Julia had known the Lightly boys much of her life, too. Though she more often babysat them than socialized with them. Her pain was different; distant and vague. Dull. Not sharp and splintering like my pain. Her life hadn’t upended the way mine just had. I think she still thought of Bobby as a foolhardy boy, never having seen the man he had become. Nevertheless, the Lightly boys were golden. Full of so much promise. This was not how things were supposed to end for them. There was tragedy in that fact alone.
Julia’s motherly instinct towards Bobby and me had been reinvigorated by this tragedy. It showed in the way she sat vigil by my bed. It showed in the way she began making arrangements for my hospital leave. She would make sure that our child and I would be safe. If Julia did anything well as a sister, it was taking care of business. She loved not with hugs but by being there when she was needed.
When we were done, I could tell something weighed heavily in Julia's thoughts.
“Bobby's funeral is tomorrow.”
There are some things that even when you know they are coming, they still blindside you. Bobby's funeral was inevitable. But there was still some fantastical side of me that held on to some hope of magic. But the magic had died with Bobby.
“Rory's out on bail. And he'll be there.”
“I don't want to go,” I said. I didn't want to see Bobby like that. Bobby was burnt orange and blush sunsets on the lake. He was laughter so hard it hurt. He was the cool grass between my toes on a stifling day. He was homemade cherry pie. He was dancing barefoot on a creaky wood floor to an old record.
He was not a funeral. He was not a corpse.
Most importantly, I didn't want Bobby's funeral to be reduced to a spectacle. By now, everyone knew what had happened. How a quiet suburb in the Midwest had become the scene for illicit affairs, drunken car crashes and murder during a sweltering couple of days in mid-July.
No, instead, I would use that time to follow his wishes. But I needed my sister's help. And I hoped after telling her our story, she would understand.
“I need to make a phone call,” I said. “It's important.”
Will was silent for a while after I told him the news. I waited patiently on the other end. Bobby wasn't just important to me. Bobby helped Will heal from the loss of his brother. And while he couldn't replace Curtis, he helped patch the hole that was left behind. In just a few years, Will lost another brother.
He broke the silence. “I'm so sorry, Lilly. Oh man,” he gasped.
“Thank you,” I sobbed.
“He knew . . .” he rasped.
“What do you mean?”
“He would say to me that he felt that he was supposed to die. That he eked out some extra time, but he felt it was a gift. A gift Curtis gave to him by standing where he stood. Had their order been reversed . . .” Will paused to collect himself. “I told him not to be so damned morose. But he told me that he thought it was so he could see you again. Fix the things he messed up.”
I clenched my throat around the knot that formed. If I let it rise, I wouldn't be able to speak. “He said that to me. When he was on the ground, in my arms. And he made me promise to call you. He cared about you so much . . .” I had to stop to fight the eruption threatening to escape my chest.
“I know he did. And I loved him like a brother. You know that. But it's not just because of that,” Will replied, his throat thick with emotion. “A couple of days ago he called me. He told me he was headed out west and that you weren't coming. I didn't ask. I knew what that meant. But you know, he always walked around with this idea that he was on borrowed time so he made me make some promises, too. He kind of implied that now that he kept his promises to Curtis, and you weren't coming, maybe his time was up. At the time I gave him the usual crap I did. Told him he was gonna be fine. And he said maybe, but he wanted to make sure you had some things. I guess in case he never got to give them to you himself.”
“Things?” I asked.
“Yeah. He mailed me a package. I just got it today . . . when I got it, I thought he was still alive,” he uttered in disbelief. “His instructions were to hold onto it. And if anything ever happened to him, or if you ever needed help, I was to make sure you got this. Maybe I would have sent it back when I found out you decided to go with him, but when he thought you were staying behind, this is what he wanted.” Will took a deep breath. “Lilly, I think a lot of that talk was just him missing you. If it's any consolation, I think you coming back to him . . . his last day was filled with hope. He saw you as life. His lucky charm. He must have been so happy to have you with him again.”
“Thank you. He was,” I affirmed in a weak voice. In a way it did console me. I was happy to have those last moments with Bobby, that he was full of hope before those bullets ravaged his body. But a lucky charm, I was not. Bobby came back for me. He found himself in Stan's path because he loved me too much to keep driving west without me. So in other ways, those final moments of glee made the tragedy more profound. Maybe he was better off driving away in misery. “His funeral is tomorrow,” I said.
“He wasn't much of a fan of those types of affairs.”
“No, he wasn't. He wouldn't want a fuss made. And . . . I'm not going. I don't want to be with those people. I can't see him like that . . .” I choked on air as the sobs finally broke through.
“What do you need from me? Bobby wouldn't care about me going to his funeral, but he would want me to take care of you. Be there for you. I made him promise the same about Sasha.”
“Can you come? Bring the package?”
“Of course.”
“And um, I'd like to go to the lake house . . . no one will be there. That's where I know I'll feel him.”
“Sweetie, whatever you need. And this won't change my answer, but does your family know? If they think you've gone missing and find a black man—”
“Yes. My sister knows. She understands.”
I didn't tell Will everything. I didn't tell him about the baby. I thought the news of Bobby's death was more than enough news for one phone call. I wanted the pregnancy to be good news. And when the news was delivered with Bobby's death, it turned it into something tragic. So I held onto that bit of hope for a better day.
The day of Bobby's funeral was the day the hospital discharged me with instructions to rest, not get stressed, and take it easy. That was an impossible prescription.
The bleeding had stopped, the headaches from the trauma had dulled, but rest? Take it easy? I couldn't sleep without waking up every hour reaching for Bobby. I couldn't just sit around on the day Bobby would be laid to rest.
Will and Sasha waited outside for me, their expressions full of warm sadness. My sister politely left for the funeral after the introductions. We embraced tearfully. Already, being around Bobby's chosen family, I felt him. Like he had just stepped away for a moment and would pop into the car and wink at me. I sat in the back, and as soon as the car took off, Will looked at Sasha and tilted his head to her. She nodded and bent over, picking up a small cardboard box.
“This is for you,” she said.