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Chapter 82

The last funeral Claire had attended had been for Jamie’s father, and the thing that she remembered most about it was the weather. It had been typical of an Iowa winter – bitterly cold, the sky overcast and dreary, the dead brown grass frozen beneath patches of muddy snow. The heavy gray clouds had spit sleet as they’d laid Mr. Turner to rest, and Claire recalled thinking how appropriately the atmosphere outside matched their moods within.

Today couldn’t have been more different. The sun was shining brightly through the leafy green trees; there was hardly a cloud in the cerulean sky. Birds sang cheerfully from the tree branches as several children cut across the freshly-trimmed grass beneath them, hand in hand with their parents. Had it not been for the headstones lined up neatly among the trees, Claire might have mistaken the cemetery for a park, just a nice place to take the kids on such a beautiful day.

But despite its outward appearance, this day was not a beautiful one, and these kids weren’t here to play. They were unmistakably Casey’s classmates, and they, like Claire, were here to pay their last respects and bury a friend far before his time.

Sighing, Claire reluctantly turned off her car’s engine and pulled her key from the ignition. Leaning back against her seat, she closed her eyes, taking a moment to collect herself. Today will be the worst part, she told herself. All you have to do is get through this.

Knowing she could not delay the inevitable any longer, she unfastened her seat belt and opened her door. She climbed out of the car, her heels clicking as they hit the street, and walked around to the curb at which she had parked. She smoothed out her black skirt and took a deep breath before starting across the grass, cutting the same path she’d seen the kids and their parents take. Halfway to her destination, she found a paved walkway and followed it to the spot where rows and rows of black folding chairs had been set up, facing a flower-adorned altar behind which a dark mahogany casket was displayed.

A lump rose in her throat at the sight of the small casket. She’d already seen it at the visitation two days earlier; the top half of it had been open then, showing Casey from the waist up. With the rosyness restored to his once-pale cheeks and a black Marlins cap hiding his bald head, he didn’t look sick anymore. He looked like a sleeping boy who could wake up at any minute, tear off the tie that had been knotted neatly around the stiff collar of his dress shirt, and run outside to play baseball. Claire hoped that the moment his body on Earth had finally failed him, his lively spirit had awoken in Heaven and done just that.

The thought made her smile through the tears that had already started to blur her vision. Casey had been sick for so long, spent so many months in a bed, too ill to go out and play. Now he was free from the disease that had brought him such pain and confinement. If there was any blessing in disguise hiding amidst what would otherwise be considered a tragedy, she’d found it.

Still, as she sat down and surveyed the other black-clad guests that mingled solemnly, speaking to each other in hushed tones, she could not avoid the heavy feeling of melancholy that descended upon her. Most of the funeral guests were young, many not much older than her, some far younger. In the front rows were the relatives; she spotted Mrs. Brenner being hugged by another woman who had the same dark hair – her sister, perhaps, one of Casey’s aunts. Most of the children present were seated near the back, along with their parents. In front of them was a row filled solely of women, their ages varied. Claire couldn’t be sure, but she wondered if they were teachers, from Casey’s school.

She didn’t expect to see anyone she knew, other than Casey’s immediate family, but she spotted a few nurses from the oncology ward at the hospital a couple of rows behind her. Shauna, the transplant nurse she and Casey had shared, was among them. Her eyes locked with Claire’s, and she raised her hand in a limp wave. Claire nodded at her in return, offering a grim smile before she turned to face forward again, blinking back tears.

Her head was down when he approached; she never saw him coming. But all at once she heard his voice ask quietly, “Is this seat taken?”

Her eyes shot up and widened. “Nick!” she cried. It took her a few seconds to get over her shock at seeing him there; when she’d called to tell him that Casey was gone, he hadn’t mentioned coming back for the funeral.

Nick offered her a wan smile. “So can I sit?” he asked, motioning to the empty chair beside her. “Or-“

“Yeah, sit down,” she replied quickly, turning towards him as he sank down at her side. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

He shrugged. “I wanted to be here. I got a flight back Wednesday night. Guess I missed you at the visitation.”

“I guess we went at different times,” she said softly, still stunned at the knowledge that he had been in town for three days already. But she supposed that was just how it was going to be from here on out. They weren’t together anymore, and if hadn’t been for Casey, they wouldn’t have been in touch at all this past month. He had no reason to let her know his plans.

“I’m glad you came back for this,” she offered, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had already fallen between them.

Nick nodded vaguely and muttered in a low voice, “I’m glad you’re here too. I-I don’t think I could get through this alone.” Dropping his voice to a mere whisper, he added, “I hate funerals.”

She glanced over to see him tugging at the collar of his shirt as if it were choking him; he looked very uncomfortable. Smiling sadly, she lay her hand on top of his free one, giving it a pat. “Same here. But we’ll get through,” she murmured, and all of a sudden, she was very glad to have him there by her side as well. She’d come to the funeral alone because no one in her family and none of her friends had known Casey the way she had. Nick was the only one who understood what she was going through… and so they’d go through it together, as they always had.

She left her hand on his as the service began, and it stayed there throughout the entire thing, as they listened to the minister read passages from the Bible and speak about Casey’s brief life and the good memories he would leave behind. It was a nice service, as nice and as positive as a funeral could be, but it was still sad. No matter how much the minister stressed that Casey was a child of God, a child so special that the Lord wanted to bring him back to Heaven now, Claire could only think of how Casey had only been eleven years old. He should have had so many years of life left ahead of him, so many more milestones to reach, so much left to do. He’d always wanted to be a pilot when he grew up… but now he wouldn’t get to. He wouldn’t get to finish out fifth grade, or go on to sixth either. Hell, he wouldn’t even be able to get through the rest of the Harry Potter books she’d been reading to him.

It was these little things, the simple things she’d always taken for granted when she was his age, that brought the tears to her eyes. She tried to fight them, but in the end, they spilled over, running slowly down her cheeks and making the minister’s image swim before her as she blinked and tried to focus.

In the midst of it all, she felt a warm hand on top of her own and glanced down to see that Nick had put his free hand over the top of hers, sandwiching her hand between his two. Catching her looking at him, he offered her a tiny smile. She did not try to hide her tears, but managed a sad smile back in spite of them. As they both turned back to face the altar again, she felt Nick’s thumb lightly running over her knuckles. The compassionate gesture brought more tears to her eyes.

The service ended with a prayer, and when Claire unclasped her hands and lifted her head at last, she found Nick looking at her in sympathy. “You okay?” he asked softly, rubbing her shoulder.

She nodded. “I will be. Why, do I look like a mess?” She rubbed at her eyes; they felt sticky with tears, and she was sure they were probably nicely puffed up and bloodshot by now.

Nick shrugged. “You look like someone who cared a lot about Casey,” was his answer.

She smiled; he was so sweet… “Thanks, Nick.”

Together, they made their way up to the front to pay their respects to Casey’s family. Mrs. Brenner was misty-eyed, yet miraculously calm. She hugged them both tightly and thanked them for being there for Casey, “when he needed his friends the most.”

“That was hard,” murmured Nick as they slowly walked away from the gravesite. Claire nodded her agreement. Nick cleared his throat. “I dunno about you,” he continued, “but after that, I don’t really feel like just going home. Do you wanna maybe… I dunno, get some food or something, and just… talk?”

She noticed the sense of hesitancy in his voice and hated herself for putting it there. “Sure,” she replied. “You can pick where we go… I’m not very hungry.”

“Eh, me neither, but it’s something to do. Well, if you don’t have a preference, how about the old standard – pizza and shakes at Leonardi’s?”

She had to smile at that. It seemed so inappropriate to go out for pizza after a funeral, but she knew Casey would have more than approved. “Sure,” she agreed. Leonardi’s really was the old standard for she and Nick; it was their place, through the good and the bad. Dinner dates, birthdays, and successful physical therapy sessions were grouped with evil girlfriends and canker sores from chemo as perfectly legitimate reasons to go to the homey old pizza parlor. And now, the death of a mutual friend.

As they walked back across the cemetery to get to their cars, Claire spotted something black lying in the grass. “Hold up a minute,” she told Nick, darting over to inspect it. Bending down, she realized it was just what she thought it was – a sleek, black crow’s feather. She picked it up, gingerly running it through her fingers and picturing in her head a similar feather, which sat in a box of keepsakes she’d just moved into her new apartment the previous weekend. It was her magic feather, like the one Dumbo used to fly, given to her by Casey five years ago. The one she held in her hand now looked almost identical to it.

“What’s that?” Nick asked, coming up behind her. “A feather?”

“It’s a magic feather,” she whispered, fresh tears springing to her eyes. Straightening, she said, “I need to go back, Nick… it’ll just take a minute. You can go ahead; I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, looking at her in concern. “I can walk back with you.”

“No, it’s okay. Go ahead; I’ll be there in a little bit, I promise. There’s just one last thing I need to do.”

Perhaps sensing that she would rather go back alone, Nick finally nodded. “Okay. See you in a few,” he said, and turned away, continuing to his car while she turned and hurried back to the gravesite, walking as fast as she could in her skirt and heels.

Most people had left by the time Claire made her way up to the small mahogany casket, which was now heaped with flowers. Standing next to it, she reached out and rested her hand lightly on the smooth, rounded lid. Bowing her head, she murmured a quiet prayer and crossed herself. Then she tucked the black feather in among the colorful flower blossoms.

“I know you’re probably up there laughing at what a cheeseball I am, Case… but I want you to have a magic feather of your own. Use it to fly,” she whispered and then hurried away, tears pouring down her cheeks once again.

***

In the parking lot of Leonardi’s, Claire pulled her car into the empty spot right next to Nick’s black BMW and shut off the ignition. Flipping down her sun visor, she adjusted the mirror on the back so that she could see her reflection. She still looked like a wreck, her face red and swollen from crying. Good thing she hadn’t worn any mascara – she had known better. She’d been bawling at the drop of a hat lately anyway, and today… well, she’d always known she would never get through this without tears.

She had tried to take her time driving over – it was hard trying to see the road through watery eyes, not to mention the fact that her vision had been sort of cloudy lately anyway, for reasons she hadn’t had time to think about. But she couldn’t dawdle too much – Nick would think she’d stood him up. After what she’d done to him already, she couldn’t have him thinking she would abandon him the day of Casey’s funeral.

Sighing, she reluctantly opened her car door and climbed out. She kept her head down as she hurried across the parking lot and into the restaurant. Only then did she look up, just briefly enough to scan the room for Nick. Her heart did a flip-flop when she spotted him just where she’d suspected he would be – in the wraparound booth in the very back corner. Their booth.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a waitress coming over to seat her. “I’m with the guy over there,” she muttered quickly, gesturing vaguely to Nick in the corner before hurrying back to join him. “Hey,” she said as she slid into the booth. Normally, the two of them sat close to each other in the very center of the curving booth, but today, Claire kept her distance. She would have liked to lean against him, have him put his arm around her and pull her into a close, comforting embrace… but she resisted, knowing she couldn’t. It was too soon… too weird. She knew she couldn’t play hot/cold with him like that; it wasn’t fair to him.

“Hey,” he replied quietly, giving her a brief once-over. “You look like hell.” He offered her a gentle smile.

She forced one in return, doubtful that it actually looked convincing. “As do you,” she shot back dully. He looked more composed than she did, on the outside anyway, but she could tell he had taken this hard too. He had a definite disheveled look, and she could tell he’d raked his hand through his hair more than a few times – it was sticking out in all sorts of funny places by now. If the mood hadn’t been so solemn, she would have laughed… but there was no laughter inside her today.

“What should we get?” Nick asked, scanning the menu.

She could tell from the way he asked that he didn’t really care. Neither did she. She was afraid she’d throw up if she ate anything, but she shrugged and answered anyway. “How about the usual?”

He glanced up. “I thought you weren’t hungry.”

“I’m not.”

“Me neither.” He shrugged and slid the menu aside; it wasn’t as if they needed it anyway. “How about we just get a couple of chocolate shakes? Chocolate always helps.”

She nodded apathetically. When their waitress came, she let him order while she stared down at the table, absently counting the red squares on the checkered plastic tablecloth. She nearly jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning her head, she realized that the waitress had already left their table and that Nick was looking at her in concern… oh, and touching her shoulder.

“Claire, I just wanna say… I’m sorry. This is hard enough for me, but I know it’s gotta be killing you. You were closer to him than I was; you knew him longer.” He paused, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed with difficulty. Licking his lips, his throat apparently dry, he added falteringly, “This is… what happened is… horrible.”

Tears pooled in her eyes again, unexpectedly. After the last few days – and especially after this morning – she didn’t think she’d have any tears left. But they just kept coming. Blinking rapidly, she looked down and murmured, her voice catching on every word, “I just can’t believe it. I-I’ve known this day was coming, but still… I wasn’t prepared…”

“How can you really prepare for something like this?” Nick asked quietly.

She didn’t answer. But she kept talking, letting the thoughts that had been in her head for days… no, weeks… maybe even months... come pouring out. “I just can’t stop asking, ‘why?’ Why him? He was so close to cure point, to five years in remission, Nick. He’d been fighting it longer than either of us… he thought he’d beat it. Why, out of all three of us, was he the one to… to-” She could barely get the word out. “-die from it?”

***

Nick swallowed hard again and cleared his throat, unable to get rid of the lump that had been in it all day. It was a good question Claire posed. Hadn’t he wondered the same thing himself? Why did it have to happen to Casey, this cool eleven-year-old kid who had beaten cancer in the past and had his whole future still ahead of him? Why had he, a guy who had already seen the world and lived his life’s dream, managed to cheat death, yet Casey could not? None of it made sense. Was it all random, or was this God’s “plan,” as people liked to say?

If it was God’s plan, then God sucked at planning, in Nick’s opinion.

Perhaps the scariest thought was that the way Claire had worded the question (“Why, out of all three of us, was he the one…?”) was not even the way God… or fate… or whatever… worked. Cancer had taken Casey’s life; it could still take either of theirs. The possibility frightened him, especially when he thought of it happening to Claire, but he could not deny that it existed. What was to keep her leukemia from coming back, even despite her bone marrow transplant, like Casey’s had? Or what was to prevent another freak tumor that had been hiding out for the last year from popping up somewhere else in Nick’s body? These were the questions that still haunted his nightmares some nights; he wondered if the fears would ever leave him. Even that hallowed five-year mark didn’t seem so sacred or certain anymore.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, finally answering Claire’s question… which was probably one of those questions that wasn’t meant to be answered, but that was beside the point. “Maybe it should have been me, huh?”

Claire stared at him, her eyes widening slightly. She swallowed, and then, blinking, said, “I-I didn’t mean it that way…”

Nick frowned; the old Claire just would have smacked him and snapped, “Oh, shut up, you know that’s not what I meant!” The Claire sitting next to him now just looked incredibly uncomfortable… and way too serious. He understood, under the circumstances… but God, in a month’s time, had things really become that awkward between them? Well, of course they had… she’d left a ‘Dear John’ letter on his staircase. It was her fault things were awkward; it was her fault she was uncomfortable now.

He was struck by a flash of anger towards her, but before he could act on it, he quickly reminded himself that it was not the time. She’d been through something horrible. They both had. And it was something that no one but the two of them could understand… not their other friends anyway. The guys had been sympathetic when he’d heard the news from Claire and explained why he had to go home for a few days. And sure, they’d all suffered losses, so they could relate. But they hadn’t known Casey. It wasn’t the same. Claire was the only person he could talk to about this, and for her, as far as he knew, it was vice versa. They had to stick together through this.

He flashed her a quick, reassuring smile. “I know you didn’t. You’re right though – it doesn’t make any sense. That’s all I meant. Why him? Why not us? Don’t get me wrong – I’m glad to be alive, and I’m definitely glad you are, but… you know.” He shook his head. “Nothing makes sense…” he muttered.

She managed a tiny, wry smile. “Thanks for saying you’re glad I’m alive. So does that mean you don’t hate my guts for… for doing what I did?”

Nick studied her for a moment and finally offered a tiny, close-lipped smile in return. “I could never hate you, Claire,” he answered quietly. “I don’t know where I’d be right now if it weren’t for you. Maybe wherever Casey is… except I wouldn’t have known Casey, so what good would that do?”

Making a noise that sounded like half a laugh and half a sob, she closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, they were bright with tears. “God, have you ever seen me cry this much in one day?” she asked, gesturing to her flooding eyes. When he just gave her a sympathetic smile in return, she shook her head. “Nick, I’m so sorry… I’m a mess lately. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but everything is getting me all emotional, and it makes me overreact. What I did to you… the way I did it… was wrong. I-I don’t know what I was thinking. There’s just been so much shit going on… all this stress… I-I just felt like I needed out, right then. I know I hurt you, and I’m sor-“

“Claire,” he stopped her before she could keep on babbling; he could barely understand her as it was, with how fast she was talking. “Don’t apologize. We’ve been through it already; you’re just digging up shit I’ve already tried to bury.”

She bit her lip, looking at him with her wide, tear-filled eyes. “I’m sor-“ she started to say again and then shook her head, cutting herself off. Changing directions, she asked, “You’d probably be better off right now if it weren’t for me, you know. You’d still be in LA, doing what you love, not sitting here, in pain because of me and a kid I got you attached to, listening to me ramble and watching me cry.”

Nick let out a dry chuckle and scoffed, “You don’t know that. How can you even say that? Would you say that about yourself with Casey? If you could go back to the day you first met him, knowing what you know now, knowing that this day would come, would you have avoided him? Never gotten to know him, so you wouldn’t have to be sad today?”

Claire sniffled, yet smiled sadly through her tears; she knew where he was going with this. “No, of course not. I’m glad I knew him.”

“Me too. And I’m glad I met you too. We’ve been through a lot of shit together, and a lot of pain… and yeah, you’ve caused some of it, but then again, I’ve caused you some too. But we’ve also had a lot of good times together… and I wouldn’t trade those for the world,” Nick confessed honestly. “Claire, I just hope that one day, we can go back to being friends… if nothing more.”

She nodded tearfully. “Of course we can. You’ll always be my friend.” She reached over and took his hand, and he gave her a tiny smile. He didn’t just want to be her friend; he wanted to be her husband. But he also wanted her in his life, and so for now, this would suffice.

Their waitress finally returned with their milkshakes, piled high with whipped cream, a red cherry dotting the top of each. When she’d set one down in front of each of them and turned away, Nick looked over at Claire. “So,” he said, clearing his throat as he reached for his milkshake glass, “As a little send off, I think we should toast or something.” He held the glass up, and beside him, Claire did the same, her eyes shining with tears above her mound of whipped cream.

“To Casey,” Nick proclaimed the obvious, and they clinked their glasses together, toasting the life of Casey Brenner with chocolate milkshakes.

***