We take the people Josh loved everywhere.
Swimming at Rehoboth.
Through a canyon of glowing larva.
To Ink Ever After—we all have Josh’s love on our wrists now.
To fields of lavender.
Exploring a ghost town in the desert.
We road-trip through both the Dakotas in a rented van, making the entire trip this time. I manage the trek through the Badlands on my own legs, enjoying the views while only panting a little bit.
And on the Enchanted Highway, I get to remedy my mistake. Because I have more than one day, which means there’s time for second chances.
The second time hiking in Idaho is as hard as the first, but no one complains about my slower pace, and whenever Adam offers to give me a piggyback ride, Dom whips a snowball at his brother’s head.
And this time, when we board a plane to fly into Denali National Park, every seat is filled by someone who loves Josh Sanderson.
Except for the pilot—we don’t know that guy.
Rosaline, Adam, and Carter join Dom and me as we return to all the coordinates. We read them the letters. We cry together. We laugh together.
We say hello to my brother.
And goodbye.
Every trip we take new pictures, and the best shots become puzzles framed on our walls, just like the collection Dom and I took on our original trips. I don’t mind the awkward expressions in the first few because now I know he loved me in each one. And I admit that a part of me still loved him, too.
With my newfound intention of allowing the people in my life to claim second chances, before the first trip, I call my mother. I offer to tell her about one of the places I spread Josh’s ashes, but only if she promises never to post about it. To never use the information in any way for her media career.
She agrees. Too fast in my opinion.
A week later, Jeremy—my mom-blog buffer—tells me softly there is an Instagram picture of her standing on a beach in Delaware staring out toward the ocean. The caption talks about her son’s ashes living forever in the sea.
I thought knowing that she’d likely lie to me would lessen the hurt. And yet, I still curl up in my bed that evening, gutted by one more betrayal. When Dom arrives home from work—early, at Jeremy’s directive—he bounds up the stairs of what was his town house, but is now ours, and lies beside me. He pulls my body into his, and he keeps my pieces together.
Cecilia Sanderson does not get an invite to any of the trips.
Which is why the group on this glacier consists of Dom, Rosaline, Adam, Carter, and me.
Tula, Jeremy, and Carlisle came to Alaska with us, but wait back in the town, knowing this last leg is something we need to do as a family.
“Here.” I hand Rosaline the container of Josh. The Rubbermaid that’s gone with us on every trip this second time around.
Another thing I’m working on, as encouraged by my therapist, is sharing my grief, and acknowledging the pain others might be experiencing. Surprisingly, I’ve found Rosaline to be one of the easiest people to empathize with.
Maybe that’s because I have Dom now. I know what it’s like to fear losing the love of my life. A fear that came true for her.
And I realized that while my brother’s ashes mean a great deal to me, they might mean even more to her in some ways. I’ve gotten to deliver seven pieces of him to his requested destinations so far. This last responsibility, the final step, feels like it should be hers.
Rosaline stands still on the icy tundra, staring at the group of us, wide-eyed as she clutches what remains of the man she loved to her chest.
“I…” she starts, then stops, her eyes going glassy. “I don’t think…”
We all hear the rest without her having to say the words.
I don’t think I can.
Or maybe, I don’t think I’m ready.
No doubt I wore a similar expression last time I was here before panic robbed me of breath.
I don’t want Rosaline to grapple with the same panic. Luckily, Dom taught me exactly what this situation needs.
I step up to Rosaline, holding her eyes with mine as I cradle her wrists. “That’s okay, Ros. You don’t have to. You don’t have to say goodbye yet.”
I know she’s where I was, horrified at the thought that this is the last of him. That after this, there’s no more of Josh to hang on to. To plan for. To imagine still living beside her.
Her nod is jerky, and she tries to pass my brother back to me.
I don’t take him. Not yet.
“We don’t have to say goodbye. But, how about we let a little of him go?” I tap the lid. “Just a pinch.”
Her eyes drop to the remains. “Not all of the ashes?”
“That’s right. And maybe a few years from now we can come back. Try again. Sound good?”
Now her nod is slow, measured, and her smile is full of relief.
“That sounds good.”
“I’m in!” Adam offers.
“Me, too,” Carter adds.
Dom appears at my side, his arm going around my waist and pulling me close as he sets a comforting hand on Rosaline’s shoulder.
“It’s a plan.”
She shares her beautiful smile between us, then pops off the airtight lid.
“Here.” Adam shuffles forward and holds out a crisp business card with Perry’s Fine Furniture printed in bold letters across the front. “You can use that to scoop a little bit of him up.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs, and with the stiff edge of the card stock, she draws up a pinch worth of the remains. The wind immediately plucks them from the card and sends the gray dust spiraling away. Rosaline hurriedly replaces the lid, securing the rest of Josh inside.
Maybe one day she’ll come to the same realization that I did. That those particles aren’t my brother. Not really.
He’s the memories I have. The memories we all have. And the best way to keep him alive is to remember him. Silently in our minds, but also out loud with one another.
“What was it like when you two came here together?” I ask Rosaline.
Her smile is small, and wistful. “Amazing. Romantic. And…” She chuckles, her cheeks flushing from more than just the cold.
“What?” I press.
“When we were walking back to the plane, he slipped and fell on his ass.” Rosaline grins wide now, her eyes sparkling more from humor than tears at this point. “He had a bruise right on his tattoo. It was huge! He kept—” She dissolves into giggles, tears of laughter streaming from the corners of her eyes. “He kept asking me to kiss his peanut butter to make it better,” she forces out through her gasping laughs.
We all join her, our group cackling at the new anecdote.
And I can feel him. Josh, in the middle of us, binding our group together. Our little family.
A finger under my chin tilts my head up, and I meet Dom’s loving gaze. He presses a kiss to my cheek, his lips claiming a single tear.
Because of Josh, I’m not alone. And I don’t think I ever will be again.