Kristin took both my hands in hers. She met my eyes warmly, the picture of a good leader and friend. “You’re going to stay here with us, his other family, and wait for an update.”
As if the universe had been listening, her phone rang. I listened to her end of the call, which didn’t offer me much. When she closed her eyes and scrunched them together, I knew with everything in me.
“He didn’t make it,” I said.
“No.” She dropped the hand holding the phone to her side. Tears filled her eyes. “They lost him in transport.”
“I can go to the hospital,” I said. The sentence was nonsensical, but those were the only words that came into my brain because everything else had stuttered to a halt. There had to be a rewind button where I could reclaim the spot I’d been in just an hour earlier. I faced the mirror, then away. Then Kristin, then away.
“Skyler.”
I shook my head. No more talking because then it would be legitimate. I felt trapped, and a great big shove against my current reality would surely knock me free of it.
“Look at me.”
I backed away from Kristin until I ran into the far wall of the bathroom. I held a finger up. “No,” I said, as if Kristin was an offending intruder. If I could keep her and the rest of the world away, maybe this moment would evaporate.
She opened her arms as she moved toward me, unwavering. I cowered from her until the moment her arms went around me. The personal contact lifted the spell, and I let myself relax against her, clinging to her even. There were no tears because I couldn’t quite fathom that Ty wasn’t going to walk in the back door of the station from the parking lot, twirling his key ring on his forefinger. “What are we going to do?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. My shoulder was wet, and I realized Kristin was crying. That would be the normal response to losing a friend. But I was all out of normal responses.
“We were going out for noodles this Saturday.” I blinked. “And he’s supposed to start his own production company. What about that?”
She released me. “I want you to go home. We’ll have Lisette cover the ten.”
I nodded, numb and directionless. I walked blindly to the door that would lead me to the hallway and the newsroom I now hated. But something grabbed me by the throat. I paused. My feet didn’t want to go any farther, and I was compelled to turn back. “I’ll do the ten.”
“What? No, no, no. You go home.”
“We’re going to have to report this story, right? We are the news.”
Through her tears, she nodded. She was battling being a leader and her own feelings, and I needed to do the same. Not only that, it felt like the news should come from me. I wanted to be the one to speak on his behalf. I was his reporter, and I could hear him now: You do it, bonehead. Don’t be chicken.
“I’m doing it. Okay?”
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Kristin asked, still skeptical.
I nodded, more sure than I had been of anything. It was something I could do for Ty, and I was determined to give him this. “It should be me up there. It’s what’s right.”
“Only if you’re up for it.”
From somewhere unseen, strength descended. “I am.”
Three hours later, I did one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I looked into the lens and told the world what had happened to a great person. “This next story hits home for all of us,” I said, as Rory squeezed my hand. “We lost a member of our KTMW family today when Tyler Murphy, a cameraman and friend to all here, was struck by a car while working to bring us a story. Ty was a personal friend, a goofball, and the best dang cameraman you’d ever hope to meet. He will be sorely missed. No charges have been brought against the driver.”
“He will be sorely missed,” Rory said and took the reins to take us out. When the hot studio lights were replaced by the fluorescents, I calmly got my bag, found my car, and drove myself straight to a 7-Eleven for an extra-large green Slurpee.
Alone, beneath the stars, I sat in my car, held the drink in my lap, and cried.
* * *
It was surreal when something monumental happened that should rip the universe in half, but the rest of the world simply marched on, unaffected. There were people walking through downtown, laughing with their friends. Others went to movies or out to dinner. Didn’t they know that everything had changed?
From the moment I’d moved back to San Diego, Ty had been my ride or die. He’d been the most welcoming and instrumental in teaching me the culture at KTMW. Our friendship had extended into real life, and now there was this gaping hole.
I wasn’t sleeping much.
I ate to keep my energy up, but that was about all I could manage.
Going to work just reminded me of Ty and his glaring absence. Emory and Sarah checked in on me daily that next week, but I stopped getting back to them, vowing to make it up when I could muster the energy. I walked through each day like an automaton, feeling very much alone, and yet couldn’t bring myself to do anything about it.
The higher-ups had cleaned out Ty’s desk, and soon there would be little left of him until someone hung up a plaque somewhere in remembrance of all he gave to the station. It would never feel like enough.
The memorial service was that morning.
I’d taken the next couple of days off to get my head on straight, giving me a long weekend to make it through. I stood in front of the church and stared up at the climbing spires as if on their way to someplace grander. I was envious, wanting desperately to escape. I swallowed, gathering my courage, a practice I’d become familiar with, and went inside. I saw several of my colleagues already seated, knowing that the rest of them had to get today’s broadcasts up and on air. That was the thing. The news never stopped.
I sat alone in a pew and waited quietly with my thoughts, which began to consume me, coming faster and faster with each second that ticked by. My chest felt heavy as I watched Sandra at the front of the room. She hugged and greeted all who approached her, but the evidence of her grief was apparent in her slumped shoulders and swollen skin, red from tears. If she could make it through this service, then so could I. Yet my body rebelled. I felt nauseous all over again, and a brick sat on my lungs. Desperate for air, I had to get out of that church and hated myself for it. This was a panic attack, I realized. I’d never experienced one of those fully before. The room was getting smaller, but I didn’t think I could get my legs to work. A hand slipped into mine and offered a squeeze. My eyes were fixed on the floor, but I already felt anchored with just that one touch. I could breathe. I could think. I raised my gaze to see Carrie sitting next to me, holding my hand in her lap wordlessly. Everything slowed down. Her skin against mine, the firm manner in which she held my hand, was everything. I wanted to sob with relief, but I swallowed it back, determined to stay strong. And so we sat there, just like that, as she calmed the world down for me. I was helpless to stop her. And I didn’t want to. Seeing her in person, her blue eyes, soft hair, and recognizing her very familiar scent brought so much back. All of it good, and I clung to those feelings like a lifeline.