Chapter 43

Friday morning dawns too soon for Levi and me, but at least we get our first taste of fall weather. (After the insane heat of August, everyone is thankful for a few rainclouds hovering on the horizon.)

He meets me at the shop at six-fifteen sharp, grabbing me from behind as I’m unlocking the front door, kissing my cheek. I instantly feel the scruff on his cheek, where I am used to very smooth skin. I raise my hand to brush against his face. “What the heck is this?”

“Five ‘o clock shadow, duh.” He lets me go into the shop first and then closes the door behind me. I flip on the lights and turn to look at him. He catches me by surprise, because while he looks mostly the same (wild hair, beige pants, bright red sweater), he is different in two ways: the stubble around his mouth and along his jaw, and the glasses that sit on his nose.

“I’m soooo not used to this,” I say, raising an eyebrow. (But gosh-darn-it, he’s still so beautiful.)

“Dude, you’ve never seen these before?” He seems incredulous.

I shake my head. “When, exactly, did you get them?”

“I’ve had them forever.”

“So, you wear contacts?” I ask. I turn and head for the computer, not wanting to show him that I’m feeling ridiculous. With the weight of everything, with the decision I am slowly inching toward making every single day, missing a detail like this (as small as it is) feels catastrophic.

“Yeah. My eyes are actually blue.”

I whirl on him. “WHAT?”

He laughs so hard that it’s silent and has him bent at the waist. He heaves. “I’m kidding, my God, I’m kidding. My eyes are most certainly brown. But I do wear contacts.”

I pull away when he reaches for me. “You’re mean,” I pout. (I’m only half-joking.)

“Bee,” he growls. “I’ll make up for it.”

“Shut up.” I grab the trip sheets and list Tracy left for me on the desk and wave them in his face. “You’re not allowed to kiss me until we’ve finished this task. Tracy said no making out on the job.”

“One kiss is not…making out,” he huffs.

I shrug. “Rules are rules.” It’s a rule I’m making right now, because I feel funny, a little sick to my stomach. God. I’m running so hard and so far away, and he can’t see it, which means that he can’t and won’t stop me, which means that I’ll just keep running. Fear is at large. My heart hammers and my throat closes off and my ears only hear rushing blood.

Then he’s kissing me, and I whimper.

Levi leans his head back, no trace of joy or teasing left in his eyes (that are covered by glasses and look so foreign to me now). “What’s wrong with you today?”

I bite my lip, my brain scrambling for something to say. “Um.”

He shakes his head, takes a step away from me. “Is there something going on?” He gestures at me, then at himself.

And then I surprise myself. “There has been something going on,” I answer. Honesty, for once. It’s angry honesty.

“For how long?”

Now it’s my turn to be incredulous. “That’s not an actual question, is it? Like, you haven’t seen everything that’s been going on for the last few weeks?”

Great. Now I’m angry at him for not noticing the things I’ve been deliberately hiding. Another reason to feel like shit. My stomach twists. Today was not supposed to begin like this.

He shakes his head and draws his eyebrows together. “I’m sorry—” (he’s not really sorry at all) “—but you’re the one who said ‘I don’t know’ to all my questions last week.”

“Can we just—” I realize my hands are raised defensively, and I drop them. “Can we just get to work? We have to be there in thirty minutes, and we have to take separate cars. Yay, we don’t have to fight the whole way there.”

His expression turns—I see it the second the word fight comes out of my mouth. Now he looks angry. Now he looks ready to put up some walls. Good, I think. I’ll hurt him less this way.

Levi curses, a word I don’t like and definitely have never heard him say before. Then he rubs his eyes under his glasses and shrugs abruptly. “Fine. What do you want me to do?”

I give him a job (my fingers shake, making the trip sheet bend in my hand) and start grabbing vases from the cooler. He takes the biggest funeral spray and carries it outside, leaving me to stare at the empty space where he was just standing. Then I shake my head and think, Work, Bee. Focus.

When I pass him on the way out, he doesn’t even look at me.

The church is a ten minute car ride away. Normally I’d need loud music or coffee to keep me awake at this hour, but my blood is still boiling, so I grind my teeth and grip the steering wheel too hard. I feel incredibly alone, because it’s me and a stand for the sprays and a few sloshing vases in the back, and Levi is somewhere else, and I can’t believe what I’ve done.

I take a last turn into the church parking lot and park in the loading zone. The building is new, almost modern, but a traditional-looking chapel is built into the back. That’s where we’re directed to take the sprays, and within a few minutes we’ve dropped off the first of two trips into a quiet, near-empty hall.

Once we get back to the shop, we load the second half of the vases. It takes longer because they’re bigger pieces, and I still don’t say a word to him. I’m pretty sure I hear him call my name as I shut the car door, but I pretend I don’t hear and start the engine.

We park in the same place as last time and unload in silence. I walk in front of him, my feet hurrying to keep ahead because my legs are so much shorter than his. This time when the doors to the chapel are quietly opened to let us in, however, I’m forced to forget everything for a few seconds, because I hear something completely unexpected.

Singing.

It’s as light and beautiful as anything I’ve ever heard in my life. It echoes perfectly in the stone-walled building, making me want to stand still and bask in it. I hurriedly put down the vases I’m holding and face the stage.

The singer looks to be about fourteen years old, if I’m comparing him to the only other boy I know in his age bracket (Albert). He’s a bit pudgy around the middle and his face is round, as if his body is just waiting to grow in height. He’s wearing his Sunday best, but his hair is ruffled, out of place amidst all the clean-cut beauty of this chapel. His mouth is wide open in a note that catches my breath right out of me.

“Pie Jesu,” he sings. “Pie Jesu.”

A little old woman standing in the pews leaves her place to stand beside me. She’s frail in a sweet grandmotherly way, a way that makes me want to tuck my arm around hers. She smiles up at me, but her face is sad.

That’s when I remember where I am. I come back to earth, pulled into reality with shattering clarity, and I start to see things. The names on the pamphlet the old woman holds, the picture that’s set up next to the largest basket of flowers I put on the stage during the first trip.

The way the young, singing boy looks almost exactly like the man in the photograph.

The way the man in the photograph looks like he’s nearing forty.

I feel bile in my throat and an ache that tears my heart into shreds. I’d like to never feel my heart again.

“Isn’t he lovely?” the old woman beside me asks. (She has tears in her eyes now. Her small hands are trembling.)

“What?” I reply, but it sounds like a gasp.

“He’s so young, but he’s got the loveliest voice. He and his boys’ choir are singing in Carnegie Hall this winter—can you believe it?”

I nod, hoping she thinks my gape is because I’m surprised about Carnegie Hall. I am surprised, but I’m also sickened and angry because this little boy has to sing at his father’s funeral.

I’m sick because he gets to sing at Carnegie Hall in the winter—and his father won’t be there to witness it.

I’m sick because I’m now thinking of my own father. I’m learning to let go, that I might have to say goodbye. I’m fighting, desperately, my head held under the water as I drown. Breathe, I shout at myself, but I have no gills to keep me alive.

(Papa, you can’t leave us.)

Oh, God. I wipe away tears. I’m too angry to feel embarrassed; warm droplets fall away, onto my neck and shoulder, with the swipe of my hand. “I’ve got to go,” I say quietly, turning. I don’t know why I said anything to her; I don’t think she heard me.

Levi is setting the last spray, circular and heavy with roses, on its display stand. He looks up when I pass, sees me crying, and immediately follows me. “Bee?”

“Don’t.”

His hand is on my shoulder, but I shrug it off. I don’t want it there. I don’t want Levi—anywhere, because he only makes it worse. He reminds me of happiness and a summer I can never have back, a time that wasn’t marred by the shadow of death. His presence makes me ache.

“Was it the singing?” he asks quietly.

I start to nod, but then I’m shaking my head instead. More honesty. Way to go, Bee. Just when it’s too late. “Did you see the pictures?” I whisper, the back of my hand against my eyes to block more tears. “I don’t want to watch a little boy mourn his father like I’ll have to watch my siblings mourn my father.” I unlock the company vehicle, swing the door open, and slam it behind me. Levi is still on the sidewalk, keys in hand, staring at me in shock.

I drive away, hoping he knows how to get back to the shop. I have to gun it; I’m going to be sick.

Tracy’s in the shop when I get there. I slam the clipboard with the trip sheet onto the counter and, despite her concerned questions, lock myself in the bathroom.

I puke the second I bend over the toilet, grabbing my hair out of the way. I can’t breathe for a moment, but then, when I sit back on my heels and start to cry, the gasping sobs become my breath, and my lungs work again. (Just barely.)

“What’s wrong?” Tracy asks, outside the door, but she’s not talking to me.

I didn’t hear Levi come in, but I know he’s there. After a moment, he sighs. “She left the funeral crying. Her dad.” That’s all he says, and I can just imagine him spreading his hands like he doesn’t know what else to say, like it’s self-explanatory.

“Bee?” she tries. “Sweetheart, are you all right?”

I can’t speak yet, so I grab napkins and wet them and drag them across my mouth to get rid of the taste and smell. I suck in the deepest breath I can, getting myself under control, forcing the sobs to stop. My stomach is still clenching in pain and my head is pounding. All I need is to get home.

I open the door to see both my boss and my boyfriend standing outside, mouths pressed grimly. Tracy reaches for me, wrapping her arms around my neck in a hug that calms me more than I expected. “Bee, sweetie, are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” I answer. My voice shakes.

“You take today off, okay? I’ll close the shop for an emergency and do the wedding and wire the deliveries to another florist.” She leans away and looks me in the eye, tucking my hair behind my ear.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Thanks.”

“No need.” She waves away my words, pressing my hand tight, and leaves me standing in the dark hall outside the bathroom. The sliver of light from the bathroom lands on Levi, who just looks at me, his eyes a thousand questions. My heart trips, beating a million beats per minute, as he reaches for my shoulder.

I shake my head and step away from him. Not right now, I can’t right now, I try to say, but my tongue is tied inside my mouth.

So, instead, I run.