The thing is, with him holding my hand, touching my skin, the ache in my chest eases.
It’s like he has the ability to take on some of my pain. I feel so much better around him. Stronger.
And he is willing to take my pain. He wants to bear it with me.
I can see it shining in his eyes. I’m more than a duty to him. I’m more than his literal dream girl. I’m so much more.
I think back to that morning in November, in my kitchen in California when I first saw him standing there in the trees, waiting for me. My heart pounding, my mouth opening to call his name, even when I didn’t know it yet, that irresistible need I felt surging through me to go to him.
It all plays out in my mind like a movie reel, every moment I’ve spent with him since then, him carrying me to the nurse’s office on my first day of school, Mr. Erikson’s history class, the Pizza Hut. Riding the chairlift together. Prom. Sitting on the front porch looking at the stars. Him coming out of the trees the night of the fire. Every night he sat on the eaves, the meadow, the ski hill, this cemetery where he kissed me, every single moment that’s passed between us, I felt this force pulling me toward him. I’ve heard this voice, whispering in my head.
We belong together.
I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I let it out. I gaze down at our joined hands.
His thumb strokes slowly over my knuckles. I look up again, at his face. Has he heard all this, the babbling of my heart? Has he read my mind?
You can do this, he says. I don’t know if he’s talking about Mom, or something else.
Maybe it doesn’t matter.
I meet his eyes, tighten my hand in his.
Let’s get up there, I send to him. People are waiting.
And together, we keep walking.
I expect the circle of people, the gaping hole in the ground with my mother’s coffin poised over it, but the shock of seeing it has worn off some. I know the words Stephen will say. I expect to sense Samjeeza there. But I didn’t know that I would feel sorry for him in that moment.
I didn’t plan to go to him afterward, after the prayers are said and the coffin lowered into the ground, dirt layered over it, after the crowd scatters and leaves Jeffrey and Christian and Billy and me standing there. I feel Samjeeza, his sorrow that doesn’t come from being separated from God or going against his angelic design, but from finally accepting that he’s lost my mom for good. And I know so clearly what to do.
I let go of Christian’s hand. I walk off toward the fence at the edge of the cemetery.
Clara? Christian calls after me, alarmed.
Stay there. It’s all right. I won’t leave hallowed ground.
I call to Samjeeza.
He meets me at the fence. He comes up the hill in the form of a dog, then changes, standing silently on the other side of the chain-link with mournful amber eyes. He can’t cry—it’s not part of his anatomy. He hates that he hasn’t been given the dignity of tears.
This is awkward, him being evil and all. But I’ve finally moved beyond mad.
“Here,” I say.
I fumble to take a bracelet off my wrist, Mom’s old charm bracelet. I thrust it through a hole in the fence.
He looks at me, face slack with astonishment.
“Take it,” I urge.
He holds out his hand, careful not to touch me. I drop the bracelet into it. It tinkles as it falls. He closes his fingers around it.
“I gave this to her,” he says. “How did you . . . ?”
“I didn’t. I’m just playing it by ear, here.”
Then I turn and walk back to my family, and I don’t look back.
“Baby girl, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” says Billy.
“Let’s go,” I say. “I want to go home.”
Samjeeza is still standing there, like he’s been turned to stone, a marble angel in the cemetery, as we drive away.
What I really don’t expect is the police to be waiting for us when we get home.
“What’s this about?” Billy asks as we get out of the car to gawk at the police car parked in the driveway, the two officers poking around outside the house.
“We need to have a few words with Jeffrey Gardner,” one of them says. He looks at Jeffrey. “You him?”
Jeffrey goes pale.
Billy, as always, is the picture of calm.
“Regarding what, exactly?” She puts her hands on her hips and stares them down.
“Regarding what he might know about the Palisades fire last August. We have reason to believe that he may have been involved.”
“We’d also like to take a look around, if you don’t mind,” the other officer says.
Billy’s all business. “Do you have a warrant?”
The officer’s face grows red under her intense stare. “No, ma’am.”
“Well, I’m Jeffrey’s guardian. He’s just been through his mother’s funeral today. Your questions can wait. Now you two gentlemen have a pleasant afternoon.” Then she takes me by the shoulder with one hand and Jeffrey by the shoulder with the other and ushers us into the house. The door bangs shut behind us. She lets out a breath.
“Well, this could be a problem,” she says, staring at Jeffrey.
He shrugs. “Let them question me. I don’t care. I’ll tell them. I did it.”
“You what?” But part of me isn’t really so surprised. Part of me suspected it, even from the first moment when I saw him flying out of the forest that night. Part of me knew.
“It was my purpose,” he says. “I’d been dreaming about it since we moved to Wyoming. I was supposed to start that fire.”
Billy frowns. “Now, see, that’s a problem. You two stay inside for the evening, okay? I have to make a few calls.”
“To who? The congregation has a lawyer?” Jeffrey asks sarcastically.
Billy looks at him with no humor at all in her usual twinkly dark eyes. “Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“Do we have an accountant, too?”
“Mitch Hammond.”
“Whatever,” Jeffrey says. Any vulnerability I saw in his face earlier today, any hint of the little boy who wanted his mom, is completely absent. “I’ll be in my room.” Off he goes, roomward. Off Billy goes, to Mom’s office, and shuts the door. Which leaves me alone. Again.
I wait for a few minutes, until the silence of the house starts to feel like a buzzing in my head. Then I figure what the heck and head up to Jeffrey’s room. He doesn’t answer when I knock. I stick my head in just to make sure he hasn’t gone out the window.