Point Hope (22 page)

He knew they’d all been wondering if Amanda had driven off that road on purpose. He also knew they had all been praying that wasn’t what had happened. Now they knew it was an accident. It had to be better knowing that.

“How do you know all this?”

This part would make Sarah sound even worse, but he wasn’t going to lie. “She’s been watching the house…out of guilt. I confronted her and got her to talk to me.”

Summer fell back in the chair, shaking and hugging herself. “She killed my sister!”

“Wait, no, Summer! It was an accident.”

“Yeah, well, remember it was
just an accident
that sent me to prison for two years. The only thing I did wrong?
I was there.
I was trying to help, and I was there when the gun went off. I paid for that. She should pay for taking my sister away!”

She jumped up like she wanted to run off.

“Summer, please wait and listen to me.” He stood up too. “She wants to make it right.” He glanced backwards, and she looked at the house too.

“Do they know?”

“Not yet. I thought it was right to tell you first.”

She slumped, shrinking down almost inside herself. “I don’t get you, Mr. Save the World. Why do you give a shit about what happens to her?”

“I don’t know why, but I don’t want to see anyone else hurting. Please just hang on for now, and don’t do anything. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything before the funeral.”

“No, you should have told me.” She huffed out a breath and ran her palms across her face, wiping away her tears and dribbles of mascara, looking vulnerable.

“You won’t do anything today?”

She closed her eyes. And kept them shut. He had no idea what she was thinking.

He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. Summer’s eyes flew open.

Where did that come from?
He had no idea what just happened or what to do, so he stood and stiffly walked back into the house, wanting to run, his heart racing so fast it hummed instead of beat. Somehow, his legs actually worked the entire way.

~  ~ ~

“Today is a celebration of life,” Pastor Frank intoned in a clear, warm voice as he looked around the church. The scene was familiar—the same church, the same pastor, and mostly the same people. “Just two weeks ago we gathered to celebrate the life of Ricky, and now, so soon…we are celebrating Amanda’s life.” He stopped to look down and collect himself. “This isn’t a normal service. Often people come up front and share a story about the loved one, but we will do more than that today. As we say farewell to both Ricky and Amanda, we are also given hope for the future. You see, Ricky and Amanda left more than a legacy; they left us with their daughter, little Hope Sinclair. It’s our job to ensure she knows her parents. Afterwards, when we go to the reception hall, you’ll find blank pages and pens on the tables around the room. As part of our service today, I’ll invite you come forward and share about Amanda, but I also invite each you to go later to the tables and write about both of them. Write about their lives, how they showed their love to each other, and how they touched your life. The family will gather all these notes into a book for Hope.”

Trey wanted to hold himself together, but life was asking too much of him. Of his family. This time, at this funeral, he sat right next to Rosette. The younger kids sat on his other side, between him and Alex. Rosette had been holding Hope, but so many people wanted to cuddle her, to touch her  and feel a connection to Ricky and Amanda, that right now she was in someone else’s arms.

The memory book had been Rosette’s idea. She always thought of things like that. She wrote everything down. Those were things that could be easily forgotten, and would be forgotten, if she didn’t record their histories and lives.

He looked at Rosette until she turned her head and looked back. Tears decorated her eyes, making them lighter and brighter blue today. That wasn’t the only thing that looked different. Her eyes were open instead of guarded, warm instead of cool, loving instead of fearful of what he could say to her. Through all this pain, he’d finally realized what mattered, and how to fight for what he loved.

When Pastor Frank finished, Trey rose before anyone else. He wanted and needed to speak first, to get all this out, before it mixed together and washed away, the way thoughts and plans can do. Up front, he turned and looked out at the church full of families and friends—people that needed and depended on each other.

“I didn’t get up to speak at Ricky’s funeral. It was just too soon, but I regret that.” He paused and stared down, gripping the podium. He could do this. He had to. “Ricky was much more than my brother—he was my childhood confidant, my cohort in troublemaking, and my best friend. Most of you who know us can recall some story that ends with Ricky and me making a racing escape from the scene. I look back over my life, and for so much of it, Ricky was right there. As we grew up, I think I became more serious, but Ricky never did. He never stopped telling jokes and wild stories, never stopped entertaining any and everybody within earshot. When he found Amanda…” Trey had to stop and drag a tissue over his eyes. He had always hated letting anyone see him acting weak. Now he was completely breaking down. Looking up again, he sought out Rosette and held her gaze for strength. “Amanda was the rest of him. She completed him. It’s as simple as that. She could zing him back and then laugh until she snorted.”

Everyone here would feel the absence of Amanda’s bright presence and her ever-ready smile. Life always changes. He’d learned that lesson over and over. He took a shaky breath. Then another.  

“There’s something on my mind, something I need to share. The last thing I said to Ricky was
I love you
over the phone. I couldn’t wait to see my brother and best friend again. And I thought I’d see him again; I really did. I’ve thought many times since, what if I hadn’t said that to Ricky? The last time I saw Amanda, I said,
Love you—hang in there
. I was lucky. So many times we don’t get to say those last words. You never know. My point is this: we should value and enjoy the people in our lives every day. We should love them every day. I’ve learned family matters above all.”

He could have stopped there, but all that was just building to what he really wanted to say. Rosette had a tear rolling down one side of her face. She wasn’t the only one crying. Most people were.

“It’s weird to say this now, up here, but I want to say I love my wife. I love you, Rosette. My kids, Candice and Jake. My brother, Alex. I love all of you. I don’t want to ever live a day where any of you question that. I want Hope to grow up knowing and feeling that. Summer, I want you to know we’re your family. We’re here for you.”

On the way to his seat, Trey squeezed Alex’s shoulder. Then he sat down and slid his arm around his wife. She turned into him and whispered, “I love you too, Trey.”

He turned his head and lightly rested his forehead on her hair. They listened to Amanda’s friends talk about her, and Rosette read some poems Amanda had written about Ricky and about life. One was about their baby, titled “Promises of Tomorrow’s Sunshine.”

Trey wiped a tear off his cheek and prayed,
Please, God, let us find days ahead where we can feel the sunshine again.

Rosette squeezed his hand as if she’d heard his prayer.

The service finally finished, and everyone gravitated toward the reception hall to visit and to write their stories and memories. Trey and Rosette both took turns. The kids drew pictures for Hope. Trey was sitting, listening to people sharing stories, when Rosette’s hands came over his shoulders and rubbed. He leaned against her and wrapped an arm around her waist. He was long past ready to go home, but hardly anyone had left yet. The room was loud and crowded, and he figured he should be thankful for the obvious tribute to Amanda, but the noise was getting to him. Leaning against Rosette with his eyes closed let him escape for a few minutes.

Suddenly Rosette gasped. “Trey, that’s her!”

When he opened his eyes, he caught sight of a girl standing by herself in the back of the crowded room, watching them.

 “Who is that?” he asked. “Is that the girl you’ve been telling me about?”

“Her name is Sarah,” Alex said, suddenly appearing next to them. “She came here to tell you something.”

The noise around Trey turned into a throbbing headache.

“Alex, what are you talking about?” Rosette demanded. “How do you know her name?”

“I’ve talked with her. Can you listen to her for a few minutes?”

The girl was watching them and waiting. She tentatively started toward them.

Trey looked at his wife, who appeared as confused as he was. It was just Alex who knew what was going on.

She reached them and waited awkwardly.

“Let’s go someplace quieter,” Trey said, gesturing toward the door. He led the way out of the reception hall and into a smaller classroom down the hallway. Once everyone was inside, Trey turned to close the door.

Summer stood in the doorway. “I’m a part of this too.”

He wasn’t sure.

“It’s okay,” Alex said.

Now Trey turned and looked at his younger brother. How did Alex know about all this, and seemingly know this girl?

Summer stepped inside. “Is this
her
?” She directed the question at Alex, making Trey even more confused. Alex had learned something, had told Summer, but had left him and Rosette in the dark?

Trey closed the door now. “Am I the only person who doesn’t know what’s going on?”

“I don’t either,” Rosette ventured with a meaningful look at Alex. “What is all this? Why haven’t you said anything before today?”

Alex looked contrite, shrugging with his palms up. “I wasn’t sure how to say anything, or what to say. Or what do to about it. I confronted her, on our street, and made her talk to me the other day. I told Summer this morning. Then Sarah showed up here. She wants to tell you herself.”

Trey felt a strange mix of respect and anger for Alex. Even so, he sent Alex a pointed look, one that said he should have given them some kind of heads up.

Sarah searched their faces, slowly, one by one, until she stopped on Summer’s. Trey realized she must feel cornered—she
was
cornered in the room. They were blocking the door.

“I’m so sorry.” Each word came out on an anxious breath.

Trey was about crawling out of his skin. “For what?”

“That night, the night Amanda died—”

No one gasped or even breathed, but some kind of sudden, sharp, and focused energy cut the girl off.

This was about Amanda. About that night.

“I was out looking for my lost phone along the highway and it was dark…” She pulled in a breath, then another, but it still wasn’t enough to go on. She didn’t need to. The entire scene unfolded in Trey’s mind. Looking at Rosette, with tears running down her face, he knew she understood it all too. It looked like Sarah would have stopped right there, but Summer folded her arms and stared her down. “…and I saw a turtle on the road—”

“A turtle? Are you serious? Are you fucking serious?”

Trey threw a hand in front of Summer to stop her.

A second passed. “I just wanted to move it out of harm’s way. The car came so fast. I didn’t even see the headlights until they were right on me, right in front of me. I didn’t have time to react. The car went flying off to the side…and it was all over. I freaked out and ran. I don’t know what more to say… I am so very sorry.”

Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
The word echoed around in his head so loudly he thought maybe everyone could hear it. Sarah would be sorry for the rest of her life. She might never outrun the guilt.

He could hear his heart beating, his pulse thumping through his limbs, his jagged breathing. The pain was a huge, throbbing mass: boom, boom, boom.

“We have to call the police,” Summer declared, glaring at Sarah through tears. Her words jolted Trey back into the room.

Sarah’s eyes grew wide, her nostrils flaring as she shook her head. Then, in a flash, she turned and sprinted out the door before anyone could react.

Alex called her name once.

“We need to go find her, don’t you think?” Rosette asked, rising. Trey was right beside her. She looked at Alex to say, “Stay here with the kids.”

“And Hope?” He looked panicked.

“You can handle it.” Trey clamped a hand on his shoulder. “We won’t be gone long.”

“You’re not taking the car?” Alex talked while following them out the door of the room and toward the church’s main exit.

“Yeah, maybe,” Trey answered, pausing. “We might need to.”

Alex watched them go and suddenly yelled, “Drive safe!”

It was so strange for him to tell them that. He was scared, really scared, that something could happen to them. Why had that never occurred to him before? He’d already lost his mother first, then father, then brother and sister-in-law; a horrible thought that Trey and Rosette would be next terrified him. Trey threw a glance back. “It’ll be okay, Alex. We’ll just check on Sarah and come right back.”

Outside, Trey pointed both ways and Rosette understood. She ran one way while he ran the other, circling around the church. There were a few people around, but no sign of Sarah. They met in the back parking lot and walked through the cars, searching for her there too. At their car, Trey said, “We can do a quick loop around to see if we spot her.”

Rosette nodded. They jumped in on opposite sides. “Think there’s any chance we’ll see her?’

He pulled away, thinking this was a real-life needle in a haystack. “We should at least try, don’t you think? She just might need us.”

The mix of sun and rain made an awful glare, but Rosette forced herself to look for anyone walking—or running—on the shiny sidewalks. She wasn’t sure this was logical yet she felt a need to look for Sarah. Her cell phone rang and she almost ignored it, but she glanced and saw it was Alex.

“Summer took off too,” he said. “Sorry, I couldn’t stop her. I think she’s going to the police station.”

Oh, crap.
Trey overheard Alex’s voice and put on his blinker. “I’ll head over.”