right, Keegan?”
I press my thumb against the key-fob, unlocking Keegan’s black Dodge Ram. I don’t want these memories sitting in my beloved Jeep after today. Plus, I’m selling Keegan’s truck next week, so it’s only fair to give it one last ride.
I slide onto the soft, worn upholstery, inhaling the remnants of his old sun-dulled air freshener that still mildly fills the interior with the smell of coconut. The dangling palm tree attached to the rear-view mirror catches my attention as I try to recall how long ago he bought it and why he chose that scent when he refused to eat anything that contained coconut.
The rubber coating on the steering wheel burns my hand as I take grip before craning my neck to the side in search of the keyhole to the ignition. Keegan didn’t let me drive his truck. He often told me I was too cute and petite to be driving around in a “big honkin’ thing like this.” “Well, I can drive your truck now, Keegan. You can’t stop me, can you?”
I turn the key in the ignition, pull the gear down into reverse, and feel the rumble beneath me as I back out of the spot the truck has been sitting in for over a week. The tires squeal from the short rainstorm we had followed by several hot, dry days.
I wonder what people will think when I show up in Keegan’s truck. Will they feel sorry for me? Will they agree with my decision? Or will they think I’m disrespectful?
It turns out the answer is: none of the above—because it looks like I might be the last one to pull onto the lot, covered by loose rocks, adjacent to the funeral home. The small parking area is full, which means there are many people inside who are wondering why Keegan’s life was so bad that he chose death.
I adjust the mirror before stepping out of the truck, staring straight into the reflection of my eyes. “This is not your fault, August.” The lifeless look behind my pale half-lidded stare isn’t believable.
With a long blink, I slip my sunglasses down from my forehead and cover my eyes. I close the mirror and slide out of the truck, pressing the key fob as I head to the front doors of the white cottage style house with black doors and glass-stained windows.
I take a deep breath through my nose, and the door flies open in front of me, revealing a sobbing middle-aged woman dressed in black from head to toe, running from the funeral home as if it was on fire.
I don’t recognize her.
As I walk through the slowly closing door, I pull my sunglasses off and hang them off the side of my clutch. People chat softly throughout the lobby while a few walk in and out of the room to the left. The silence is deafening. Each guest hangs their head low, appearing forlorn while blotting tissues against their puffy eyes. They hold each other tightly in their moment of grief—grief for something they don’t understand. I follow the crowd walking through the doors on the left, spotting the open casket at the head of the room. I’ve only seen two dead bodies in my life, my grandmother and Keegan’s mom. They both died the same year, within two months of each other. It was only about ten years ago. My grandmother was ninety-four—she lived a good, long life. Keegan’s mom, though, she was fifty-three, drunk, and had it out with an old oak tree. The trunk of that sturdy tree won the fight.
Chairs are set in rows of four, perfectly placed as if measured for accuracy. I’m not sure who wants to stare at a dead body, but I assume the chairs are for those who want to say a word or offer a prayer. Childhood pictures line the table beside the casket, but there aren’t current photos because I did not contribute or provide assistance in planning for this occasion.
Not that one of them thought to reach out to me.
A guest book with a pen, a basket for cards, and several arrangements of yellow and white flowers bleed to the edge of the table.
My steps fall short and shallow as I make my way toward Keegan for the last time. I considered our moments in the bathroom before the paramedics arrived to be the last time I would encounter him, but I hadn’t thought about the funeral at that moment.
The mortician covered his