The Problem With Crazy (34 page)

“I don’t even want to organise a funeral. I just—do you get how hard this is?” Johnny’s eyes were desperate, needing me to understand.

I realised I couldn’t. Sure, my life sucked.

But I could never truly understand the gravity of his.

“I don’t.” I shook my head softly. “But he was one of the good things. He made life okay. And I—I just want to celebrate that.”

“I’ll text you,” Johnny mumbled and walked off, his shoulders slumped, his stride slow.

I sank back down to the table, pulling my hair at the sides. Had I made things worse for him? I’d thought it was a nice idea. I didn’t mean to hurt him, not more than I already felt he was hurting. I tried to imagine the relativity of his pain scope in comparison to mine.

It ran pretty damn deep.

I fiddled with the little men on the chessboard for twenty minutes, a game against myself. Was I doing the right thing? Was there a right thing, or a wrong thing, or anything?

“Kate.”

“Michael.” I mustered up a weak smile and stood, accepting his tentative hug. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“S’okay.” He shrugged, taking the chair opposite mine. “We playing chess?”

“Kind of.” I bit my lip. “I’ve never played chess in a park before.”

“Cool.” Michael moved one of his pawns forward. Relief washed over me.

I could do this.

I could still do new things.

“So, I heard about Lachlan,” Michael said, taking the rook I’d let venture too close to his knight. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I replied automatically. “And the stuff with Dave—the song—I know that wasn’t your fault, either.” My eyes locked on the chessboard, trying to figure out how to take his queen. He was a skilled player, well protected.

It was only when I heard a sniffle I looked up.

“Michael?”

“I’m just—I feel so bad.” He shook his head, wiped his nose with his hand.

What was wrong with me today?

I’d made two men cry at the same park bench.

“I can’t believe I didn’t know what he was doing with the … the song,” Michael gulped the words down, like he was internalising the pain they clearly bought him.

“It’s not your fault,” I repeated. “Honestly, right now, the song seems like such a tiny part of my problems.”

“Oh.” Michael cocked his head to the side. “So what did you want to meet for?”

The guy had a point. Sure, we’d been friends through Dave for years, and he’d been hanging around, near and off Stacey at every opportunity he’d gotten, but we’d never clocked up any solo time together. This was entirely unusual.

“Well.” I pursed my lips together. I needed to choose my next words carefully.

“I’ve been asked to join Coal.” Michael blurted out the words, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “Lee was furious when he found out what Dave had done. He dumped us as a warm-up, but his bass player had quit the band, and he asked me to join in his place.”

“Congratulations!” I broke out into a smile. That really was amazing news.

“I’m stoked, y’know? I gave him your address,” Michael continued. He knocked my queen over with his bishop, easy as you like. “Dave told him about your dad, clearly, and when he heard the song he wanted to send you some flowers. I hope that’s cool. He’s a really nice guy.” Michael’s eyes lit up, and I couldn’t help but grin along with him. I’d seen the flowers from Lee, but it just hadn’t seemed real. Nothing seemed real lately.

Even a celebrity sending me flowers.

A tiny shiver ran down my spine. Lee-
freaking
-Collins had sent me flowers! The me of three months ago would have been ecstatic.

Today, I was pleased. Not knee-shaking, heart-racing pleased, as I’d been when I’d met him, and nowhere
near
as pleased as I’d been when I first stared at Lachlan’s lips, when I didn’t even know his name—but I appreciated the gesture.

Wow. I’d changed.

“It’s fine,” I said. I moved my rook across and took his queen. Maybe I could still win this thing after all.

I placed my hands on the table, on either side of the chessboard, and felt a vibration rumble through them.
My phone.
I picked it up, slid the screen to unlocked to see what it would say.

The launch is on. I need to do this. Johnny.

A rush of relief swept through my body. I needed to do this, too. I needed to do one last thing for the boy who’d done so much for me. The boy who’d showed me things, like no other.

The boy who’d been cruelly stripped from me.

“Sorry, you were speaking.” Michael ducked his eyes back to the chessboard.

“Yeah,” I continued. “It’s about Stacey.”

“I’m all ears.” Michael knocked down his king in surrender.

I pursed my lips together.

For the first time in months, it was my move.

I
T WAS
D Day. I woke up for the eighth time since I’d fallen asleep the night before, nerves gnawing at my innards like gnats at a dead thing.

In a way, I was. Parts of me still felt dead. I physically ached when I remembered losing Lachlan, losing the whole man I’d called my father, and losing a part of me. The feeling of sorrow roiled around in my stomach, pounding me from the inside.

Other parts of me felt numb. I was dead in the sense that I wasn’t here. I could look down at my actions and think
Well, that’s what someone who is supposed to be mourning does
. I was distant from finalising the caterers, from buying groceries, from fixing Dad breakfast. I was just going through the motions, and keeping on keeping on. Surviving.

The thing was—and this really got me—there was a part of me that wasn’t dead
or
numb. A tiny spark was alive inside of me. It wondered if I had the disease or not. I was curious about the future, about doing more events, going to college, trying to find someone who’d understand my condition just like Lachlan had.

I felt guilty when I indulged it, when I let that little spark breathe and gave it some air. I didn’t want it to become a fire. I wasn’t ready for that. The pain was too much, the dying inside of me too all-consuming.

But still.

There was a little light.

“Do you like it?” Leslie’s eyes were wide. She nodded toward the large, blue chaise lounge in the room, stretched from one end of the window to the other.

I walked over to it, squashed its surface with my hand. It was firm underneath, yet soft to the touch, a suede material covering the exterior. It was bright blue, a hideous colour that almost hurt the eyes to look at.

“It’s pretty good.” I nodded. I gingerly sat on the edge of it, my fingers gnawing at the stitching. It figured. I’d badgered my genetics counsellor to get one quality item to make my experience more relaxing, and now I was too hyped up to use it.

“How have you been?” Leslie’s eyes softened. She must know, I deduced. Figured. Johnny saw one of the other counsellors at the centre.

“There have been better months.” I studied the flecks of coloured stone on the tiled floor.
Better
. That was putting it mildly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why do people say that?” I ran a hand through my hair. Keep it together, Kate. “You say ‘I’m sorry’, but it’s not like it can change things. Nothing can change things.”

Except maybe time.

“People apologise as a way to try and convey their condolences.” Leslie clasped her hands over her knee. She was wearing a taupe nail polish. It was funny, the way every acute detail about her imprinted itself to my brain. “It’s also to make them feel better, too.”

“You apologised to me to make
you
feel better?”

“A little.” Leslie shrugged. “That’s who we are as humans. We seek ways to feel better.”

I turned to face the window. The old man was there with the young woman, the same couple I’d seen on my first day at the centre. She held his arm as he limped across the garden, their shadows running long against the deep green grass.

Funny. I thought he’d have died by now.

He’s alive and Lachlan is dead.

“It’s not fair, Leslie.” I searched her face for something. Anything. I needed answers.

“You’ve heard the one about life not being meant to be fair, right?”

“You think?” I arched an eyebrow.

“There’s supposed to be a patient/client confidentiality thing in place.” Leslie’s eyes darted to each corner of the room, like she was worried someone would duck out from behind the chaise lounge with a recorder or something. “But I want to tell you something.”

I shrugged, giving her permission. What could she have to tell me that would change anything now? After all that had happened?

“We talk about death a lot in this centre.” Leslie tapped a pen against her armrest, making a sharp, clicking noise. “And people always see it differently.”

I looked outside. The old man and the young woman were sitting down now, his back propped up against the gnarled tree trunk, her shoulders hunched as she crouched down next to him. He was smiling, a huge, gap-toothed grin. Her face was terse. She had the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“One of our more … recent patients.” Leslie’s voice shook, ever so slightly. “He had encountered death a lot. Lots of his family members had died, and at one point, it looked inevitable that he would die soon, too.”

I wanted to mutter something smart, like
Gee, I wonder who that could be.
But, I didn’t. I didn’t want to enough.

“We’d talk about death, and we’d ask him if he were afraid. If he were worried about pain, about the unfairness of it all, about what would happen beyond,” Leslie said. “And do you know what he said?”

Another arched eyebrow.

“That he’d lived a good life.”

Huh?

“That it sucked. And he didn’t like it. But he’d experienced lots of things, he’d met a lot of special people—” At that, I think her eyes flicked pointedly in my direction, “—and that how could he regret life when he’d been given so many blessings?”

I bit my lip and pushed my feet up, reclining against the soft chaise lounge. It was cool underneath my hot skin, firm and supportive. I didn’t want to speak. Did she think I was an idiot? That I didn’t get what she was doing here?

It was all a ploy to make me feel better. He would never have said something like that, and if he did, he wouldn’t have believed it.

Although he did tell you pretty much the same thing.

But he wouldn’t have meant it.

Would he?

“Now, would you like to learn your results today?” Leslie must have sensed my shift in mood as her hands busied themselves amongst the papers on her desk. I nodded, but it felt like my mind had left my body.

Oh, God. Did I want to do this, really and truly? Knowing there would be no Lachlan there to support me if it was positive? That I might never work, or find love, or be happy again?

Or would I?

My mind flashed back to the first day I was here, when I’d thought all those things, no matter what my results would be. Then I thought about Lachlan, Johnny, Dave, Stacey, planning the art event, and everything else that had happened in between. I’d thought back then it was going to be a yes, and look at all I’d achieved. I thought about my
dad
.