“You’re not going with us?” Zinnia asks.
“No, babe. This is something to do with Walt. I’ll be right over there if you really need me.”
“I’ll go with Sam.” Finn thumbs in the direction Sam pointed, and I think his announcement startles her. She appears unsure, but eventually nods her head and hands him half
the bundle of roses resting against the crook of her elbow. The girls and I watch as Sam and Finn turn towards the hill.
“This way girls,” I coax gently. Poppy takes my hand in her little one; Zinnie follows suit not even a step later. This is the first time Zinnie has ever reached for my hand, and it awakens a clarity that I have never experienced before. It’s not just about me anymore, but the three of us. I know in an instant that their well-being and security are my top priority.
Finn has always been the life that I valued more than my own. In a life and death situation, I would sacrifice my own for Finn’s. I never thought anyone would supersede, not even Camilla.
The crunch of leaves and acorns under our feet, announcing fall, give way to the soft green grass that is laid out like a carpet around the gravestones. None of us have been here since the day of the funeral. A day that is a complete blur but yet so clear to me. It was sunny. The girls were walking zombies. Quiet from the shock that had yet to wear off. And, if I’m honest, didn’t actually wear off until Sam came into our lives.
Zinnie was surrounded by her friends. Poppy was passed around from one of Jenny’s friends to the other, all shocked to learn Jenny chose me to take care of her most cherished possessions.
I’m not naïve. I knew people assumed Everett and Jenny chose me because I could give their daughters the financial security that less than one percent of the world experience. They didn’t have the privilege of knowing that Everett was a better businessman than I am, and it’s only by the luck of the draw that I was born into this wealth. They didn’t know that Everett didn’t need to pick someone with money because he has already ensured his girls and at least two more generations after them could be cared for on the wealth he has earned.
All of these misconceptions were underscored by their choice to be laid to rest in a working-class town, in a nondescript cemetery. But they didn’t know the real Jenny. She appreciated the financial comfort Everett awarded her, but she was just as comfortable in this town as she was in Greenwich.
“Will I sleep here one day?” Poppy asks as we come to a stop at their shared headstone.
I was not in favor of letting Poppy think her parents were just asleep; I wanted her to learn early what death means, I was afraid it would confuse her as to what was really happening. Also I didn’t want her to think her father just decided to go to sleep and leave her behind. But Zinnie was the one to settle Poppy during the first few days, and it was either because of the trust she has in her sister or because Zinnie just knew it’s what Poppy needed, but it clicked. Asleep or not, Poppy understood they weren’t coming back.
Zinnie squats before the headstone and her fingers trace the names of her parents, pressing hard into the etching. Poppy joins her, kneeling just like her sister. The headstone is unique and stands out from the ones around it. It’s large with a beautiful carved tree that stretches the length of the stone, and etched into the space below the canopy are two girls on tree swings. Under that are Jenny and Everett’s names with the days they were born and the day they died.
Poppy stands up and walks back to me. Her arms shoot into the air and I lift her into my arms. She snuggles against me and we stand there together, while Zinnie silently finishes a conversation with her parents. I hear a sniffle, and when she stands and takes my hand again, her eyes are red-rimmed and watery.
“Ready?” I ask gently, and she nods.
When we near the car, Zinnie tugs on my hand, guiding me to where Sam and Finn have been this whole time. This area isn’t as cared for as the others. Pierce handled Everett and Jenny’s tombstone and has someone care for the area weekly. Here, the grass is trimmed but the fallen leaves haven’t been removed.
Finn and Sam are clearing off the last of the debris. There are four gravestones. All simple and modest, embedded into the ground. None of them stand at attention like the one we just left. One is slightly larger; Samuel and Jeanette Abbott, her parents I assume. There are three smaller stones: Rory Abbott, Jonathan Abbott, Frank Abbott.
There’s a soft gasp next to me when Zinnie realizes what I’ve already noticed. They all died on the same day. I do the math. Rory would have been 15 at the time; Jonathan, 12; and Frank, 7.
Samantha lays the last bundle of roses against the last stone, and when she stands, Zinnie asks, “Your family all died on the same day?”
“Yes.” Her voice is shaky. It’s alarming. Since I’ve known her, her voice has never wavered.
“Sam,” Zinnie says. Samantha draws Zinnie to her, holding her in an embrace as Zinnie weeps, apologizing for their fight the other night and for telling Sam she couldn’t understand what this feels like. Sam rocks her gently, reassuring her everything will be okay. They stand there, two people connected in ways others never will be.
Poppy reaches for Finn who boosts her out of my arms and carries her back to the car. I observe each headstone. They died nine years ago this coming Wednesday, September 1st.
“I wouldn’t have asked you to come today if I had known,” Zinnie says, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. I pull a hankie from my pocket and give it to her.
“I’m a big girl. I could have refused.”
“Do you come see them often?” Zinnie asks.
“No.” Sam shakes her head. “This is my first time since their funeral.” Neither speaks but Zinnie tugs on Sam to move her in the direction of the car.
“I have one more place I need to stop,” Sam says, tilting her chin, motioning to the car. “Go ahead. I’ll just be a minute.” Zinnie gives her one last embrace before heading to the car. Sam walks in the opposite direction, and I surprise myself when I follow behind her, quickly matching her pace.
About fifty yards from her family is a headstone that reads, “Daughter, Sister, and Friend, Kathryn Michelle Yates”. Her date of birth puts her at the same age as Sam. She also died on September 1st. The same year as her family. This grave has fresh flowers already on it and has been cared for.
“Hey Kitkat,” Sam whisper as she lays the roses on the grave. She closes her eyes for what must be a short prayer, and when they open, they’re glossy and heartbreakingly sad. It’s like someone sucked the life out of the woman in front of me.
“Ready to go home?” she asks. Something about the way she calls my apartment “home” makes my heart soar to a level that feels quite dangerous.
I want to say “no”. Demand that she unzips that protective shell and let it fall to her feet so I can see what is really underneath. I want to know so that I can protect her from whatever is hurting her.
Instead I tell her “yes”, and we make our way back to the car.
The drive home is somber and quiet. Finn retires to his house and I decide to work in the office for a while, making a few phone calls. Not long after we get home, the heavy rains that were expected this afternoon are here. In search of Pops to see if she has more puddle jumps in her day, I find the three girls passed out in Poppy’s room. Three sets of socks-covered feet pressed around each other. Their chests rise and fall to the same tempo. Today was difficult. For all three of them. I observe them while they sleep trying to imagine what each must feel when they think about their parents. I lost a friend, a best friend, but what they’ve endured goes deeper. The room is already a muted gray from the weather, but still I hit the button to close the blinds to the large window, soundlessly closing the door behind me.
The weather doesn’t let up, and when dinner rolls around, Finn shows up with enough Chinese food to feed a small army while I wake the girls.
After multiple servings of fried rice and Moo Goo Gia Pan, we settle into the TV room, lights dimmed, blankets and pillows everywhere as we watch Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Zinnie, Pops, and I share one oversized couch. Finn and Sam share the other, her head resting on a pillow against his thigh. I love my couch mates, but I admit I’m a little jealous of my brother.
“Have you always been with men, or have you dated women before?” Zinnie asks, looking up from her phone.
“It’s always been boys for me,” he answers cautiously.
Zinnie shrugs. “You and Sam would make a cute couple.”
Finn has been absently playing with Sam’s hair while she has been dozing off and on. Even though she slept this afternoon, I get the feeling she is still exhausted.
“Sam and I are really good friends. I would go as far as to say she’s one of my closest, but she’s missing a key element.”
“What?” Zinnie asks.
“Do not answer that question,” I warn.
Sam giggles and turns to her other side. “Trust me, Zinnie, if it was in the cards, I’d be the luckiest girl there is.”
Finn’s ministrations falter momentarily as he gently massages the back of her neck.
“Thank you, Sam,” Finn says with a knot in his throat. My brother. He’s a fucking catch. For a guy or a girl. He’s got a heart of gold. I don’t understand why he struggles to believe it.
“Aren’t you the one that started Movie Monday? Shouldn’t you be watching?” I ask Sam’s back.
“I’m listening. I know this movie by heart. It’s one of my favorites.” She burrows in.
“I can’t believe I missed the week you guys watched Ghostbusters,” I mumble.