I raised my eyebrows and gestured toward the jars of tropical flowers. “And?”
“And, they had more of those bouquets you liked, so I grabbed a few extra.” He sat on the stool beside me with his own plated omelet.
“These are beautiful.” I stared ahead at the white hibiscuses while River began eating. “And breakfast looks great. You know, I can chip in for the cottage and plane tickets, and anything else. I can buy groceries for us. I saved up a lot from work.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it all covered.”
“I just want you to know you don’t have to pay for . . . everything. I feel kind of bad.”
“Don’t.”
His monosyllabic response was not very reassuring to me, though. I wasn’t even sure how much money River had spent since we took off from Rockwood. He had, in fact, been purchasing everything along the way: gas, the rental cars, plane tickets, the cottage, beach supplies. Food. Flowers. I trusted that he had the money for it all, but my curiosity was starting to bubble up within me, rising up to the surface. I waited ‘til we’d cleared our plates.
“River. How do you have the money for all of this?”
I was not expecting his mood to turn so drastically as it did. Money was often an awkward subject for people, but even so, his reaction seemed abnormal. A somberness was suddenly written all over his face. The air around us even seemed to change.
“When Julian died, my parents coped in different ways.” River grabbed the fork off his plate and stared at it bleakly. “They didn’t know how to cope, really. My mom just shut down. A light went out in her soul. That’s what it seemed like. My dad, though. He was angry at first. He felt wronged, and he wanted some kind of . . . justice. That’s what he called it. It was a county bus that hit Julian that day, when he’d been walking home from school. My dad sued the county, successfully. My mom later told me she’d just been going along with it. She just wasn’t capable of putting up any kind of resistance. I was young enough that I had no idea about the lawsuit. So, my parents were awarded a large sum. I don’t know what all they did with it, but they did put a chunk of it away in an account for me. I didn’t even know about it until our senior year of high school.” River twisted the fork in his grip, still boring into it with his gaze. “It was hard for me at first. I didn’t know what to think. I had all this money because of Julian’s death. It was something I had to grapple with, but by the end of senior year, I made peace about it. I realized that Julian wouldn’t want me to waste it. He’d be happy that I had it, and he’d want me to put it to good use.” Finally, he relinquished the fork from his grasp and gaze. “I try not to spend too much of it. I don’t want to be stupid with it, burn through it. I’ve been able to find work almost everywhere I’ve traveled. Sometimes as a waiter, other times some kind of manual labor with under-the-table cash. I’ve lived simply. I’ve hardly made a dent in the account my parents set up.” He looked over at me. “But I will admit, I’ve been . . . splurging a bit more here. I guess it’s harder with you being with me, and I want to make sure you’re enjoying all of this, that it isn’t just a huge downer for you.”
It took me a moment to take in the whole story, every detail of what he’d shared. Once I had sorted through it all, I responded, “It’s not a downer.” I leaned into the white hibiscuses and breathed in their scent. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the flowers and this cottage—all of it. But so much more than that, I love being with you. You’re my best friend, and I want to be here for you. Even if it’s hard. Even if it’s sad. It’s still important. It was my idea to come here, remember?”
River swiveled on his stool to face me, and he grabbed both of my hands in his.
“Thank you. For being here, and for having this idea.” I nodded my head just slightly and looked down at our hands. River’s were not warm like I had expected them to be—they were oddly cold, like he had been keeping them over ice for the last few hours. Their coolness sent a shiver through me. River spoke: “I came across this quote once. I memorized it. That which you most need will be found where you least want to look. I think I’ve been ignoring that for long enough.”
He paused. I looked up from our hands to see his eyes aiming right at mine. Then he spoke again: “I’m ready. I’m ready to go to the heart of this. I’m ready to do what I’m most afraid to. Will you come with me?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Chapter 19
Cemeteries had always been oddly beautiful places to my eye, but this one was especially so. It was situated in a valley, emerald-ridged mountains enveloping the gentle, manicured slopes. A dense fog blanketed the tips of the mountains, and the smell of morning rain lingered on the grass and cement paths. It was quiet. No one was around. As I analyzed the valley further, I recognized the specific kind of beauty this place held—it was a haunting one.
While we strode along one of the weaving paths, I felt as though I were walking in a dream. I felt as though I had been here before, been underneath this umbrella of fog, been surrounded by these furrowed mountains. I felt as if I had been situated in this place, right in this junction of the preserved and the wild. The passed and the ongoing. The peace and the chaos.
River and I were silent as we plodded on. I thought about reaching out for his hand but decided against it. I was holding the white bouquet of hibiscuses in both of my hands, anyway. If not for the setting of the cemetery, I might have looked like a bride toting her wedding bouquet as she floated down the aisle.
Then we were there. Kneeling in the grass. Side-by-side. The leftover raindrops wetting our clothes. In front of us was the tombstone. Pale, weathered gray. Simple carvings. The painful but truthful dates: 1993—1999. The description of who was lost, words that could only say so much: Beloved son, brother, friend. The name: Julian Mahlon.
Delicately, I lowered the hibiscus bouquet onto the grass before the stone. I said nothing, mimicking River’s lack of speech, and we stayed there in the middle of the valley, two people in a sea of loss. River spoke, eventually. His tone was soft.
“I’ve never been here before.”
I turned to face him and noticed the streams of wetness that created a gleam on his cheeks.
I kept my voice soft, as well. “What do you mean?”
He cleared his throat. “I didn’t come to the funeral. I refused. I was eight years old. I didn’t know how to deal with this. I didn’t want to just accept it. My parents didn’t have the strength to force me. So I wasn’t here. Then we moved away, to Rockwood. I never came here.”
I looked back to the tombstone, reading the inscriptions again, feeling the damp grass between my fingers, and things started lining up in my mind, pieces coming together.
I hadn’t known that River had never visited his brother’s grave. I had known this was where the accident happened, where Julian had passed away too young, where River’s family had fallen apart. But now I understood clearly and precisely why River had needed to return to Maui. It was for this moment, kneeling above Julian’s place of rest. I thought he had made it full-circle when he drove all around North America, ending back in Rockwood. But that wasn’t the case. Now, here in this dark, beautiful place, he finally had made it.