Page 113 of Malaise

Carver says a quick goodbye to his mum, promising we’ll be back soon, and then leads me down the grounds to the newer plots. He holds my hand, grounding me as I feel the threads of my composure slipping. I’m grasping at air, trying to save myself from breaking apart when I finally felt as though I had it together, but is that so bad? Admitting that I loved my brother so fiercely that his absence still hurts, and more than likely always will?

“Here,” Carver whispers as we come to a stop by a simple cream marble headstone.

I stare into the distance, watching the birds battle the breeze as they fly in the growing drizzle. My desire to know what inscription my parents chose eventually gives me the strength I need to look down at Den’s final resting place.

Denver Andrews

1997-2016

That’s it. No quote, no heartfelt message. No anecdote of his character or his life; just a start and an end.

“Do they charge by the character or something?” I snap, gesturing at the plain stone.

“It might be a placeholder until the final one is made,” Carver surmises hopefully.

Not likely. “If it was, it would be concrete, not marble.” I drop to my knees and run both palms over the damp grass. “Den, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Carver says, moving to stand behind me. “Don’t feel bad about something you had no say in, Meg.”

I keep running my hands in arcs on the ground, wiping away the rain and turning the grass brown with the mud I stir up. Yet I can’t bring myself to stop it. I thought I’d have so much to say, so many things to tell Den. But now that I’m here, acutely aware that a few feet below my neurotic hands, my brother’s body decomposes, I’m lost for what to say.

I miss you?

I’m sorry our family fell apart?

Why did you fucking leave me?

Nothing seems poignant enough to do his memory justice. So instead, I lie there on the cold, wet ground and stroke the grass until the mud has stuck the blades to the ground and my nails are stained with what will be a painful memory of how this afternoon was spent for days to come. I lie there, emotionally alone, yet comforted as best I can be by the man who vows to be with me through all of these moments, however many more I’ll experience in my life.

But how can he understand? How can he get this particular sense of loss, but also burden in that all my parents’ hopes and dreams for their children now rest on my shoulders alone? Is that why they were so hurt and disappointed in me when I coped the best way I knew how, with a bottle in each hand? Is that why they look at me with utter contempt for choosing society’s outcasts to spend my days with? Because they know that I’ll never amount to half of what they hoped?

How wrong they are. And damn, how much Den leaving really showed me about myself.

I will achieve great things, just how Carver said I would, just like Den believed I could. And what’s best about it, is I will have done it all on my own, without anyone’s help or backing. I’m paying my own way through the course, I’ve made all the arrangements myself, and never once have I asked for a hand up or a favour to get it done.

What better validation for my personal strength could there be?

And then it strikes me, as hard and unrelenting as the rain that has worsened in the time I’ve spent with Den. That’s why Carver cut me off. That’s why he forced me to go away from that visit with the thought that I had nobody left to lean on, that it was all me, and if I didn’t get my life in check then nobody else would be there to point me in the right direction.

Because he wanted me to see. Just like he said all those weeks ago at the truck stop, he wanted me to see why he has faith in me.

I sit bolt upright, startling Carver where he sits behind me as he strokes my back with one hand.

“What? What’s the matter, babe?”

“I get it now.”

“Huh?”

“Why you shut me out. Why you told me to plan my future without you in it.”

He grins, his wet hair dripping in his eyes as he pulls me onto his lap. “Why did I do that then, gorgeous?”

“You wanted me to make my own choices, free of influence. You wanted me to prove to myself that I had it in me to get past this.”

“I wanted you to realise your own strength, how brave you actually are.”

“You were testing me.”

“I was encouraging you.” He closes the distance between us, pulling at my lips with his teeth as he kisses me. “And baby, you’ve done good.”

“You knew if I held out hope that you were coming back to me, I would have waited, put my life on hold,” I ramble, overwhelmed by the revelation. I reach up and place my palm against his cheek. “You knew I would have given up my dreams for yours.”

“Exactly.” He kisses my palm. “But the thing is, Meg, I don’t have any dreams besides you. The only hope I have, the only aspiration, is to have you love me for the rest of your life, no matter what.” He closes his eyes briefly. “I’m not perfect. I’ll let you down, and I’ll make mistakes, but I’ll never stop trying to learn from those experiences, to better myself.”

“Let’s go home,” I whisper. “Let’s go home so we can get dry and I can curl up beside you, where I’ve wanted to be for weeks.”

He smiles. “And where is home, Meg?”

“I don’t know.” I smile. “But I’ll let you drive.”