For the North Dakota trip, I find another bed and breakfast. This one is bird-themed, and I cannot wait to see Dom’s face when he walks into the peacock room I booked for us. Alone for now, I collapse on the bed giggling as I take in all the peacock-themed decor, including a headboard resplendent with feathers fanned out, mimicking the look of a peacock tail.
“I’m going to say ‘cock’ so many times,” I mutter in glee.
Eager to finally see Dom in person after months of being apart, I shove off the cushy bed and search for my purse, digging through it until I unearth my phone. This device has been my main connection to him. But soon I’ll have my hands on Dom, then my mouth, then my tongue. And after I go sex wild on him, I’ll get to slow down and take my time. Run my fingers through his silky hair. Feel his chest vibrate with a chuckle when I make a snarky comment. Coax him into singing so I can hear his deep voice and watch his lips spread in a smile I’ll get to kiss the corners of.
As I search my phone’s screen for a notification from Dom, I realize I never turned off airplane mode. My rental car had a navigation system I used to get to this small North Dakota town, and Dom’s flight isn’t supposed to arrive for another half hour, so I wasn’t expecting any messages.
Which is why I’m surprised when my phone starts chiming immediately upon connecting to data.
Multiple messages and missed calls from Dom.
I dial him right away instead of reading his texts.
“Maddie.” Dom sighs my name, picking up on the first ring. A knot of anxiety in my chest eases at the sound of his voice.
“Hey. Sorry, I left my phone in airplane mode, and I just got to the B&B. Did your flight get in early?” Regret pinches me. If I’d turned on my phone and checked his flight, I would have realized and hung around the airport so we could share a car and an extra few hours together.
“I missed my flight.”
A spike of worry stabs into my chest. “What happened? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” he assures me, and I breathe easier. “I couldn’t get to the airport in time. A pipe burst in our house—Rosaline’s house.”
The air expels from my lungs so fast I’m sure someone just punched me in the gut.
Our house.
That slip shuts something down inside me.
A part of my brain keeps track of the conversation enough to hear him explain how there was a foot of water in the basement and in their scramble to save her belongings he lost track of time, got on the road too late, and missed his flight.
But while that information registers on the outermost layer of my consciousness, I’m locked deeper in my mind. In a dark place I thought—hoped—I’d never return to again. The place that compares me to another woman and finds all the ways I’m lacking.
She’s more beautiful than me.
She’s smarter than me.
She’s friendlier than me.
She’s kinder than me.
When she needs him, he goes to her.
He goes to their house.
She was his first.
She’ll be his last.
He’ll leave me for her. Just like he did last time.
“Now there’s a storm grounding the planes.” Dom’s voice is low and tense with frustration. “Nothing is going out. I’m sorry, Maddie. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
He’s only coming because he feels responsible for me.
Because Josh thought I needed someone to hold my hand, and Dom’s instinct is to care for people.
I’ve been fooling myself this whole time, lying to myself that Josh thought I could take care of Dom. That he’d leave the responsibility of his best friend’s well-being to me. That my brother thought I had enough strength to be strong for someone else.
But Josh knew me best. He knew how weak I was.
How weak I am.
Not like Rosaline.
“Do you know what it was like to come home and see her, the perfect daughter?”
Rosaline was so amazing even my mother wanted her as a daughter.
“You weren’t worth sticking around for, were you?”
I guess I’m also not worth making a flight for.
Not when his ex-wife needs him to help fix something in the home they used to share.
How long before he goes back?
The painful doubts prick at me until I’m flinching back into reality and armoring myself with anger to protect my ravaged underbelly.
“Don’t bother,” I say into the phone I still clutch to my ear.
“What?”
“You’re busy. Don’t inconvenience yourself.” Shoving off the bed, I kneel by my suitcase and unzip the large pocket. Pushing aside my cutest sweaters and a new silk nighty I feel like a fool for buying, I unearth Josh. “I’m here. I have the ashes. I’ll go to the coordinates and spread them myself.”
“Maddie.” Dom’s voice tightens. He almost sounds hurt. “We’re supposed to do this together.”
“I know that. I’m the one who’s here,” I snap. He has no right to feel pain over this decision. I’m the one alone in North Dakota.
“And I’ll be there soon.” He keeps his voice calm and careful. “With the letter.”
The letter. Josh’s words.
I was supposed to be only a short drive away from hearing Josh speak to me again. And even if he did pity me, his homebody sister, that doesn’t change the fact that I love him. That I need him.
In this moment more than ever.
I still can hear from him. I don’t need Dom to be here with me.
“I’ll call you when I’m at the destination. You can read it to me.”
Ignoring the sounds of his protest, I hang up my phone and switch it back to airplane mode.
With fingers that shake, I grab the rental keys and the room key that has a tiny peacock key chain I don’t find so charming anymore. When I’m in the car, I start the engine and point the wheels toward the next destination.
North Dakota’s Enchanted Highway.
This time I did my research, wanting to know how much physical training I’d need to reach the coordinates Josh left. But there’s no hiking this time around. This visit clearly arose from my brother’s fascination with roadside oddities.
When I set out, my intention was to head directly to the coordinates.
But the Enchanted Highway has multiple massive sculptures along the route, and when I spy the first one, my hands turn the wheel to pull over and park without conscious thought.
Geese in Flight. I recall the name from my online search, and I spend a good long time staring at the geese formed from scrap metal. Eventually, I start the car again and keep driving, only to pull over at the next one. Deer Crossing.
When I stop at the third—Grasshoppers in the Field—I realize I’m avoiding the end. The end of this, the second to last trip.
Avoiding the man who’s been with me at every other step of this journey.
When I reach the coordinates, I’ll have to call Dom. I’ll have to listen to his excuses that don’t change the fact that he’s not here.
I want to reach the coordinates and call Dom so he’ll read Josh’s words to me.
I don’t want to reach them, because I’ll call Dom and he’ll read the letter to me.
Then that’ll be it.
That piece will be done.
One more remnant of my brother will be gone.
My eyes flick to my passenger seat where Dom should be sitting. Where one eighth of Josh sits instead.
“Why did you make me do this with him?” I ask Josh, hopelessness and anger a tangle in my voice. “You were wrong if you thought he needed me.” My fingers grip the steering wheel tight. “And you were wrong if you thought I needed him.”
Ahead, I spy the next sculpture. The one the coordinates lead to.
I park and stare out my windshield at the gigantic birds.
Pheasants on the Prairie.
“You would’ve loved this.” I laugh, though the noise sounds more panicked than humorous. Needing to breathe fresh air and to avoid the sense of being trapped, I climb out of my car with Josh in my arms and approach the forty-foot-tall metal rooster.
With fingers that I swear aren’t shaking, I power my phone on. Multiple missed calls and texts and voicemail notifications pop up, but I don’t bother to look or listen. I simply click on the number I’ve called daily since my birthday.
A few months of letting myself live in a fantasy.
But I never should’ve relied on him. He’s the most responsible man I’ve ever known, and he still abandoned me.
It’s me. I’ve always known I was easy to set aside.
He picks up on the first ring.
“Maddie! Goddamn it. Are you alright? It’s been two hours.”
“I’m aware.” The snark in my voice covers up my pain. “And I managed to survive them without you. Impressive, huh?”
Dom ignores my sarcasm the same way he did at Josh’s funeral when I threw verbal barbs at him from a collapsed box of toilet paper.
“I’ve been studying the storm system,” he says. “It should be clearing out by midnight. I can get on a flight first thing in the morning and be there by afternoon tomorrow.”
“Like I said before, don’t bother.” The wind plucks at my loose hair and I clutch Josh tight against my chest as if his remains will warm me. “I’m changing my flight to leave in the morning. I’m at the coordinates now. Just open the letter and read it.”
Despite the chill of the day, my hands are sweaty against the glass Rubbermaid.
“I don’t think—”
“Open the letter and read it,” I grit out. “Or I’ll hang up and spread the ashes without you even listening in.”
“Can’t we just—”
“This is your final warning.”
“Fine.” Dom’s voice has a ragged edge. “I’m opening it.”
I expect relief to flood my chest at his words, but all I feel is anxiety. And loneliness.
I’m not lonely. I have Josh. Josh’s words are all I need.
There’s the sound of tearing over the line, and a moment later Dom clears his throat. “I’m going to start reading. Ready?”
“Yes.”
Dear Maddie and Dom,
Welcome to North Dakota.
If it’s anything like the other letters, there should be an exclamation mark there. But Dom speaks in a monotone. And I struggle to hear my brother’s voice through his.
You should be standing near, or under, a giant bird right about now.
“What does that mean?”
It takes me a moment to realize the question was from Dom, not the letter. I’m tempted to say that if he wanted to know, he should’ve showed up himself. But that won’t get him to keep reading.
“It’s a metal sculpture. The Enchanted Highway. Keep reading.”
Take a picture for me. Now, let’s get to what I want you both to do here in my memory…
Dom’s voice cuts off, and I check my phone to see if the call dropped. Nope, still going strong.
“Keep reading,” I tell him. “Out loud.” Maybe Dom didn’t realize he’d stopped speaking.
There’s a throat clearing on the other end of the line, which reassures me the call is still connected.
“Maddie,” he says. “We should be together when I read this.”
No! I need my brother now. Right now. “Just finish the letter.”
“We can reschedule North Dakota,” he offers, “if staying an extra day doesn’t work for you.”
Panic and anger pulse through my veins in a headache-inducing toxic sludge.
“You know what would work for me, Dom? If you read the goddamn letter my brother left!” And read it right so all I hear is him and not you!
My outburst results in a long pause on his end, so all I’m left listening to is the wind and my heavy breathing.
Then…
“I can’t. We need to be together to do this.”
Fury scalds the inside of my body until every part of me is painfully tender.
“No. We don’t.” I bite off each word. “I don’t need you, Dom.” My fingers clutch my phone too hard, and my other hand presses the container of Josh’s remains into my chest. “You know what? Fuck you. Fuck you very much. I’ll spread the ashes on my own.”
I end the call and shut my phone down again so he can’t pester me with more calls and messages. Then I pace and rage at the man.
How dare he?
How dare he not show up?
How dare he refuse to read my brother’s last words to me?
How dare he trick me to counting on him only to abandon me again?
With slippery fingers, I wrench the airtight lid off the container of ashes. Only, in my haste to open the Rubbermaid, the whole thing flies from my hands, whirls through the air, and lands lid-off and upside-down on the dusty ground.
“Josh!” I cry out, falling to my knees beside the overturned container. Unrelenting wind swirls the grit on the ground, mixing in with the precious pieces of my brother until I can’t see where he is anymore.
Until he’s gone, and I don’t even have his written words to comfort me.
A dry sob chokes out of my throat. No tears come, but I start coughing and wheezing, struggling to inhale through my grief and loneliness and fury.
How dare Dom keep Josh from me?
As the sharp ache of unfulfilled breaths stabs at my chest, I scramble for my inhaler.
Even though my hands shake, I manage to spray the medication into my airways. But recovery is slow and painful. Especially with no one here to distract me or comfort me or simply reassure me that I’m not alone.
But that’s exactly what I am. What I always seem to be.
Alone.