Kate

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Time marches unsteadily, moving forward in fits and starts. I sit in the dark with Wes’s head in my lap, and morning never comes. And then it does, and the whole day slips through my fingers. A nap on the couch turns into a twenty-four hour coma, and a stiff back that persists through an uncomfortable investor meeting. Then comes the groveling press conference—I’d had a few drinks before the show. I don’t know what came over me. I’m deeply ashamed—and I am, but not for the reasons they think.

My shame follows me back to DC, and I suppose it would’ve followed me to the funeral, as well, if I hadn’t been last-minute uninvited. But I was, and here I am, alone in my hotel room, watching the procession on TV.

You exposed yourself to children. That’s what she said—Kyle’s mom. And there’s so much wrong with that—children? At a couture show? At night? And I didn’t expose myself: my dress was ripped off. In front of a pack of dickbags with cameras.

But it’s her moment of grief. Her son being consigned to the earth. Who am I to contaminate the proceedings with my breasts? What did she think I’d do? Whip them out in the cathedral? Offer them to Kyle for a farewell motorboat? Fuck’s sake....

I swallow my anger. Rachel won’t get to say goodbye, either—and she wanted to, more than anything. She called me from prison, first chance she got: she’d written him a eulogy. I took it down, every awful, miserable word. It’s still in my purse—I couldn’t have read that in front of Kyle’s family, even if I’d been allowed to attend. But throwing it away feels just as wrong.

Max took her wedding ring—he did promise—but it looks like a closed casket. It won’t be buried with him. I find myself wondering about his glasses—is he wearing them in there? Is there enough of his face left... Did they try to fix it?

Don’t think of him like that.

I try to remember him as he was. It’s his teenaged self that comes to mind: his prescription swim goggles, his douchebro haircut, his easy laughter. His dad’s boat, the scene of so much summer debauchery. The time he got us all tickets to see Pink so he wouldn’t have to go alone. Generous: that was Kyle. None of the rest of us grew up rich, but he never let us feel it.

I still can’t believe he’s gone. Apart from that one stolen night with Max, nothing’s felt real since I got the news. There’s something wrong with me: I can’t seem to stay awake, and I’m blundering through the motions of everyday life. I put coffee crystals in my tea, this morning—not salt, not pepper, not anything that comes in a neat paper sachet—coffee crystals, from the jar. And I’m still not dressed. Not that I need to be, for this.

I stretch out on the bed, and time jumps again. It’s dark, and the funeral’s still going, marching on and on. Or, no—it’s the news. I watch the casket go by, wreathed in flowers, and the mourners behind it: Kyle’s parents, pale and drawn; some politicians I recognize from the news. No sign of Max, or any of our friends. The clip cuts out, and I bury my head under the pillow to avoid the commentary. Kyle wasn’t his career. He wasn’t some talking head. He was a father, a husband, a secret nerd, a dreamer....

I burrow deeper into the bedclothes. I don’t want to be here. The sheets smell weird and bleachy, and there’s a humming noise coming from somewhere. I close my eyes and picture my own room, back home, with its high ceilings and airy balcony, a breeze ruffling the bed curtains—but that’s not where I want to be, either. It’s the house I grew up in that’s calling to me. I can still see it now, nestled between a high hedge and a narrow strip of beach. My window looked out on the lake: took forever to train myself to drift off without the sound of the waves.

When I open my eyes again, Max is holding me from behind. The lake stretches out forever on all sides: I can’t see the shore. It’s there, somewhere beyond the ripples, but the summer people are gone. Those few twinkling lights might be houses or stars.

A dream, then.

“Look over there.” Max lifts an oar. I look past the moonlit water dripping off the blade. Nothing but fireflies. I snuggle back into his arms. It should be chilly out here, this late in the season, but I’m stifling. Still, this is a good dream. I’ll stay here a while.

I rub my face on the pillow, scratching an itch.

Max nudges me, demanding attention.

“Over there—that’s where we’re going to live.”

I look where he’s looking. A tower rises from the lake itself, thin and needle-sharp, top stories lost in the clouds. Boats come and go, sculling in and out of the lobby.

“How high does it go?”

His breath tickles my neck, and I shiver. “Above it all.”

Above it all....

“We’d be safe. Untouchable.”

I nod. I’d like that, an eyrie so remote nothing could touch us. A sea of clouds lapping the windows. The galaxy opening overhead.

“You should answer your phone.”

I clutch at the sheets. My phone is vibrating, rattling against something in my purse. Fuck the fuck off. I want Max on a boat, taking me to Atlantis, not whoever’s on the phone, dragging me back to reality. My dream’s already dwindling. It was more of a fantasy, anyway—I’m not asleep, not all the way. I’m hovering on the edge somewhere, letting my longings spin themselves out.

An Allstate commercial plays. I chase another dream, but Max isn’t in this one. It’s graduation day, but Matt Danbury’s in my place, giving my valediction. I roll over and shake my head, but I fall right back into it. Matt’s giving my speech on a loop, boring and unpleasant. I should get up.

Matt turns to me and pulls out the front of his gown. Boobs. Right. I get it.

Someone’s knocking. A latecomer, probably. Or—

Someone’s actually knocking.

“Coming!”

I peel myself off the bed. I’m disgusting: undressed, unshowered, hair matted to my face. I lick at my teeth—I should brush them.

The knocking comes again, more urgent this time. I pull my robe closed and shuffle for the door. Whoever it is, they’re not letting up.

I scrape my hair back, wipe my face, and open the door.