Losing Her (8 page)

When we pull up to their house, Ace is the last to get out. She almost looks like she’s in physical pain as she walks toward the front door, and I feel my throat constrict. I don’t know if I’m feeling her pain or my own at this point. I just hurt.

I wrap my arm around her shoulders and feel her body tense below me, but she doesn’t make a move to get away from me as we reach the front door.

Kendall pushes the door fully open, and we all step inside, not sure of the proper protocols for this situation. I automatically notice that Zeus isn’t greeting us as he usually does, and I can tell Ace notices too as her eyes silently dart around.

“Kendall, do you recall that woman’s name that catered that charity gala you attended with me a couple of months ago at the museum? She made all those really delicious bite-sized hors d’oeuvres.” I’m shocked to hell when I see Muriel dressed in a skirt and blouse, her hair and makeup done.

I feel when Ace sees her. Her muscles become more strained and her hands ball into fists at her sides.

“Mom?” Kendall asks.

“Hi, sweethearts,” Muriel greets us. Her voice is slightly strained and her eyes avoid looking directly at us. I’m sure it’s because she’s on the edge of breaking, but seeing her fight to remain normal seems to make it even worse.

Jenny appears from the study and the sight of her face is enough to make anyone cry. Her chin trembles and her cheeks, which are stained with tears, grow a bright shade of red as she approaches us, seeking out her sisters. Kendall reaches for her and ties her arms around Jenny’s neck.

Hearing the front door open, I turn and see Kyle and Mindi walking in, both of them look exhausted and crushed. Mindi begins crying, it’s a ripping cry, like a feral cat. Kendall and Jenny react instantly, moving to her and all three embracing. Ace doesn’t turn to watch. I’m not sure if she’s seeing anything right now with the way her eyes are glazed over as she stares toward the kitchen.

“Oh, Ace,” Kyle says, looking past me.

I think he’s also sensing that something is eerily wrong with the girl he loves as a sister. He walks over to her, completely unfazed by her lack of acknowledgment, and wraps his arms around her. I feel a little better as I watch her barely tolerate Kyle’s affections.

Savannah and Caulder are the last of the family to arrive. Savannah starts explaining in a garbled voice about nursing and babysitters, which doesn’t fully make sense, but it’s irrelevant.

My mom comes over around nine. I can tell by her dazed expression that she must have just heard the news. Her eyes survey the house, looking more pained with each face she passes. When she finds me, she crosses the short distance and gives me a hug. “The hospital just called,” she whispers.

Abby and Jesse arrive within seconds of her, followed by Landon and Wes. Abby is like the sisters and doesn’t hesitate going to Ace, ignoring how her body folds further in on itself as she hugs her.

Adam, Ace’s Philosophy professor from last term, that began dating Jenny in December shows up shortly after, his hair still wet and his eyes anxious as he examines the mass of crying blonds. He’s been attending Sunday night dinners for the past couple of months, but I can tell he feels way in over his head by the amount of emotions erupting around us.

My mom tries to heat food, and follows behind Muriel, trying to assist her in organizing things. I still haven’t heard how David died. I don’t know how to ask. I’m not even sure if anyone even knows yet.

The guys and I take turns answering the door as flowers and food are delivered, accompanied by sympathetic smiles and waves. People offer to help in any way possible and inquire about how the family is doing. I can barely reply. I don’t know how the family is doing. All I know is something’s wrong, and I don’t know how to fix it or if I can.

The day is so long it feels as though four have been strung together. Many of the girls spend the day crying, huddled together in pairs of blond heads. Muriel maintains the same odd matter-of-fact aura about her that doesn’t seem fitting for her or the family as she wanders around, gathering things together, and calling people to schedule appointments.

Ace just seems distant and detached from everything. She cries a few different times, but never goes to anyone. Though, each time a matching blond head quickly seeks her out.

When night finally arrives, I’m not sure what to do. I want to be here for her, but I also don’t want to force anything on her. I recall my grandma telling me soon after my dad left that we all must deal with pain and loss, and that we each handle it differently, but we all experience it. I don’t want her to experience this alone.

Savannah and Caulder leave first after their babysitter calls. Mindi and Kyle aren’t far behind. Before they leave, each of them goes around holding one another for a prolonged moment, not speaking, just holding. Ace looks miserable. Progressively throughout the day, she’s become more and more reluctant to allow others to touch her, and by the time Kyle pulls away, I can sense that she’s reached her maximum allowance. Apparently Kyle does too because when he comes over to me, he places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes as if to silently wish me luck.

Adam is with Jenny and Lilly, watching a Disney movie in the den, and Jameson has already gone to Kendall’s room. Muriel seems to understand that the ‘no boys’ rule doesn’t apply after such a devastating event.

“We should let them get some rest. Why don’t we go next door, and we can come back tomorrow?” my mom suggests to our friends that have stayed to endure this hellish day.

“I want to help,” Abby says through fresh tears as Jesse pulls her closer to his side.

“You are, sweetheart, just by being here, you’re helping an insurmountable amount. But they need to rest,” my mom explains. She’s using her doctor’s voice. I know she’s had to deliver too many messages of bad news to families over the years and can see the pain of this loss on every inch of her, from her eyes that have remained laden with tears all day, to the deep frown that mars her brow and mouth, to her steady hands that never shake, which are now trembling.

“I’m going to stay.” My mom looks at me a moment and then nods. I don’t know what her expression silently tells me before she turns to leave. It was too brief and so many emotions were present, a single one was difficult to distinguish.

I head over to where Ace sits outside on the patio and place a hand on her knee as I kneel beside her. “I’m going to go get some sweats. I’ll be right back. Do you need anything?”

She shakes her head, refusing to look at me. She hasn’t looked at me all day, and it makes the shadow I woke up with loom more prominently inside of me.

After showering and pulling on some clean sweats, I go back to find Ace in her room, curled up into Zeus and crying. My heart aches as I tug on Zeus’s collar to get him to jump down and fill his spot. I trace my fingers over her spine and her cries become louder, filling me with more of my own tears. Her body is limp as I pull her closer to me. I’m pretty certain all of her fighting was expended trying to get through this day.

Eventually she falls asleep and I hold her to me. There’s something so unfamiliar between us right now, something that makes it difficult for me to relax and impossible for me to fall asleep.

Holding onto Ace begins to feel like gripping a handful of dry sand; the harder I work to comfort her and break through her walls, the more of her I lose.

The day of the funeral arrives and I feel the shadow looming with such darkness, it’s hard for me to focus on much else. I’ve been dreading this day. Everything is still so fresh and raw. I know the tiny layer of skin that has started to build over the deep wound is about to be ripped off, and I fear that the laceration may be deeper this time, especially for Ace, who still isn’t fairing well. I have yet to see her eat more than a few bites or sleep a full night.

A few days ago, she started vanishing. Completely disappearing. Always in the middle of the night when no one is there to see her go. She had asked me not to stay over anymore after the first night. I had tried not to act as hurt as I felt and nodded in response but begged her to let me help, to talk to me. She didn’t, and hasn’t.

The next night I was lying awake in my bed, mulling over Ace’s recent changes and contemplating what effects I caused and which were from David, when I received a frantic call from Kendall. It was two in the morning and Ace’s first act of disappearance, which turned into one of many. We were all freaked out, not sure of where she could have gone, as we scoured the entire house top to bottom and found her cell phone and belongings untouched. Her car was still in San Diego, so we knew she hadn’t driven anywhere.

Kendall called Caulder and Kyle, and Muriel called the police, as Jenny, Jameson, my mom, and I began frantically searching for her, calling out and waking up half of the neighborhood who joined in our efforts to find her. The police and the rest of the family arrived shortly thereafter.

It was Mindi who realized where she’d be. She was tucked away in the shop, fast asleep on the bench seat of Clementine.

“She and dad used to spend hours out here together when we were kids.” She said it like it wasn’t a big deal, but it was. I could sense it.

“Something isn’t right,” Kendall admitted softly.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Kyle kicking over a lawn chair and turned to watch as he looked up at the sky, spewing a train of curses. I didn’t know if it was to David, a higher being, or no one at all, but he bent over and picked up the same lawn chair he’d kicked and heaved it at the ground, following after it and kicking it viciously. I’m pretty sure it was his way of admitting that he also knew that things weren’t right.

I’ve hardly seen Ace all morning and have a feeling that’s what she’s intended.

People begin arriving, sifting through the funeral home, and still, I don’t see her. Apparently even Jenny and Kendall aren’t sure where she is, and she rode here with them.

Abby, Jesse, Adam, Jameson, and I comb the unfamiliar funeral home for her and come up empty handed. Finding her at her own house has proven to be difficult. How in the hell are we going to find her here?

“I know where she is,” Kyle says, dashing out a back door before any of us are able to comment.

I turn to follow him, and Muriel approaches me, asking me to bring the casseroles and other sundry food items like bags of lettuce and rolls that have continued to be left at their house to a homeless shelter. I’m about to object and suggest they actually heat one up. I haven’t seen any of them eat anything, let alone a meal, but she wastes no time turning and bustling over to straighten a large photo of David and the girls that sits on an easel by the open casket.

It’s been five days since David passed away. He’d been at work at Saint Andrew’s Hospital, surrounded by cardiac doctors and nurses—some of the best and most prominent surgeons in the country—but it had been too late from the moment it occurred.

They found out that David, a heart specialist, had an aortic aneurysm. They tried to resuscitate him. My mom said they had tried well past the point where even if he had come back, he would never have gained brain function again. But when it’s someone you care about, someone you love, how do you give up?

Classical music seeps through the speakers that are hidden precariously throughout the room as I anxiously glance around for Ace or Kyle. I finally notice her tucked under Pedro’s arm. She looks like a stranger to me. She’s lost weight and you can tell she hasn’t been sleeping from the deep purple shadows etched under her eyes. Seeing her like this guts me, and seeing her accept comfort from Pedro just makes the pain that much more pronounced.

The pastor that has been visiting the house regularly, making arrangements for this moment, stands at the small podium and says a quick greeting, queuing people to take a seat. I walk to the front where the rest of the Bosse family congregates, now missing two key members, David and Ace, and filled with several that I’ve recently been introduced to. I take a seat next to Kendall, who immediately reaches over and grasps my hand tightly in hers.

The girls had decided to each do a piece of the eulogy. Kendall had mentioned to me that the four of them worked separately on the message they wanted to share but had come together numerous times to ensure that the entire message flowed. Ace was never around when they did; she’d been absent a lot, and when she wasn’t physically gone, she was mentally.