arm around me and together we walk slowly toward the room. The smell of flowers wafts in the air as we step closer, making me nauseous.

Jefferson Funeral Parlor is large; three separate viewing rooms normally hold multiple services. But today it’s all for Emily. The retractable doors between rooms are open so that there’s room for hundreds to sit. It’s still not enough. People line the room, wall to wall. Family, friends, teachers, strangers. The line to visit the casket leads out the front door and halfway around the block. Everyone is here except for the driver who is still fighting for his own life at Long Beach University Hospital. The front of the car took the brunt of the impact when Dylan swerved to avoid a truck that veered into oncoming traffic. Amazingly, the rest of the passengers walked away with only minor cuts and bruises.

A quiet hush comes over the room as we walk in. Heads turn in our direction. The minister takes his position at the front of the room, silencing the murmur without words. Slowly, my parents lead me to the front row. I feel all the eyes in the room watching me, even though I don’t look up.

Three chairs wait for our return. Mr. Bennett insisted we sit with him. I was Emily’s family as much as he was, he said. I thought the weight of my guilt might be enough to pull me through the floor.

Ahead of us, a small table sits on one side of the ornate wooden casket, a tribute to Emily’s life. A shrine. Four pictures in frames highlighting the life of the girl I loved: Her parents with her at her communion. Her junior yearbook picture. Me and Emily all dressed up for junior prom. But it’s the last one that gets to me, rips a hole right through my already torn heart. Emily riding her canary yellow Schwinn. Memories flood back to me…the day I met her, the first time she let me ride it. Her on the handlebars chattering away as I peddled us to the park where we’d play on the swings for hours. It breaks me. Tears roll down my face uncontrollably, my shoulders shuddering, each breath between sobs burning my throat.

The minister begins to speak. Words flow from his mouth, yet I don’t hear anything he says. To my left, my dad hangs tough, tightening his grip around my shoulder. To my right, my mother silently sobs alone. I can’t even bring myself to comfort her. Long minutes go by, the haze I’m in blocking me from reality until a verse catches my attention.

“We cannot judge a biography by its length.

Nor by the number of pages in it.

We must judge it by the richness of its contents.

Sometimes those unfinished are among the most poignant.

We can not judge a song by its duration.

Nor by the number of its notes.

We must judge it by the way it touches and lifts our souls.

Sometimes those unfinished are among the most beautiful.

And when something has enriched your life.

And when its melody lingers on in your heart.

Is it unfinished?

Or is it endless?”

***

Graveside, hours later, I stand watching an endless stream of mourners place a rose on Emily’s casket before they walk away. Tears gone, I’m numb, inside and out. I watch, but don’t really see. Touch, but don’t really feel.

Eventually, only my family and Emily’s parents remain surrounding the hole in the ground, where Emily’s casket rests next to a mound of dirt. My father nudges me, speaking quietly, “Come on, Son. You need to say your goodbye and leave Emily’s parents to do the same.”

Mr. Bennett looks to me and then to Mrs. Bennett. Mrs. Bennett nods, a single tear falling from her eyes. “No, please, I think we should go. Emily would want Zack to be the last one here. She may have been my daughter, but her heart belonged to your son.”

Placing his hand on my shoulder and squeezing as he walks by, Mr. Bennett’s voice is choked up as he says quietly, “Say your goodbyes, son.”

My parents walk to the waiting cars along with Emily’s. Finally alone, I stand staring down at the pile of roses atop of the casket. Emily’s final words to me come flooding back, the first memory I’ve allowed myself since it all happened. “You’ll be sorry tomorrow, Zack Martin. And, you know what, by then it may be too late.”

Falling to my knees in the muddy grass, I cry. And I cry and I cry. Until there’s no more tears left to come.

Chapter 11

Nikki—

Brookside, Texas— 5 months later

“This isn’t permanent, Ash,” I whisper so Aunt Claire and Ms. Evans can’t hear. “I’ll be back after I find her. I promise.”

I mean it as I say it, but as soon as the words come out I start to wonder if I will really be back.

This morning, I stood in a courtroom while a judge granted my aunt temporary custody. I can’t believe how fast time has gone by. The pain of losing Mom is still fresh, yet at the same time it feels like forever since I heard her voice. The mixed emotions on Ashley’s face could be a mirror image of mine.