Page 88 of Center of Gravity

“A fool. That would work well enough.” I felt his gaze on the side of my face and turned to meet it. His lips twitched, never resolving into a full smile, but I could read the tacit agreement well enough.

* * *

Another thing about death.It wasn’t so final for the ones left on the other side. There was a lot of waiting at the same time there was a lot of action. I left Alex long enough to let Winslow out, refresh his water, and assure him I hadn’t abandoned him, but quickly returned to Alex’s house. By late afternoon, Alex was wrecked. We’d remained at his house with the hospice nurse while Linda drove Lainey to her best friend’s house for the day. She’d been there when John passed, Linda having woken her as promised. She walked past me out the door, her eyes solemn and swollen, but lifted a hand to me as she went in a weary approximation of a wave. I gave her a tiny smile.

“You need to sleep, Alex,” Linda said when she returned.

Alex’s aunt was on the way, and John had already made the funeral arrangements, down to picking out his casket. He’d picked the cheapest option available, which had made Linda cry all over again when she told me.

Alex shook his head. “I can’t.”

She shot a strained look at me as if seeking support, so I laid a hand on his shoulder. “You do.”

“I can’t. Not here.” His eyes darted over to me, then back to his mom. Then back to me again. “Could I…for a while? I can’t breathe in here.”

We drove to my house in silence. It was a strange thing to think,my house.Summer had insisted that I not buy her out in any hurry, but that we split the profits of the rental and once I was more settled in my new job, I’d pay her out in installments unless I changed my mind.

Winslow gave us his usual enthusiastic greeting and Alex dropped down to one knee out of habit, picking the dog up and burying his face in his fur. Then he reeled back abruptly, eyes widening. “What happened to his leg?”

“He got hit by a car. The day of—the day Sean showed up, actually.” I winced at the memory and told Alex about it as I led him into the master bedroom and turned down the bed. He dropped onto the edge of it and when he leaned to untie his shoes, I brushed his hands away and knelt to do it for him, his eyes steady upon me, hardening as I finished the story.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There was a weary harshness in his voice, as if his body wasn’t capable of the displeasure he wanted to muster.

“Where in that conversation would I have fit that in?”

Alex bit his lip and sighed, sinking back into the pillows. “I don’t know. But you should have told me.”

“I should have told you,” I agreed, because it was the easiest thing to say. I should have told him a lot of things.

I stood and pulled the covers around him, but he reached out and caught me by the wrist.

“Stay.” His eyes implored me with a glossy gold gleam that I couldn’t deny. I kicked my shoes off and lay down beside him. Winslow trotted in to join us, wedging against Alex’s chest as he nestled his back against me.

I fell asleep as soon as I closed my eyes. When I woke, I could tell by the rise and fall of his chest that Alex was awake, too. Winslow had abandoned us at some point. Twilight throttled the sun from the sky and we lay in the saturated darkness that lightened as street lamps came on and filtered through the curtains. I lay on my side, gaze tracing Alex’s profile.

“I helped him pick out the suit for his burial,” he said, head tipping to the side so he could see me. “It was so fucking depressing and he kept trying to make jokes about it and I kept having to laugh because I knew he didn’t want me to cry. Because then he’d cry. I was so stressed about it. Isn’t that stupid? I keep thinking about it, going through his shirts and shoes, and him cracking stupid jokes.”

I gave him a small smile. “It’s not stupid. When I was a kid, the thing that scared me the most was that something would happen to my parents. Then I got older and the fears became about other things and I kind of forgot about my parents. Because they were my parents, you know? In the back of your mind you know they’re going to die someday. And at the same time, it also never seems like a real possibility until it’s right in front of your face. Somehow I felt like…that by the time they died I’d be prepared. I’d be a ‘real’ adult and as such would know exactly how to handle it.” I paused for a one-handed air quote. “As if there’s aproperway to handle your parents dying, some sort of secret manual we get at the right time. But there’s never a right time. That’s the paradox.”

I traced my fingers lightly over the bedspread, thinking of my mother in her last days and remembering sunlight, the scent of coffee. The ginger tea I’d make for us. “My mom was similar to your dad in a way. She had everything planned. I think it comforted her. The week before she died, she had her funeral outfit hanging on the outside of her closet, necklace on the hanger, shoes neatly laid out at the bottom and everything. She was afraid of dying for so long, and then she just wasn’t anymore. I don’t know what changed. She never said. But I distinctly remember sitting with her one day, and she looked over at that outfit and smiled. Maybe it was something about having crossed off everything on her list that she could cross off. Some kind of small victory over death. I don’t know. But she was at peace, and I guess that’s what mattered most. That peace.” I drew a long breath.

“The truth is, part of me was relieved when my mom died. It sounds terrible, but she’d been hurting for a long time. And I was grateful that she finally seemed okay with things. And I was relieved, too, that my dad just dropped dead. It wasn’t drawn out and he didn’t suffer the same way my mom did.” None of the feelings made sense and yet they all did. That’s what I’d learned about death; it defied logic the same way love did.

“Did you feel alone?” Alex’s fingers swept along the side of my thigh.

“Very.”

“Even with people around?”

“Sometimesespeciallywith people around.” I closed my hand over the top of his and brought it to my chest.

“I want that peace,” he whispered.

“It’ll come. I promise. Maybe not quickly and maybe not the way you think, but that feeling of being stuck in quicksand…you’ll stop sinking sometime.”

“Thank you,” he said, rolling onto his side to face me.

And instead of telling him to stop thanking me, I said, “You’re welcome.”