“No!”
He stops moving but doesn’t let go. Mira steps forward and takes my other hand, her cheeks still wet with tears. “Destiny. You can tell them. Now.” She whispers, like she is afraid she might disturb Mother and Father and the sleeping baby Gavin. “Tell them. Whatever you want. We’ll stay with you.”
I look past her at the stones. My eyes ache. I need to blink, but I can’t. My lids are frozen open. Tell them? Now? What?
My feet move forward against my will. Or maybe because of it. I don’t know. But I move, like I am floating. One step. Two. Three. At the entrance of the gate. Four. Through it. Five. Mira holding one hand. Seth the other. Six. Seven. The holy number. They let go.
And I face my family.
Mother. Father. And sweet baby Gavin.
Nothing between me and them.
No glass. No airport gates. No time.
Just me. And them.
I step closer on my own. My family. My hand shakes as I reach out, and I steady it on Father’s stone. Steady. Yes. Father was steady. He could lift me high above his head, and I was never afraid. My finger traces the groove of his name. William. Will. I feel his last kiss on my forehead. Warm. His smile trying to prod me from my sulking. I wanted to smile for him. I almost did. My hand skims the top of his marker, and it leads me to the next. Mother’s stone. Caroline. Sable black hair that smelled of roses, silky strands tickling my nose as she held me. A
lways holding me. I touch the date on her stone. October 19. She had only thirty-five years before the day that brought her took her away again.
And Gavin. The shortest time of all. A chubby angel is carved into the top of his stone. I drop to my knees. Gavin. Could he possibly remember me pushing his pram? Singing for him when he cried? I did those things. I reach out and touch the sculpted angel that hovers above him. A baby should never be alone. Was this Mr. Gardian’s touch? He always thought of everything. All these years I didn’t know or thank him. A chubby angel for Gavin. All the things I should have said to Mr. Gardian, to Gavin, to my parents, to everyone, but never did.
Tell them.
I hear Mira’s sniffles. I never cried for them. Like telling and admitting, crying would make it real. It would show acceptance, and some things should not be accepted, but the logic that has sustained me vanished when I stepped through this gate. Here I am. On my knees before three gravestones. My family’s graves. It cannot get any more factual than this. I fall forward on my hands and knees. Tell them. I ease myself down, my face to the earth, sprawling my arms wide, my legs, trying to touch them all. Trying to hold them all. Mira sits down next to me and Seth. Even Aidan. And a noise comes out of my throat. A husky noise, foreign and frightening. Hands tighten on mine. Another on my back. We’ll be with you. The noises string together, like a rattling chain, and my throat jumps again and again. Real. Mother. Father. Gavin. All the things I never said. All the things I wanted to. And finally one word.
“Good-bye.”
Again and again. To each of them. Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye. “I’m sorry I didn’t say good-bye.” Tears mix with soil and grass, my face pressed to the earth, hoping they hear, hoping they know, hoping they understand. Hoping that for one day, one fair, once-in-a-lifetime day, they know that I wanted to say good-bye.
I close my eyes. I float into their world, float through earth, gravel, coffin, and time. I inhabit their space, nestle in like I am there, where I should have been all along—soft, warm, safe—in their world, together, and their perspective becomes mine. I look up and see what they see, earth, stones, sky, branches, and Destiny. Their Destiny. Mother reaching up through soil and time to brush away my hair and coo in my ear. My sweet Destiny, my baby. I never wanted to leave you. Father reaching out and wiping my cheeks. You’re my big girl. You’ll be fine. Baby Gavin reaching, reaching and connecting with my little finger, gripping tight and smiling. Good-bye, they whisper. Good-bye. I see the Destiny they see. No longer seven, afraid, and alone. I am not alone. Today I have touched other hands and other lives. And my family is happy—happy because they know I understand. Happy because they know I will be all right. Happy because now they have been able to say good-bye too. I am theirs, always and forever theirs, and moving on doesn’t mean leaving them behind. My fingers interlace tight with theirs, not wanting to let go. But you must, Mother whispers.
And I do.
I feel hands on my back. My arms. I float back to the world I still belong to. Mira, Aidan, and Seth are still with me like they promised. Even though I have said good-bye, I am not alone. I push up from the ground and sit on Mother’s grave like I am sitting in her lap. I wipe away the bits of grass and dirt that cling to my arms. I turn to look at Seth, who is sitting beside me. He reaches out and brushes something from my nose and smiles. “You’re a mess.”
“I know,” I answer. “That’s what people have been telling me for years.”
Aidan pulls a clean handkerchief from his pocket and holds it out to me. “No, he means—”
“I know what he means, Aidan.” I take the handkerchief from him. “Thank you,” I whisper.
I wipe the grime from my cheeks. Even with all the dirt smudging my face, for the first time in my life I don’t feel like a mess. There is nothing mysterious or magical about the truth. It is simply there, cold and hard and large and unforgiving. No wonder I ran from it. But now it is facing me instead of chasing me, and that makes all the difference. The noise it made at my back was far more frightening.
I feel their stares, waiting for more answers. This far. There is no point in holding back now.
“Your nose,” Aidan says. “Blow.”
I follow his instructions. The sound is loud and harsh in the empty cemetery and quite nearly funny. I would laugh, but I don’t think the others are there yet.
“It’s getting late.” Seth stands and helps me to my feet.
“Wait!” Mira kicks off her shoes and runs back to the car. She returns with the bouquet of sunflowers and the peacock feather and places them in my arms. “I knew when we got these, there was a good reason. I just didn’t know what it was until now.” She doesn’t need to say what they are for. I turn and face the graves again. I brush the peacock feather against my cheek. It’s as soft as a baby blanket. And blue. Blue for a baby boy. I lay it on Gavin’s grave. I divide the bouquet in half and lay the first bunch on Father’s grave. If flowers can smile, then these do. A smile for Father, the smile he wanted. I take the second bunch and whisper into them, a whisper from me to Mother, and I lay them down for her. She whispers back, That’s my good girl.
I turn to the others. Their stony faces are more than I can bear.
“How’s that for a secret?” I say.