Drowning Is Inevitable (25 page)

Feeling something like hope, I spotted my tree again and moved toward it, then stepped onto the big branch that lay on the ground. My arms went out to my sides for balance as I walked up to my favorite spot in the whole world. Once settled, I looked over at Jamie's house, my breath blowing out at the sight of it. I half expected to see his mom sitting out front, but she wasn't. There was no one there, no car in the driveway, no noise coming from inside, just wood and glass and an empty front porch swing.

I couldn't look at it any longer. I turned my head to the Mississippi River. The water had risen from all the rain. I closed my eyes and listened. Although the sound was fainter, I still heard the river's song, its sleepy lullaby rolling along the current, calling to me. My hands tightened on the branches as I felt the river pull at me. I became acutely aware of the tree around me, felt its solid trunk, and it felt like the tree was tightening around me, too, holding me in its seat. I knew I was safe, because my tree had stood in its spot for over a hundred years, and its roots were strong. It wouldn't let the river take me away.

My breathing slowed, my hands loosened their grip, and the sound of another song took my attention from the water. It was my grandmother, humming as she stooped over a flower bed in her side yard, checking the petals and smoothing them. It was the same song she'd sung to Lillian and me as babies, and the sound of it drowned out the river's song completely.

I listened to it as I looked at the landscape around me, and I thought about possibilities. I thought about where I'd gone and where I was headed, about tiny towns and big cities and all the roads in between. I thought about best friends and the word
forever,
about held hands and late-night promises made under stars. With the sound of my grandmother's humming in my ears, I thought about sacrifice. I remembered the words
I love you, I love you,
whispered by the boy I loved back. I leaned back against the branch of the tree and closed my eyes. I imagined myself somewhere new, someplace I'd never been.

W
e were headline news all over the state. The media said horrible things about Jamie. They said I made bad choices. They tried to explain the unexplainable, but they didn't know the whole story. Now you do. You know how I felt, what I dreamed. You know my part in it and yours, too.

We can stop pretending we don't know each other.

Your name is cold in the marble of your tombstone, no matter how hot the day gets. I'm obsessed with names on tombstones, another trait I got from you.

I finally went back in your old room the other day. I can still feel you there. I didn't stay long. I put your box of mementos back under your bed. I hope you don't mind, but I took your life list down from your wall and put it in the box. Some might say you didn't think your life was important. I put it there anyway.

I wrote my own list. There are 127 things on my list. It's hanging in my room next to my painting from Maggie. Max helped me write it.

Dr. Green says I don't have to stick to it as long as I keep making plans. She says I'm getting better. Some days I don't believe her. Sometimes it's hard to reconcile all of my feelings. She says that's normal, that hope and despair aren't mutually exclusive. I hope she's right.

Some people might say that spending so much time in a graveyard isn't a sign of improvement, but I don't care what anyone thinks anymore. Dr. Green says that attitude alone is a sign of my improvement. And she told me not to be scared of the parts of me that are like you, that it was okay to embrace the Lillian in me. I like that. Those are some of my favorite parts.

Dr. Green was the one who suggested I talk to you, said it might help me to tell you everything. I started talking to your tombstone when I came to visit. Now you know all of it, even the part you played. I imagine much of it was hard for you to hear, and I'm sorry.

I finally picked a school. It's this tiny liberal arts school in Arkansas that nobody's heard of. It's in the mountains, no rivers in sight. I always wanted to live in the mountains. I never told anyone that, not even Jamie. Max was disappointed that I didn't choose LSU, but it's no more than a day's drive away, and he's promised to make the trip often. I have no idea what my major will be. Dad's excited for me and a little sad that I'm leaving. Classes start soon. He promised that I'd always have a room to come home to. I can count on that promise, because he doesn't make them lightly. He proved that by keeping his promise to you, that he'd love you for the rest of his life. Even if at the time he made it, he didn't know you were sick.

I'm sorry no one knew how to help you. If it's any consolation, you're their biggest regret.

I've outlived you by ninety-two days. It's weird being older than your mom ever was. I guess I'll get used to it. Maybe one day I'll stop counting the days. I don't know how many I'll get, but I hope Jamie was right and that I'll live to be an old lady. Maybe I'll live to be eighty-three and die in a bed with my love lying next to me, whispering memories of a good life in my ear.

The sun is setting, and I need to go. I don't stay in the graveyard after dark anymore. We both know I'm going to sit with Jamie for a little while. I'll only stay long enough to tell him I still miss him. Then I'll walk out of here on my own.

Before I go, there's something else I need to say. Dr. Green says it's important to say it out loud.

I love you, Lillian. And I think you loved me, too.

Having a book out in the world has been a long time coming and would not have been possible without the help of some key people. The most surprising thing I've learned through this whole process is the number of people that it takes to make a book. I am floored by the amount of love and work that was poured into every page of this book by people who aren't me. I feel like we should all share a byline.

First, I must thank my agent, Kate McKean, fellow Southerner and all-around best person, who offered me representation even though this novel needed so much work in the beginning. I am amazed by her dedication, and I am so proud to be a part of her team.

I want to thank the entire team at Knopf Books for Young Readers. I am incredibly honored to be a part of this legacy. A special thank-you goes to Melanie Nolan, my lovely editor, whose vision matched my own and who knew just what to say to help me get the characters to do what I needed them to do. I think she loves them as much as I do, and working with her was an amazing experience, for which I am forever grateful. Also, a special thank-you goes to Karen Greenberg, editorial assistant and early cheerleader of my book, and copy editor Ellie Robins, who made me sound a lot smarter than I really am.

I owe a huge debt of gratitude to fellow writer John Corey Whaley, the kindest and most generous person I know, and who was one of the first people to read the book. He offered me support and advice at every turn, and I know, without a doubt, that this book would not exist if not for his encouragement.

Thank you to Lanette Kennedy Watson, one of my early readers and my best friend since high school. She is my Jamie, and like Olivia, I'd do anything for her.

To my brother, Shadly, for being the best uncle my children could have and for being such a good and supportive little brother.

Thank you to my mother, Sherlyn, who handed down her love of words and books to me. My fondest memories from my childhood are of her reading to me. Sometimes she read other people's stories and sometimes she read her own. She is, and always will be, my favorite writer. To my father, Sheldon, who showed me what it looks like to work hard. His work ethic is unparalleled. And to both of them for always making me believe I could be anybody and do anything.

Thank you to my children, Eliza and Jake, for being amazing and giving my life true purpose, and for not getting too upset with me when I had to work late.

I must thank my husband, Erik, for his unfailing support of every crazy idea I have, and for building me up and always being ready to gift me with four amazing words: “You can do this.” And also because he doesn't mind sharing me with my laptop. Most days. I love you.

And lastly, to the town of St. Francisville, Louisiana, and the people in it—thank you for inspiring me with your history, beauty, and kindness. You are a treasure.