Feels Like Fire Page 4

  She nods. “Thank you.”

  ∞∞∞

  We don’t talk as I drive to Casey’s, but I glance over at her every so often to make sure she’s okay. The golden flare of the evening sunlight infiltrates the car, igniting her blonde hair as the wind whips at its loose strands. She bites her fingernails and looks out the open window. I want to ask her what she’s thinking about, but I don’t.

  I park in front of their bungalow and Casey slowly gets out. She hesitates at the curb, staring at the storybook house.

  I follow behind her when she starts up the walk. She retrieves her keys from her purse and they jingle in her hand as she reaches the bright yellow door. But she freezes, gaping at the doorknob.

  “Casey?”

  She falters a bit, her knees buckling beneath her. She presses her palm to the door to steady herself. I grab her by the waist to keep her from falling.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  With my hands still gripping her, Casey turns toward me and shakes her head. Tears spill down her flushed cheeks.

  “I can’t go in there,” she whispers, stepping closer.

  Instinctively, I pull her to me and wrap my arms around her. “It’s okay. I’ll go. Just tell me what you need and I’ll get it.”

  Casey requests a modest list of items, only adding to it after I assure her I can handle undergarments. She hands me her keys, then perches rigidly on the porch swing while I let myself into the house.

  Closing the door behind me, I step out of the foyer into the living room. It looks like a Pottery Barn catalogue, warm and cozy, decorated in whites and wood finishes. I avoid the many framed photographs of Lucas and Casey placed almost everywhere possible, their love story loud and devastating on every surface of this structure.

  I head past the kitchen and dining room to the hallway and find the master bedroom at the end. I take a deep breath and I can smell Lucas—the familiar scent of my closest human connection—but I can also pinpoint Casey’s. I already know her floral scent, as if I’ve known her for more than just a few hours.

  The room looks a bit ransacked. I imagine Casey dragging herself out of bed, struggling to pull herself together on the outside as she fell apart on the inside. I bend to pick up a pillow from the floor, tossing it back to its place on the bed.

  Running my hands over my hair, I compose myself, then make a beeline for the closet. I flip on the light and my jaw clenches when I see Lucas’s clothes hanging on the left side. I run my fingertips over them like they’re my only physical connection to my brother.

  I spot the bag Casey described and yank it from the shelf. I grab what I hope are the shirts she requested. I’m sure to fold them nicely before packing them into the canvas bag.

  Next, I open the top drawer of the tallboy dresser. Nope, it’s Lucas’s dresser. As I push the drawer closed, something in the back corner catches my eye. My heart sinks as I pull out the small black box. I take it to the foot of the bed and sit down, gritting my teeth, I force myself to open the box. And there it is. Exactly what I was expecting but more exquisite than I could ever imagine.

  The vintage diamond ring sparkles in the light. I struggle to breathe.

  I snap the box shut, choking back my sobs. Everything hurts. My chest, my head, my stomach. I have this dread, this gross panic for Lucas that I can’t satiate. I hop up and bury the ring box deep in the drawer and shove it closed. Then I pace for a minute, taking deep, quivering breaths to calm myself down.

  I hurry now, eager to get out of this room and away from the only remnants of my best friend. I tear through the other dresser, grabbing a fistful of underwear and a few bras from the top drawer, then a few pairs of shorts and a pair of jeans from the second. I’m no longer careful to keep things folded as I stuff them into the bag.

  In the bathroom, I grab Casey’s deodorant, hairbrush, and makeup bag off her end of the counter. I spot their toothbrushes, together in the holder. I die a little more inside as I pluck the pink toothbrush away from the green one and rush back to the bag to unload.

  “What else?” I say aloud as I survey the space.

  Her phone.

  I cross the room to look for it, hypothesizing the trajectory of yesterday morning’s throw. It only takes me a moment to locate it. It’s all in one piece, screen intact and fully functional, thanks to the thick case she has on it.

  Casey has twenty-seven missed calls, forty-four text messages, and twelve voicemails. I slip the phone into my pocket.

  The only item left on Casey’s list is her charger. I go to the nightstand on the left side of the bed first, but I quickly realize it’s Lucas’s. Sighing, I sift through the drawer anyway, letting his things connect me to him again. I find a thick, leather book—Lucas’s personal journal. It’s the same one he’s kept for years. I page through it, just to see my brother’s familiar handwriting one more time.

  I’m about to close it and put it back when my name jumps off the page. I justify my curiosity and allow myself to read the entry.

  Well, it happened again.

  Last night at Colton’s party, Madison was kissing me. But today, she’s suddenly with Lennon. I don’t know what happened. Things were going great between us. Or so I thought. I saw her in the hall after school this afternoon and she told me Lennon’s a better match for her. He’s more exciting. “No offense,” she added. Like that would make it okay. Like we’re just interchangeable substitutes and not human beings.

  I want to be mad at Lennon, but I can’t. He doesn’t even know about me and Madison. I should’ve told him how much I like her. Lennon would never be with someone I have feelings for. If he knew this was happening right now, it would kill him. But I won’t tell him. He’s so happy. I liked Madison first, but he seems to like her just as much. So if it can’t be me, there’s no one better for her than Lennon.

  I feel sick for different reasons now.

  How the hell did I not know there’d been something between Lucas and Madison? And it happened again? I’d done that to him more than once? I’m a horrible brother. I’m not surprised, however, that Madison would do that to him. She broke my heart too.

  I jump at the sound of the doorbell chiming.

  Oh, shit. Casey.

  I shove the journal into the bag. I feel like it takes me forever to reach the front door, like the despair that now lives here is fighting to hold me captive within these old walls.

  But then I’m back outside and I see Casey and she’s like sunlight breaking through rainclouds after a bad storm. Dropping the bag, I gather her in my arms, pulling her in to me. I break for her, for Lucas, for myself. I don’t know how I’ll get through this. I don’t know how there will ever come a day when life feels okay again.

  “So it was as bad in there as I thought it would be?”

  Casey’s voice brings me back. I realize I’m crying, my tears collecting on her bare shoulder. I separate myself from her and wipe my eyes.

  “Yeah. It was pretty tough,” I say, bending over to pick up her bag.

  I reach into my pocket for her phone and hand it to her. Her eyes widen when she sees the notifications on her lock screen, but she sighs and shoves the device into her own pocket.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she says, taking off down the walk.

  I don’t mind the idea of us sticking together. I’m glad Casey wants to stay at my mother’s house. Because already, the thought of being there without her feels impossible.

  five

  Casey

  Islouch in the passenger seat of the Rabbit listening to a frantic voicemail from my father as Lennon stows my bag in the trunk. I wonder how my father found out what happened to Lucas. Was it on the news?

  I imagine the breaking story broadcasted on television and people glancing up to gawk at the sad scene, only to immediately return to their normal lives and forget it. If it was on the news, everyone probably knows more about what happened than I do.

  I tap the internet icon on my phone and type Lucas’s n
ame into the search bar. The slamming hatch makes me jump as the results load with surreal, gut-wrenching headlines that look so wrong.

  Holding my breath, I tap an article and begin reading the grisly details. The driver door opens and Lennon gets in.

  “Sorry I took so long. I got a phone call…”

  I know he sees me clutching my phone in my shaking hands. I’ve only stopped reading because I can no longer see through the torrential downpour gushing from my face.

  “Casey, what are you doing?”

  Lennon snatches my phone away and looks at it, his eyes darting back and forth across the screen. His shoulders slump and a heavy sigh escapes him. He hands my phone back to me, then runs his hands through his hair as he stares out the windshield.

  “If you wanted to know things, you could’ve asked me,” Lennon says, glancing over. “You didn’t have to find out like this.”

  He’s right. I didn’t need matter-of-fact details. I didn’t need to know that Lucas was dragged nearly two blocks before the truck finally stopped. I didn’t need to know that his body was mangled beyond recognition. The one thing I’m glad to know is that they believe Lucas died instantly upon impact.

  I understand now why Victoria wouldn’t let me see him.

  “I’m sorry, Casey. Someone should’ve just told you,” Lennon says. “I was on the phone with my mom while she was identifying Lucas. She didn’t want to do it alone and that was all I could offer her. I should’ve been the one to do it, but I couldn’t get here soon enough.”

  “I could’ve—”

  “No.” Lennon shakes his head. “You didn’t need to see him that way. Trust me when I say my mother is really good at being descriptive. I feel like I saw him myself.”

  Lennon averts his face like he’s trying to excise the mental picture of his brother from his brain. I wonder if his conjured image is worse than what Victoria actually saw.

  I try not to conjure up an image of my own. I don’t want to imagine Lucas’s sweet face, the one I touched and kissed so often and not often enough, in any other condition. I don’t want to think of his warm chest and perfect broad shoulders, now anything but warm and perfect. I don’t want to picture his hands being no longer flawless, no longer mine to hold.

  The agonizing gravity of these thoughts crushes me harder than anything has so far. I take Lennon’s hand, squeezing it as tight as I can. I need to feel the warmth of life, of a hand that’s made up of all the same particles Lucas’s used to be.

  Lennon squeezes back and looks at me, his cheeks wet with his sadness. Leaning in, he wraps his arms around me and cradles my head gently against his chest. He smells like warm, clean laundry and something sweet. It makes me feel safe.

  I’m not sure if he’s comforting me or if I’m comforting him, but we sit there in our sniffling embrace until the evening sun hangs low.

  ∞∞∞

  When Lennon and I return to the house, Victoria is on the couch with a tub of ice cream.

  “Hi,” she greets us half-heartedly, looking away from the television. “How was your time out?”

  Lennon lingers at the foot of the staircase. “As good as it could be.”

  “That’s a good way to put it,” I agree.

  “I’m gonna run your bag upstairs. I’ll be right back.” Lennon sprints up the staircase.

  I wander over to the couch and flop down beside Victoria. She’s sitting cross-legged, wearing a tank top and sweatpants, and her short hair is pulled into a little sprout at the back of her head. She looks more like a teenager than a mother of nearly quarter-century-old boys.

  I actually smile when she hands me a spoon.

  “Dig in,” she says.

  “So, do you just carry around spare spoons?” I ask.

  “Don’t you?” Victoria deadpans.

  I chuckle as I reach over and plunge the utensil into the melting goodness.

  “I’m a mom. Moms always have spoons and other weird shit at any given time,” she adds with a shrug.

  Lennon comes in and hugs his mother, then sits down on the other side of me. Without a single thought, I scoop up a spoonful of ice cream and shove it right into his mouth.

  “Oh. Thank you,” he says around a mouthful of icy chocolate.

  He wipes at his lip with his thumb and I want to disappear into the couch cushions. Why the hell did I feed him? Was it some split-second psychotic break? Did I think he was Lucas again?

  I’m still paralyzed by my humiliation when the spoon disappears from my hand and Lennon leans across me for another bite from the carton.

  “Honey, can I grab you another spoon?” Victoria asks.

  “No, it’s fine. We’re friends now.” Lennon shoves a bite into my mouth, dripping some onto my chin. “Oh, I’m sorry.” He wipes it away with his finger, then returns the spoon to me.

  “I’m glad you two are getting along,” Victoria says, returning her attention to her HGTV show. “I knew you would.”

  Lennon sits back, lifting his ankle to the opposite knee. He squeezes my shoulder, affirming me. I get his silly charade now. He didn’t want me to be embarrassed. I turn my head to smile at him, and he’s already smiling back.

  ∞∞∞

  “Okay, so which one sounds good?” Lennon is across the den, standing in front of the television with the remote in his hand. He’s read me countless titles on Netflix but I can’t seem to comprehend them. My mind is elsewhere.

  “What was the last one you said?” I ask, toying with the tassel on the throw pillow in my lap.

  “I Love You, Man.”

  “That’s fine.”

  Lennon shoots me a worried glance before he turns to the TV and clicks the remote at it. Then he’s on the small couch beside me, crossing his ankles on the floral ottoman.

  My eyes are stuck in a comfortable stare and I realize I’m staring inadvertently at Lennon’s feet. They’re Lucas’s but so different. They’re tanned and rough like he spends a lot of time barefoot outdoors, and there’s a little black cross tattooed behind his right ankle bone.

  “Sorry my mom exiled us to the den. She still thinks I’m twelve, having noisy sleepovers.” I feel him looking at me. “Hey…are you okay? I mean, I know you’re not okay, but you’re different. What’s going on?”

  I finally break my stare, blinking my dry eyes. My gaze meets Lennon’s and it’s filled with the sweetest attentive concern. “Nighttime is really hard,” I say, crossing my arms tightly over myself.

  He presses his lips together. “I know. It’s a thing. Nighttime is hard for a lot of people for many reasons, grief being one of them. In case you didn’t think it was normal or something.”

  I appreciate his assurance because, lately, I feel like I’m going insane. “I think it was easier to distract myself during the day because Lucas wouldn’t have been around anyway. But he would’ve been home by now. We would’ve had dinner together. We would’ve binged a couple more episodes of Criminal Minds. We’d be getting ready for bed together right now.”

  My eyes aren’t dry anymore.

  Lennon puts his feet on the floor and moves closer to me, sliding his arm around my shoulders. “There’s really nothing I can say. Anything I could tell you would just be a shitty platitude and I won’t do that.”

  I lean into him, praying for some relief in human contact. “I need you to tell me something.”

  I feel him blow out a long breath as his body deflates against me. “All I can tell you is…let yourself feel it. Don’t fight it or suppress it. It’ll fester inside you and that only makes it worse. You have to go through it, all of it, whether it’s ugly, or angry, or sad, or even happy. You have to give yourself permission to embrace it all.” He pauses for a moment. “And if you’re distracted enough to smile or laugh, you cannot let yourself feel guilty for that. Do you hear me?”

  I nod against Lennon and he continues. “Because you need those moments. Those little reprieves. And you sure as hell shouldn’t punish yourself for them.”
r />   The fog is lifting and my tense muscles relax, but I don’t pull away. “How do you have all this wisdom?”

  “I wouldn’t call it wisdom. I’ve just…been through some things, lost a few buddies in Afghanistan. That still didn’t prepare me for losing my brother, though.”

  I’m watching Paul Rudd on the TV, but I’m thinking about Lennon being deployed overseas. I wonder what he went through, what he saw.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know, for everything. For being here.”

  Lennon rubs my shoulder. “I couldn't be anywhere else right now.”

  ∞∞∞

  “Hey…Casey. Casey, wake up.”

  A tender voice pulls me out of a dreamless sleep. It sounds like Lucas, but I know better now. I lift my head from Lennon’s stomach and tilt it toward his face. I know I’m blushing.

  “The movie’s over,” he says casually as I sit up.

  He stays put, slouched beside me with his feet on the ottoman. I rub the toasty side of my face, the one that was pressed against Lennon’s abdomen for God knows how long. I can feel the imprint of t-shirt wrinkles in my cheek.

  “I should get ready for bed,” I say, getting up from the couch.

  Lennon turns off the TV and stands as well, stretching. His hands nearly reach the ceiling. “Me too. I don’t know how I’m still awake.”

  He follows me out of the den, turning off lights as we pass through rooms to the staircase. He checks the lock on the front door before he climbs the stairs behind me to the darkness of the hallway.

  Neither of us bothers to turn on a light. We navigate through the black together until I reach Lucas’s room and flip the switch. A glow infiltrates the hallway as Lennon continues past me to his old bedroom. I don’t close the door until I hear his close.

  That same heavy loneliness crowds the room like it did the last time he left me here. Is it this room or being alone that does this to me? Maybe it’s both.

  I remember what Lennon said earlier and I allow myself to feel the loneliness. I concentrate on the stillness. I acknowledge how isolated I feel. I tell myself it’s normal, that one day it will lessen. It has to. I need it to.