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From somewhere unseen, strength descended. “I am.”

Three hours later, I did one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I looked into the lens and told the world what had happened to a great person. “This next story hits home for all of us,” I said, as Rory squeezed my hand. “We lost a member of our KTMW family today when Tyler Murphy, a cameraman and friend to all here, was struck by a car while working to bring us a story. Ty was a personal friend, a goofball, and the best dang cameraman you’d ever hope to meet. He will be sorely missed. No charges have been brought against the driver.”

“He will be sorely missed,” Rory said and took the reins to take us out. When the hot studio lights were replaced by the fluorescents, I calmly got my bag, found my car, and drove myself straight to a 7-Eleven for an extra-large green Slurpee.

Alone, beneath the stars, I sat in my car, held the drink in my lap, and cried.

* * *

It was surreal when something monumental happened that should rip the universe in half, but the rest of the world simply marched on, unaffected. There were people walking through downtown, laughing with their friends. Others went to movies or out to dinner. Didn’t they know that everything had changed?

From the moment I’d moved back to San Diego, Ty had been my ride or die. He’d been the most welcoming and instrumental in teaching me the culture at KTMW. Our friendship had extended into real life, and now there was this gaping hole.

I wasn’t sleeping much.

I ate to keep my energy up, but that was about all I could manage.

Going to work just reminded me of Ty and his glaring absence.Emory and Sarah checked in on me daily that next week, but I stopped getting back to them, vowing to make it up when I could muster the energy. I walked through each day like an automaton, feeling very much alone, and yet couldn’t bring myself to do anything about it.

The higher-ups had cleaned out Ty’s desk, and soon there would be little left of him until someone hung up a plaque somewhere in remembrance of all he gave to the station. It would never feel like enough.

The memorial service was that morning.

I’d taken the next couple of days off to get my head on straight, giving me a long weekend to make it through. I stood in front of the church and stared up at the climbing spires as if on their way to someplace grander. I was envious, wanting desperately to escape. I swallowed, gathering my courage, a practice I’d become familiar with, and went inside. I saw several of my colleagues already seated, knowing that the rest of them had to get today’s broadcasts up and on air. That was the thing. The news never stopped.

I sat alone in a pew and waited quietly with my thoughts, which began to consume me, coming faster and faster with each second that ticked by. My chest felt heavy as I watched Sandra at the front of the room. She hugged and greeted all who approached her, but the evidence of her grief was apparent in her slumped shoulders and swollen skin, red from tears. If she could make it through this service, then so could I. Yet my body rebelled. I felt nauseous all over again, and a brick sat on my lungs. Desperate for air, I had to get out of that church and hated myself for it. This was a panic attack, I realized. I’d never experienced one of those fully before. The room was getting smaller, but I didn’t think I could get my legs to work. A hand slipped into mine and offered a squeeze. My eyes were fixed on the floor, but I already felt anchored with just that one touch. I could breathe. I could think. I raised my gaze to see Carrie sitting next to me, holding my hand in her lap wordlessly. Everything slowed down. Her skin against mine, the firm manner in which she held my hand, was everything. I wanted to sob with relief, but I swallowed it back, determined to stay strong. And so we sat there, just like that, as she calmed the world down for me. I was helpless to stop her. And I didn’t want to. Seeing her in person, her blue eyes, soft hair, and recognizing her very familiar scent brought so much back. All of it good, and I clung to those feelings like a lifeline.

The service began, and as shocked as I was to see her there, I wasalso grateful for the strength it brought me. We sat there together for the rest of the service, tears falling as we said good-bye to our friend.

When the service was over, she looked over at me, smiled, and with a fresh tissue, dried my tears. “I’m really sorry about Ty,” she said. She knew how close we’d gotten. “I was devastated to hear.”

I nodded, finding my raspy voice. “Thank you.” I stared right at her, still absorbing her presence and the undeniable effect it had on me. Her hair was up, and she wore a dark green dress that really brought out the radiance of her eyes, which were kind.

As the church emptied, our colleagues seemed to give us our space. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” I said as we walked out. “I should have called you. I’m really sorry about that.”

“Doesn’t matter now, okay? And I had to come. Whether you wanted to see me or not, I had to be in the room for you. Then I saw the state you were in and thought you might need the support.”

“I did.” I exhaled, giving the conversation space to stretch and breathe. I looked over at her. “There’s a part of me that’s so upset with you for wanting the job, and there should be a big part of you that hates me for pulling so far away.”

“I want to be here anyway. Is the angry part of you okay with that?” she asked.

“It’s not the time to push people away.” The opposite, really. Life was precious. I imagined for a small moment if I’d lost Carrie in the way I’d lost Ty and immediately shoved away the thought. Too much. One thing at a time.

She nodded. “I agree.” A pause. “Will it be weird for you if I attend the gathering? If you’d rather I not, that’s okay. Ty was your friend first and foremost.”

There was an informal reception afterward with lunch and drinks, a time for people to come together on such a hard day. “No, no. Come. Please. You have every right to be there.”

“Okay. I will. Thanks.”

“And Carrie? For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for how I behaved. I don’t like myself very much because of it.”

“Thank you,” she said. A haunted look crossed her features, and my stomach dropped, watching her walk to her rental. If she’d put me through a lot, I’d certainly done it right back. I hated that knowledge. It hadn’t been real until now as I witnessed the effects in person. I’d told her to go to Seattle and then punished her for it.

An hour later, covered dishes dotted every available surface of Ty’s aunt’s home. Ice cream flavored punch, topped off with whiskey in certain glasses, flowed. Friends and family mingled, got to know each other, and exchanged stories and memories of Ty. It was nice in so many ways to laugh with the people who loved him most. Sandra hugged me and thanked me for being a friend. I swore to her that we would stay in touch and still get those noodles together.

“He adored you,” Sandra said. “I hope you know that. Rooted for your success each step of the way.”

I nodded. “He was a big part of it.”