An usher hands me a program. On the front is the photo of my dad in cap and gown. I hold it carefully so it won’t get wrinkled. I’m going to leave Medford with two things—the photo in my pocket and this.
That’s all of my dad I’ll ever have. That and a memory of an apple he might have peeled for me. And the long nose and square chin we share.
I scoot in next to Nora, exchange a smile with her, and then look around. The cute guy is in the same row, but on the other side of the room. For a second, his eyes catch mine. I’m the first to look away.
In the back corner is a guy with straggly red hair and a sunburned face. He’s wearing a heavy coat that even across the room looks filthy. He must own the shopping cart my car is sharing a spot with.
Sam, my dad’s maybe-ex-girlfriend, is sitting three rows ahead of him. Her head is bowed, and one of her hands is over her eyes.
The purple-haired girl is sitting in the front row, next to a woman whose photo I recognize from the Medford Mail Tribune website. It’s my dad’s sister, Carly. My aunt. So that girl must be my cousin. A man with silvered temples sits on the other side of Carly.
An organ begins to play, but it’s a recording. A door hidden in the front wall opens, and a middle-aged guy in a suit with a white banded collar walks up to the podium. The music stops with a click.
“Good afternoon,” the minister says. “We are gathered here today to remember Terry Weeks. While I never had the pleasure of knowing Terry, I have learned a lot about him this week. Terry was a friend. A neighbor. A coworker.” He pauses between each pronouncement, his eyes surveying the chapel. “A brother.” He nods at Carly, then at her daughter. “An uncle.” His gaze sweeps over the rows. “A son. A boyfriend. A father.”
I fight the urge to turn away as his gaze slides over me. The palms of my hands are sweaty. He doesn’t know who I am, I remind myself. No one does.
“Let us pray.”
I bow my head as he asks for comfort for the people here and eternal peace for my father’s soul. As he prays, I wonder where my father’s jawbone is. I imagine it in a white cardboard box marked EVIDENCE. Dirty and gray. Waiting to be reunited with the rest of his lost bones.
After the amen, the minister says, “The family has asked that we keep this memorial informal. They’d like to hear your memories of Terry, stories they can treasure as they heal. So please, come up to the microphone, introduce yourself, and tell us how you knew Terry and how you’ll remember him.”
After a pause, Sam walks up to the microphone, moving so stiffly it’s as if her knees don’t work. Head down, blond hair falling over her eyes, she turns to face the crowd. Her voice is hoarse and soft. “If you wanted to have fun, all you had to do was hang out with Terry. He loved football games, concerts, parties, and, of course, going down to the river. I can still see him standing on the shore in his orange swim trunks, yelling out, ‘Where’ve you guys been? I’ve been waiting for you for so long!’ That’s how I’ve felt about him for the last fourteen years.” Her shoulders round over, shaking.
I watch and wonder. That detective said my mom might have been stabbed so many times because the killer knew her. He even said it could have been a woman. What if Sam killed my mother in a jealous rage and then turned on my dad when he tried to stop her?
My eyes sweep the room. Is everyone really here to mourn my father? Or does someone know—or guess—who killed him? Could the killer even be here? The press of bodies and the warm air make me feel claustrophobic.
The businessman walks up and gives Sam’s shoulder a quick squeeze, then takes the microphone from her. “I’m Richard Lee. Terry and I used to pal around back in the day. He loved animals and the outdoors, but most of all, he loved his family. He loved his dad and you, Carly, and of course Naomi, and their daughter, Ariel. I pray you will finally find peace.”
The guy in the Hawaiian shirt is up next. “Hey. I’m Jason. You guys all probably know I was Terry’s best friend. I’ll always remember that big grin of his. And he was forever telling those stupid jokes that took way too long to tell and ended with punch lines like ‘Arty Chokes Three for a Dollar.’” People laugh.
Jason’s expression turns serious. “I was going to be the best man at Terry and Naomi’s wedding. They hadn’t set a date, but I’m sure they would have done it. Maybe even had more kids. Sure, they had their daughter way too young. But Terry stepped up. And he was so proud to be a dad.” He falls quiet for a moment, and the microphone picks up how his breathing hitches. “No one knows what happened in the woods that day. But I’ll tell you one thing: I know in my heart that Terry died trying to protect his family.” He looks up at the ceiling. “I hope we’ll meet at a party up in heaven, dude.”
So proud to be a dad. The thought warms me.
Nora and I exchange a smile, although she probably thinks I’m smiling at Jason’s use of the word dude.
For years, I’ve felt so alone. Abandoned by everyone. By my mother, who was stupid enough to have a child with a man who would soon kill her. By my father, who was worse than dead. By a woman who said she wanted to be my mom but who couldn’t see how much I was hurting.
But those first two things weren’t true. And now I’m sitting next to an old woman who loved my grandmother. Who loved my mother. Who once loved me.
Here, things feel like they fit into gaps I didn’t even know I had. An empty space shaped like the golden hills that hold this valley. A hollow filled by the woman next to me, a woman with silver hair and crowded teeth. Maybe there are even three missing pieces shaped like my aunt and uncle and their purple-haired daughter.
The next man at the microphone wears a uniform and badge. Even without them, I would know he’s a cop or a soldier, with his squared shoulders and too-short brown hair. “I’m Stephen Spaulding, the chief of police. I’d known Naomi since kindergarten, and I met Terry when they started dating. After they went missing, and again when Naomi’s body was found, I was part of the group called out to search for them.” He looks up, his face reddening. “Terry, brother, I’m sorry we didn’t find you.” He blows air through pursed lips, and his face is sad. “I promise you’re not forgotten. Neither one of you.”
A tall woman with auburn hair and pale skin has been waiting for her turn at the microphone. “I’m Heather. I was Naomi’s best friend. She and Terry started dating in high school. They were in love from the moment their eyes met. But being in love never stopped them from fighting. And when Naomi was found, I thought the worst. I spent years hating Terry for taking her from us.” Heather glances up at the ceiling. She’s another person with something to say and no one to say it to. “I’m sorry, Terry. I was wrong to ever think that. I hope you can forgive me.”
With lips pressed together, Carly takes the microphone from her. “I’m Carly, Terry’s older sister. Our mom died from breast cancer when we were little, but Terry was always Daddy’s boy. Terry and my dad were more like best friends than father and son. My dad never stopped searching, but part of him died the day they found Naomi’s body. Not because he thought Terry did it but because he knew Terry had to be dead, too. My dad always believed my brother was innocent. He never wavered. Not once.” She takes a shaky breath. “I have to confess I did. Once or twice. But then I’d realize that he’d never abandon his little girl like that. It just breaks my heart to think about Ariel. I sent her a letter care of her old caseworker but haven’t heard back yet. I’m sure she’s still coming to terms with things, the way the rest of us are.” Her unsteady breathing fills the room. “When the police told me they found Terry’s jawbone, I felt like my soul had been ripped from my body. I didn’t know it could still hurt this much.”
So much pain. Samantha’s and Jason’s and Richard’s. Tim’s and Heather’s and Carly’s. Friends, relatives, and neighbors. Whoever killed my parents hurt so many people.
Including me.
When everyone is done speaking, the pastor says, “Let us pray,” and people bow their heads. “God of merciful love, help Terry’s friends and family remember the joyful times they shared while he was still on this earth. Teach them the forgiveness that was exemplified by Jesus as he said, ‘Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.’”
He’s not done praying, but I’m done listening. I open my eyes.
I’m not going to forgive. Someone murdered my parents and left them underneath the cold sky and thought they got away with it.
They were wrong.