to work with in the shower. I’m never going to take little things, like having time to use conditioner, for granted ever again.
Joni borrows Elijah’s car and meets me at my house.
I’m sitting on the stoop when she rolls up. She looks amazing. Bright red dress that’s tight around the top and then flares out at her waist and black cowboy boots. Her nose ring is a black stone. I stand as she walks over and have to stop myself from pulling her into my arms and kissing the top of her head.
“Hey,” she says, smiling.
“You look really beautiful.”
She looks down at her dress. “You sure? I wasn’t sure if the red would be appropriate or not. I have another dress in the car in case—”
“It’s perfect.”
Joni rocks back on her heels, her hands on her hips. “Thanks. You look nice too.” She reaches up tentatively and brushes a thumb across my eyebrow scar, the corner of her mouth quirking up. Then her face becomes serious. “Are you sure you want me to come today?”
“Of course I do. Why?”
“I don’t know, because I didn’t know Meg? It’s only going to be people who knew her and loved her. I don’t know if they’d appreciate me being there.”
I take both her hands and look her in the eye. “I really want you to be there. Besides, everyone already knows you’re coming.”
She gives me a nervous smile. “Okay.”
“Come on.” I nod toward the house.
She follows me inside, and we find my mother in the living room, dancing around to Sia’s “Chandelier” with Hope in her arms. Mom stops when she sees us and holds a hand out to Joni. “You must be Joni. I’m Deanna.”
Joni shakes her hand. “Great song,” she says.
Mom laughs. “Oh yeah, we’re going to get along just fine.”
• • •
Mom, Joni, Hope, and I meet Alan and Mabel at the turnoff to the one-lane road that leads to the dirt road, and they follow us in their car as we drive farther and farther into the woods until we reach the point where we have to go on foot. The beach at this time of year—bare and chilly, the water uninviting—reminds me of the last time I was here with Meg. We huddled together under a blanket, watching the water as if we weren’t on a deadline. I can’t believe that was nearly a whole year ago.
Mom squeezes my hand. “This is really beautiful, bud,” she whispers.
I nod. Now that we’re here, the anticipation has disappeared, leaving only nerves and a slightly sick-to-my-stomach feeling in its place.
I get the candles out of my bag, and Mom helps me put them in the sand and make it look all pretty. Then Mabel removes a shoe box from the shopping bag she brought with her. Inside the box is a gallon-size Ziploc bag. And inside the bag are the ashes. Mabel holds it out to me, like she’s actually expecting me to take it, like it’s nothing. “I left the box where it was on the windowsill,” she explains. “My parents will never look inside.”
“What do you mean?” Mom asks. “Your parents don’t know you took them? Oh, I don’t know how I feel about—”
“It’s okay,” Mabel says. She sounds really sure of herself. “I left some behind. For them to scatter themselves, if—when—they ever decide to.”
She’s still waiting for me to take the bag, but I can’t move. That’s Meg in there. All that’s left of her are millions of tiny gray flakes, one indistinguishable from the next, like the stuff that comes out of our vacuum when we empty the canister.
My gut lurches, and I force my feet to move. I barely make it to the edge of the woods before I throw up. I stay there, heaving, until there’s nothing left to come out. I feel a hand on my back. “It’s okay, Ryden,” Mom says quietly. “We don’t have to do this if you’re having second thoughts.”
I right myself and wipe my mouth with the tissue she’s holding out to me. “No. Let’s do it.” Everyone is waiting over on the beach, looking solemn. The bag of ashes is sitting on the sand now. Mabel is holding Hope.
I clear my throat and walk slowly back. “Sorry, guys.”
“Don’t apologize,” Alan says, staring at the bag of ashes. “I feel like doing the same thing.”
“Okay, well…” I say. “I guess we should start. Who, uh…who would like to say something?”
One by one, we talk about Meg. The good