Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sounds of Silence
My father stands in the shade of a tall tree. The standard Reverend Hart uniform replaced with a new suit and shiny shoes that look odd on his feet. His favorite Bible is clutched in his right hand. A cool breeze blows through, rustling the leaves and casting an animated light show below.
The sweet scent of flowers sickens my stomach, and I try to take shallow breaths because of it. People say that grief can be numbing. In this moment, I pray for numbness. Right now, all I feel is immeasurable pain. Pain that cripples me and steals every good thing. My head is spinning, my heart is breaking, my insides are crumbling into dust, and I want to blow away.
Preston’s hands rest on my shoulders as I sit staring at the ground. Green blades of grass stick up in all directions, a few curling over the top of my black boots. There is such silence here, such reverent contemplation, I’m startled when my father finally speaks.
“Gracious God, in whose presence live all who die in the Lord, receive our sister into your merciful arms, and the joys of your heavenly home. May she and all the departed rest in peace.”
“Amen.” It is a chorus of murmurs from those gathered around the grave. I mumble the word a few seconds later than everyone else and refuse to look at the casket in the center of this crowd.
Preston squeezes my shoulder, and I stand on shaky legs. Everyone’s eyes are on me while mine concentrate on the wood-grain pattern of the mahogany casket. There is nothing but finality and sadness in that pattern. It makes me dizzy, so I drop my eyes to the ground. The words I want to say are scribbled onto a page from Preston’s notebook, folded and tucked into the sweaty palm of my hand. I don’t need to look at them. Words are a funny thing. There aren’t enough in the English language to say what I need to say.
“Bennetta Mary Hart lived life by her own rules. Bennie didn’t let this town, her friends, or her family define who she was. She was not ashamed of her love for gossip magazines and romance novels. She liked vintage sweaters and simple things.” My vision is blurred from tears. I squeeze my eyes closed, forcing them down my cheeks. “Bennie loved music and shared that love with me at a very young age. Everything I know, everything that I am, I owe to her. We are all better for having known her. It’s not fair that she suffered from this disease or that this free spirit was taken from us so soon. But I have to believe that she is in heaven, introducing angels to the glorious sound of Jimmy Hendrix on vinyl. Catch you on the flip side, Bennie. I love you.”
With my last words, I lose all composure. Sobs wrack my body, my weak knees give out as Preston’s arms embrace me and all of my sorrow. The fingers of one hand trace the zipper on the back of my dress over and over, drawing a line from my neck to the base of my spine. I am comforted by his compulsion. I hear people come and go while I’m tucked into the darkness beneath Preston’s jacket. I can’t face any of them. I am overwhelmed with the hurt of losing my sister and best friend. When I get dizzy, I remind myself to inhale and exhale and lock my knees to stay upright. We stand there for what feels like hours.
Preston shifts and presses his lips to my hair. “Everyone is gone, Wren.”
I nod, but don’t let go of him. My mind reels with everything that’s happened. The night that Dylan showed up, Bennie lost her battle with cancer. While I fought for my life at the top of that water tower, Bennie slipped away peacefully in her sleep. No more pain, no more suffering, no more secrets between us.
After hours of relaying my encounter with Dylan to the police—including off-duty Sawyer—we practically crawled back to the apartment and fell into my bed together. It wasn’t until the next day, when I woke at noon, and went to tell Bennie what happened, that I found her. She looked so serene and free, a book pressed open on her stomach to mark her place, a story that would never be finished.
There were too many emotions in that moment. Too many thoughts and feelings when you realize someone you love is gone. Anger came first, selfish anger at what I had lost and what she was robbed of. It was easy to dwell in that anger; it kept the crushing sadness away. But I couldn’t hold on to it forever.
In the kitchen, pinned to the fridge with an AC/DC magnet, I found a note.
Wren,
I’m so happy that you and Preston made up. He is good for you and you for him. Plus, you know I love being right. Let’s go get our tattoos tomorrow! See you on the flip side.
Bennie
Preston ushers me back to the apartment. He pulls Bennie’s favorite Simon & Garfunkel album from its sleeve and places it on the turntable. His movements are slow and reverent, and in the dusty stillness of this room, beautiful. Still in our funeral clothes, I pull him into bed with me. He holds me while I cry. And again when I scream at the unfairness of life and death. In this moment, he is the only thing holding me together when I feel like my world is unraveling.