FOURTEEN
Rip
I’d been dreading this moment for the past two and a half weeks. The day we officially boxed up all Monica and Brooks’s clothes. Ben was at his friend James’s house, and Viera was next door with Mrs. Harris making cookies. It just made sense to have them out of the house.
It was going to be hard enough on us, let alone them.
My chest tightened as I stood outside the master bedroom, unable to walk past the door even though Colby was already in the closet boxing their clothes away.
Why was watching her fold a shirt into a donation box just as hard as watching the caskets being lowered into the cold, hard ground?
I braced my hands against the doorframe and took a deep breath, then took one step, then another, until I was right outside the large closet watching Colby gently take clothes off hangers and fold them into the large boxes for Goodwill.
I wondered if she realized her hands were shaking.
Did she notice the tears streaming down her face?
Or was she choosing to be numb like me? It was the only way I could get through this without cracking.
“Hey…” My voice caught in my throat.
Her eyes flickered toward mine and then back to the shirt in her hands. There was nothing special about it except it had a glitter butterfly on it. It had been Monica’s favorite, hell, butterflies had been an obsession for Monica since we were kids. All it took was one trip to the local zoo when they had the butterfly exhibit and she was convinced that she actually was one. Years later she said that once she died, she’d come back as a beautiful butterfly.
“Don’t talk about dying.” I gave her a light shove and ran toward the swing set.
She stuck out her tongue. “Everyone dies, dum-dum! Why not choose how awesome you can be when you come back? I read about it in a book once.”
“You’re twelve,” I pointed out.
“And you’re a gross boy.” She sat on the swing. “Now push me super high like the butterfly I’ll be in the sky.”
I smiled to myself. “Like the butterfly in the sky.”
She gripped the swing and closed her eyes. “You’ll see. Maybe one day you’ll be lucky enough to see a butterfly like me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sure, OK.”
“I think I’d be blue.”
“Why blue?”
“Duh, it’s the color of the sky.” She laughed. “What would you come back as? If you could choose? Dirt?”
“Hilarious.” I smiled despite her insult. “If you get to come back as a butterfly, so do I. After all, we gotta stick together, but at least make my color cool.”
“You can be yellow.”
“Fair.” I pushed her higher. “You be blue, I’ll be yellow.”
“Deal.” She laughed. “Now push me higher!”
My heart caught in my throat.
Why?
Just why?
I looked down at it as she tossed it into a box.