Page 13

Crew

G etting out of bed used to be harder. Everyday was a chore. The things I’ve done, the people I’ve hurt… Memories of the past haunted me. Every morning was another fresh pep-talk just to get my legs moving. It’s gotten easier the past year. Somehow, I’ve found a purpose. A reason for waking up.

I didn’t have that growing up. My birth parents left me with a last name and nothing else. They dropped me off at a temple as a newborn, and I ended up in the foster system. I don’t remember much of it. I hopped from family to family the first few years. Some of them fine, others less so.

I was 14 when I happened upon Theresa and Jimmy Warden. Theresa was the kindest woman I’d ever met. She never reacted to my outbursts- never hit me like other foster parents had.

At first, I did everything in my power to give her trouble. Jimmy too, and he hated it. Yet he never hit me either- never even raised his voice. He expected me to pull my weight around the house, sure. But he always treated me like an adult.

Jimmy was never easy to read, but I knew one thing about the man for certain: he adored his wife. She loved him back just as hard.

As Theresa and I grew close, I grew to love her goofy, sarcastic nature. I learned to respect Jimmy’s unwavering respect for everyone. Even before they asked to adopt me, I knew they loved me. I was 16 by that time. It was only two years until I graduated the system completely and had the freedom to make my own choices. But I knew I found something special with the Wardens.

Crew Donovan was no one.

Crew Warden was a son. A fighter. A protector.

The Wardens offered me a future- one I was happy to take. But being their kid didn’t change the fact that sometimes when I woke up, I just didn’t understand why.

I wasn’t unhappy. I was grateful I found a home, but there was still this gaping wound in my chest. This hole I craved to fill.

Leaving home for the military didn’t satiate me. Fighting a war I had no part being in didn’t soothe the battle I had waging in my own head. Bartending was just another gig, and until I met her , nothing else made sense: Winter Augustine.

She came along, and I realized that a love like my parents- the ones who’d taken me in, loved me, raised me- was possible.

Winter was the reason I woke in the morning. She was my last thought before bed. I loved her more than I’d ever been able to love anything else. I was going to marry her.

Then she died.

And I didn’t just blame myself for losing her. I blamed life. For giving me a purpose and a reason to live… and then ripping it all away.

Grief has a way of making everything feel hazy, blurry, shapeless. Yet you can still remember what it felt like when it wasn’t. Time is just a salve. A bandage on a wound that never really heals. If you let it, time will make it fester. Because if you hold onto anything for too long, it poisons you.

That thought lingers with me the longer I stare out the balcony window of Olivia’s apartment. The necklace around my neck is a weight. It was a reassurance once upon a time. Now, it’s a reminder of what I’ve lost.

Sitting on the couch in the living room, the weight nearly aches. But it doesn’t feel the same. The longing I feel now… it’s no longer about missing her.

It’s about missing myself.

There’s less than ten minutes until Taylor and I trade-off for the day. While I’d like to say that the auction was exhausting, I’d be lying. It was exhilarating to be back in the routine again. It’s been months since I’ve felt up to a challenge.

When I hear footsteps at the door and the familiar ping of the keypad, I relax knowing it's Taylor. He keys inside, the evidence of me tinkering away at the new camera set-up scattered on the coffee table.

He grins. “How’d it go?”

I eye the tray full of three coffees in his hand and smile. “Good. No problems. Didn’t know you were supplying coffee for the shift now.”

He plops a cup in front of me, and I toss him the spare keys as he drops his bag on a stool in the kitchen. “It’s not free. I’ll expect a favor later down the road.”

I raise a brow. “What favors are you planning on needing, Bishop?

He grins. “Cross that bridge when I get to it.”

I shake my head, sipping the bitter liquid as Olivia’s door opens. Chesna comes barreling out, running straight for my lap. I’ve never liked cats. I've always thought they were grumpy, finicky creatures, and I freeze when she tilts her head into my palm. I relax fractionally, petting her softly. Olivia’s close behind, a frown crinkling her brow when she sees Chesna in my arms…

Her frown disappears when she spots the coffee in Taylor's hand though because she gasps, nearly skipping to the counter.

“Is one of these for me??”

Taylor smiles. “It is.”

“OhMyGod, thank you!” She practically inhales the cup’s contents. “You didn’t have to.”

I heard her tossing and turning for most of the night again. The past few days are bound to have taken it out of her, yet any remaining sleepiness seems to melt away as she drinks.

Taylor smirks. “Unlike Warden, I like to start things off on a good note.”

I narrow my eyes. She chuckles under her breath, “That sounds an awful lot like bribery.”

“Whatever you want to call it.”

I shake my head, grabbing the camera parts and chugging down my drink. I have to be back later, so I should get going.

“I’ll see you both at handoff.”

“Headed to see Skar?” Taylor calls, and I don’t miss the way Olivia’s shoulders tense at the question.

“Yeah,” I answer, grabbing my bag and helmet from the room. “Got a couple of things to do first.”

I ’m going to the cemetery . Just like I used to most Mondays. It’s been awhile since I’ve visited, but Taylor knows that by now.

“Always a man of mystery,” he teases anyways.

“You should try maintaining some of your own sometime.”

He scrubs a hand over his beard, ignoring the comment. “Say hi to Winter for me.”

I salute them both goodbye, heading for the parking garage across the market square. When I straddle my bike, strapping my gear down and throwing my helmet on, I’m glad for the familiar purr of the engine as it roars to life beneath me.

With the morning fog hanging low over the city, veering onto the highway takes longer than usual. Cars are slow to change lanes, but I know this drive like the back of my hand.

There’s a certain thrill to riding. The wind at my back, the engine humming beneath my hands. Years before I had my car, I used to bike everywhere. I’ve always enjoyed the speed.

I pull off the highway and cut across a pasture onto the rocky path toward the cemetery. The path is on the longer side of a few miles, but the rusted gate comes into view before too long.

Fairview Memorial.

I park, leaving my helmet in favor of swinging my backpack over my shoulder. It's been years since the hinges rusted shut, so I hop over the side.

Two hills of gravestones are separated by a worn trail of yellowing grass in between. Rain has hollowed out a ditch in the soil, finding her grave at the cusp of both hills. It’s the newest stone in a worn coliseum of gray and blackened granite.

I come to a stop in front of her, looking down at the dried flowers and overgrown ivy swallowing her name. I kneel, tearing away the weeds and scraping the dirt away to reveal it:

Winter Dean Augustine. Loving daughter, soul finally at rest.

The fog is much too dense now, but I know the sun is there, hiding, like she always hoped. For a few moments, I settle in, feeling the earth beneath my knees. Words are caught in my throat, but I force them out anyways.

“It’s been a while,” I start.

It’s been too long since I visited. Even longer since I’ve felt the need to talk to her. But… It’s time.

“I, uh… I started that job recently. The one you’d have told me to take a while ago if you were here.” I nearly laugh because I can just picture the conversation we’d have. “At least, I like to think you would, but…”

The truth is that I don’t know what she’d do if she were here. If she were alive, I’d be obsessed. Consumed , just like I used to be. Too consumed, probably, to want anything other than her.

Even if I wanted things for myself.

Even if I needed them.

“I think I’ve spent a lot of time loving you these past few years… and a lot of time thinking about what it would be like if you were here.”

And not nearly enough time thinking about what I want from life.

“It’s heavy,” I say on an exhale, reminded of the chain around my neck. I unclasp it, and the ring falls into my palm. The silver glitters, diamonds flashing in the light. It’s the ring I never got to give her.

I’d like to think I was waiting for the right moment to propose… but I’ve thought long and hard about whether or not I was ready to be married. Whether it was right. I think part of me knew it wasn’t.

I loved Winter the way the moon loves the sun. Every night, the moon basks in the sun’s warmth, longing for the moment when it can shine again. But the moon can’t shine without the sun. And I couldn’t shine without her. For the first year after her death, it almost killed me.

“It’s time for me to let go,” I whisper, and as I say it, the chain slides until the ring is in my fingertips.

I could sell it- probably use the money for something meaningful. But I don’t have the heart to. Whether I would’ve married her or not, whether she was alive or not, I know I don’t want to keep living with the regret of what if .

“You were meant to have this, and I’d like to think that you have it,” I laugh to myself as I place the chain just over her name. For a long moment, words are beyond me.

Minutes inch by… and finally…

“Goodbye, Winter.”

It must be several more minutes before I’m able to stand.

I take the long path back, taking my time weaving between the rows of graves and tombstones. When I hop the fence and find my bike, I take one last look between the two hills where fog disappears into the cleft. I can almost hear her goodbye in the wind.

I smile, feeling lighter than I have in a long time.