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AS MUCH AS I TOLD MY mother I wanted to avoid wandering the halls in Paris, it was hard to avoid it at my father’s house, at first. Michael resumed classes, but my father and I agreed I should wait one more term before starting. I signed the paperwork and set up to start after Christmas.
The house was pretty lonely with Michael gone to class. He quit his job at the airport, preferring to stay home with us. He picked up a few pilot students and started teaching flying lessons. He didn’t go out with friends anymore and spent quiet nights with Father and me, playing cards or video games. Sometimes we went out bowling, skating, or just sat on the beach. Michael held my hand sometimes, and I let him. It felt good to have him there.
October came to a close, and November 5th, the two-month anniversary of Jon’s death, came and went. We celebrated with candles at the beach, the same place Jon and I had walked hand in hand at the end of August. The same place we shared our first kiss. The day was gray and threatened rain, and the wind picked up and made our candles hard to light. But when at last we did, all I could see was his face. I collapsed in the sand and Michael carried me to the car. I didn’t much feel like going to the beach after that.
But day by day, it got a little easier. In December, the weather got a little colder, and the rains came. Michael finished school and found a job as a full-time flight instructor at an airstrip an hour away. He was gone a few hours a day and came home to us. My father tucked himself away in his office for hours, writing. And, I supposed, drowning his sorrows like the rest of us. Christmas passed quietly. My father booked us on a flight to Colorado, and the three of us rented a cabin, where we went skiing and ice skating under several feet of snow.
January was a new year. Michael put up the pictures of him and Jon again. One was from the airport, where Jon was dressed in his security guard finery and one of Jon smiling around the pieces of his computer. Michael and Jon in their high school graduation gowns still sat on the headboard above the bed. I could look at the pictures and smile sadly, and I didn’t always cry.
It’s amazing how someone can touch a heart in such a short period of time.
But always, always, I missed him more than I could ever say.
I started school. Just a few classes, writing and history mostly, because I knew I would be good at those. Father approved. My mother sent exciting letters from England, where she and Jaqui were touring for a new writing assignment. The world slowly righted itself.
Eventually, the weather warmed slightly in February, and it was time to go back to the beach.
“I have something to tell you,” Michael said, his jeans rolled to the knees and his legs swinging freely over the stone wall where we sat, one day at the beginning of March.
The waves rolled up the sides of the wall and tickled my feet. I couldn’t believe I’d been in America for six months. It was getting easier. My father taught me how to drive properly, and I had a few friends at school. Writing came naturally to me, but no one was surprised. My father nearly burst with pride at my high GPA.
“What?” I said, kicking my feet out to chase the waves as they retreated.
“It’s about...”
“Not Jon again, I can’t talk about it, not yet.”
He sighed and slid his hand closer and wrapped his fingertips around mine, as he always did these last few months. “He’s been gone for six months, Elise.”
I gulped. I didn’t want to talk about this.
“I meant what I said that day at the park.” His gaze fixed out over the ocean. “I still mean it.”
I felt a shiver run down my spine. Granted, it was chilly out here even under my hoodie and sweater underneath, but I never felt cold anymore. This time, I felt rage. “And I still mean what I said, I’m not interested.”
He leapt off the wall, his feet sinking in the sloppy sand. “What? You mean, after all this time, and all we’ve been through...”
I jumped off, and he tried to grab my shoulder, but I shrugged him off. “Look,” I said, turning towards him but walking backward as fast as I could get away from him, “I get it. I didn’t know Jon very well. I didn’t get to meet his parents over dinner; I didn’t get to have his grandma’s mashed potatoes.”
“Elise, listen to me, I...”
I held up my hand; I wasn’t done. “But I loved him, and I saw a future together, that was ripped away too soon. So, what should I do, Michael?” I was still retreating. Stumbled a little, but managed to regain my balance. The tide was coming in fast.
“What you should do, Elise is stop right there,” he said, and took two giant steps towards me, lightly grasping my upper arms. He pressed his lips to mine.
My whole body went stiff with the unwanted embrace. We were related for God’s sake! How could he, how dare he touch me? I pulled away and ran the back of my hand over my mouth. “Don’t you ever touch me again!” I shouted.
I turned and ran as much as the beach would let me, away from him, away from everything. When I got back to the house, I raced up the stairs and into my bedroom, shutting the door with a slam behind me. I could hear my uncle calling up, making sure everything was okay.
“It’s fine, just fine!” I yelled.
At least my father knew when not to answer.
A few minutes later, I heard the front door shut, and my uncle repeated his question, explaining I’d locked myself in my room.
“I don’t even know what’s going on anymore,” Michael sighed, and even I had to admit his voice sounded sad.
“Give it time,” was my father’s response.
“How much more time does she need?”
“As much as you’re willing to give her,” my father replied, then quietly: “Have you told her yet?”
I shut out the world, pulling my head under the covers as I had when I was little. I didn’t want to hear any more. My heart was still heavy and felt empty, and I searched for something, anything, to fill the hole that Jon had left. I was certain Michael would never be able to fill it.