“Am I? My bad. Anything else?”
“No. Jeez, Bear.”
“Good night, then.”
And before I shut the door, I hear her whisper, “Thank you.”
THREE DAYS after that, a package arrives.
Otter signs for it.
“She’s not going where Mrs. Paquinn is,” the Kid says with a glare. “You can’t do that, Bear. You can’t. It’s not fair. I won’t let you do it. I won’t—”
“Never,” I tell him. And I mean it.
He takes a shuddering breath.
IT’S EARLY June, but it’s cold, the wind carrying a bite to it. We’re standing on a small cliff overlooking the gray ocean, the seagulls calling out above. Dom and Otter are waiting for us in the parking lot. Dom’s in uniform and has his patrol car. Izzie blushed and giggled when she saw him, and Ty was almost the same. Otter teased them both. Dom rolled his eyes fondly. I’d looked away when he bent down and whispered something into Ty’s ear, his lips grazing my little brother’s cheek. Whatever was said between them wasn’t any of my business.
They’re waiting for us, just like they always do.
We’re lucky like that, I guess.
The urn is rather plain, a dull silver with a plastic liner on the inside. We’re as far away from Mrs. P as we can be while still being in Seafare. I asked Izzie if she wanted us to do something like we’d done for Mrs. P—making a marker that can stand where we leave Julie. She shook her head and said this was enough.
I unscrew the lid to the urn, take out the bag inside, and hand it to Izzie. Ty refuses to touch any part of it. I think the only reason he’s even here with us is because Dom told him he’d regret it one day if he wasn’t.
Izzie takes it from me, and we wait. Just a little while.
It’s strange, really, that an entire person, a lifetime of memories and regret, disappointment and failed dreams, can be broken down into a pile of ash.
It swirls in the air in front of us.
And then it’s over.
She’s in the wind and gone.
None of us cry.
The Kid’s face is pressed against my shoulder and Izzie’s arms are wrapped around my waist, but none of us cry.
They leave first, heading back down the hill.
“You can’t touch us anymore,” I whisper to the wind. “Never again.”
And then I turn and follow my family.
Otter says, “All right?” when I reach him.
“Yeah,” I
say. Because it is. I am.
This is just one ending.
And in three months, something else will begin.
9. Where Bear Goes to Lamaze Class