THE CRAZY GOOD SERIES - Rachel Robinson Page 0,113

they mean them. It’s because it’s what they think they’re supposed to say. Some higher power dictates that. They hugged me awkwardly, and told me how sorry they were for my loss. I’m not sure if I hated them more or less for their hollow words. I play by the rules, so I had to respect that they were doing what they were supposed to do. Deep down I wanted to scream for everyone to fucking shut up and tell me what was really on their minds. My sensibilities won over today, and I compiled a few generic sentences to say to Maverick if I run into him. I don’t want to make him even more upset than he already is. If possible, I want to be a neutral element in his messed up world. The impossibly cruel heartache I have over his whopper of a lie takes a backseat to Stone. Death always has a miserable way of showing you what is really important. I wonder if I promised never to take anything for granted if the grim reaper would be less nasty. Probably not.

I hold Gretchen’s hand the entire service. Funny photos of Maverick and Stone flash across a huge screen. They make me happy and undauntedly sad at the same time. From the time they were children right up until the second he took his last breath, it’s obvious that Stone loved Maverick like family…like a brother.

I cringe when Maverick walks to stand on the stage, the microphone in front of him like a weapon. He puts his hands on his hips, accentuating his much too small waist. His black uniform would look like sex-in-cotton-polyester-blend on any other occasion. Not right now, though. I cover my mouth as a sob escapes before he even says a word.

“Stone wouldn’t want a lot of fanfare. Actually, I know he didn’t because he told me so. He did want everyone to know that you shouldn’t feel sorry for him, or say his life was cut too short. He lived. Oh, he lived. It may not be a full life compared to the average person, but his life was complete. And Stone was anything but average.” Maverick clears his throat and stares straight ahead, his gaze focused on something high above our heads. “He had a life many would kill to have. He loved his job. He loved his wife even more,” Maverick says, finally searching the sea of faces to find Morganna. I let my eyes fall to my lap. The sadness in his eyes when he looks at her is palpable. He goes on, “Thomas Sterns was a hero in every sense of the word. His honor and his love for his country is why, in his darkest hour, I am alive today. I could say that it was a debt for his country, or that he died doing something he was trained to do, but that would be a lie.”

I watch his neck work, as he swallows. “Thomas…Stone died so that I could live. It sounds so selfish when I say it out loud. Like he chose me over his life. Over his wife…and over his career, but his act of selflessness shouldn’t be undermined by my own feelings. He died so his brother could live. Every day I wake up and take a deep breath, it’s because he is no longer breathing.” Maverick balls a fist and brings it up to cover his mouth, his eyes wilting in the corners as he silently breaks down.

He looks down to the coffin. “You saved me more times than I can count, brother,” he whispers, though it still echoes in the church. “I love you, Stone. We all do.” He walks off the stage and finds his place next to Morganna. She envelops him in her arms. I’m thankful they have each other.

It’s all I can be thankful for.

A memory is resilient enough to destroy the strongest individual. So much so, that nothing is left in its wake. Complete and total annihilation form in remembrance. Kathy’s words about remembering ring true, in this specific scenario. I wonder how much longer I can fault her actions. I wonder if I should have ever faulted her. Because when I see what a single memory is capable of all I feel is guilt…and pity.

The lights dim and the spotlight on the casket gleaming with golden trident pins is the solitary focus. All of Stone’s teammates banged their tridents into the lid out of