Page 171 of The Ampersand Effect
She settled between Grant and Maren, worrying her fingers into the skirt of the black A-line dress she had chosen for the occasion. The weather was still warm and unseasonably dry, the dress’s knee- length silhouette and lacy three-quarter sleeves provided decorum while keeping her cool. The dubious weather forecast was calling for rain later—a mercy she knew would soothe both the parched land and her scorched soul—but the season had been so dry that no one was counting on the improbable boon.
She settled into her thoughts, letting her friends’ voices flow around her without making any effort to listen. She knew they knew she’d be okay. She just needed to grieve in her own way, in her own time.
She’d spent the emotionally turbulent week at work, despite literally everyone around her encouraging her to take time off. Everyone except Tobin. Tobin had quietly encouraged her to return, knowing it was the only place she could find enough healthy distraction to allow her brain to process slowly, at her own pace.
She spent her mornings in the pool, gliding through the water with a ferocity that burned in her lungs. Sometimes she’d surface gasping, heaving—and on the worst mornings—sobbing and clinging to the rock wall while her grief seeped into the water around her.
On days when her emotions left her too weak for the water, she would walk to the beach and bury her feet in the sand. There, she spoke to Grove and to Tobin—both continents away, both providing reprieve from her anguish in ways the water couldn’t. Grove offered distraction, filling the space with stories of her expeditions and exploits. But Tobin brought something quieter:companionable silence, a genuine smile, and an unshakeable love.
Tobin created space for her to heal. And although healing was never linear, Tobin understood that non-linear trajectories still moved her forward, even when she seemed to be stagnating while everyone else moved onward at exponential rates. Mathematics held no prominence in the realm of the broken-hearted.
Her watch buzzed, and her body felt a little bit lighter, just knowing it was Tobin—knowing she was thinking about her half a world away.
TOBIN—9:57 a.m.
I know I can’t say anything that will fix this,
so I won’t try. But know I love you.
Grier’s breath hitched, shuddering as it left her lungs, the emotions she clung to pressed tightly within the cage of her ribs. Even from a distance, Tobin knew exactly what to say.
GRIER—9:58 a.m.
I love you, too.
She had no strength for platitudes; she hoped Tobin would understand her simple, but honest response.
Sliding her phone to Do Not Disturb, she tucked it into her small black clutch. The room’s speaker system crackled, then shrieked to life, the feedback jolting through her body. She missed the final vibration of her phone, mingled as it was with the vibration of the feedback, oblivious to Tobin’s next text.
Grier watched as the officiant stepped to the center of the room, positioning himself above Jonah’s casket. The weight of Grant’s arm settled around her shoulders, drawing her close. Maren’s hand found her thigh, offering a gentle, reassuringsqueeze. Grier sighed into their comforting embraces, letting their presence hold her together.
Grier allowed herself the reprieve of dissociation, feeling her mind sift slowly away from her body—the first calming sensation she could chase as her world collided with the reality of yet another loss. A life far too young to lose.
Her body remained in the chair, anchored between family—real and realized—as they made their peace with this loss. Her thoughts shifted to Nora, and her hand moved subconsciously to her neck, fisting her pendant. She clung to the memory of her best friend, fighting the hollow truth that no more memories would be made for Jonah—just as none would for Nora.
Grant’s gentle squeeze on her shoulder pulled her back slightly. She knew his thoughts paralleled hers, always returning to Nora, despite the elongation of time and the quiet inevitability of healing that endured in the lives of the living.
His touch called her back. Awareness seeped back into her body just as a screen descended from the ceiling and the lights dimmed. A projector whirred to life, revealing the breathtakingly beautiful smile of a healthy, vibrant Jonah staring into the camera. His eyes shone with the unburdened oblivion of youth—of a life not yet marred by cancer. Grier’s eyes stung with the newness of fresh tears.
The familiar instrumentals ofFly Awayby Lenny Kravitz filled the room, its upbeat electronic tempo drawing a few sniffled snickers from those gathered. It was perfect, and Grier honored the tentative smile twitching faintly on her lips.
The images shifted—Jonah at birth, his first birthday surrounded by family and friends, the years captured in snapshots of growth and goofiness and the innocent smile that endured as he grew into the familiar boy-turned-Captain Grier knew and loved.
She watched, tears now spilling freely, as picture after picture chronicled Jonah’s beautiful life. His boyhood unfolded before her: trips to the ocean and Disney World; proudly holding a fish toward the camera, shirtless, a sucker stick jutting from his nearly toothless grin; making holiday cookies with Molly and Micah, dusted in flour and frosting, having clearly piped more on each other than the cookies.
She remembered the first time she’d met Jonah and Molly. It hadn’t even been intentional—a happenstance encounter during his umpteenth chemotherapy session. She’d just stepped out of a meeting with a pediatric oncologist, about how their departments could better serve each other when he’d encouraged her to visit the floor and meet some of his patients. Drawn by the raucous laughter emanating from the far end of the hall, she’d followed the sound without knowing it would lead her to the infusion suite.
The giggles had been irresistible: Jonah’s pure, effervescent, boyish peals, coupled with the more measured but equally joyous laughter of the adults around him. When she stepped inside, she found him standing on one of the infusion chairs, arms stretched wide, sputtering like a plane soaring in the clouds.
“Flight attendants, this is your Captain speaking,” Jonah announced, pressing an imaginary mic to his mouth. “Prepare for refueling in Chemo City. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride—better grab some barf bags!”
“Jonah!” Molly gasped, equal parts horrified and amused, the corners of her mouth betraying her. The nurse hooking up his fluids ducked his head, shoulders shaking as he tried—and failed—to hide his laughter.
Jonah took his mother’s admonishment in stride, literally flopping onto his butt on the chair and shining his bright, unfiltered smile between his mother and the nurse. A silentexchange passed between him and the nurse before he shouted “Tower, prepare for refueling!” The nurse pushed a button on the infusion pump, its soft whir joining the beeps of nearby monitors, and Jonah eased back into his seat. He glanced at his mom for approval, then flicked to her— silent, frozen in the doorway.
“Hi! I’m Jonah. Are you here for chemo, too?”
Grier glanced at Jonah’s mom, catching the flicker of curiosity and protective vigilance in her expression, then at the nurse, who offered a kind smile tinged with mild skepticism at the intrusion. She wasn’t a familiar face on the oncology floor, but after her meeting minutes ago, she hoped that would change. And Jonah felt like the exact right way to start.