The Problem With Crazy (36 page)

The prep time ended all too quickly, and soon Johnny and I were standing in a sea of caterers, some carrying platters of finger food, others with ice boxes and knives and other prep tools they’d need to make the hot food selection.

I watched as women in black shirts polished champagne flutes till they shone in the late evening sun that was quickly being marred by thick, storm clouds. Butterflies were crashing into my stomach lining, along with an overwhelming tidal wave of sadness.

Why wasn’t he here for this?

“Kate.” Johnny walked up to me. Outside we could see a few people stop to linger, some waiting next to the door for the security guard to permit their admission, others unashamedly exercising their right to stickybeak by covering their hands over their heads to peek in the window.

“Yes?” I asked. I touched his arm, feeling how slender it was, how very breakable this man in front of me had become. Yet he was still standing.

Some people are just strong. That’s all there is to it.

“Thanks for doing this.” Johnny nodded around the room, his eyes travelling over the paintings on the wall, the sound system Michael and Stacey were manning—together, I noted—and the few waiters who were lining up wines and beers ready for service. A steady hum enveloped the room. “I think it’s exactly the sort of … the sort of service he would have wanted.”

I raised one side of my lips in a sad smile. It hurt. It hurt like hell.

But I knew that, as opposed to an event where they mourned his death, Lachlan would have liked us to celebrate his art and his life instead.

It was a first he would have wanted to achieve, after all.

“Let’s do it.” I nodded to the security guard we’d hired, and he swept open the door.

The five people who’d been lingering outside walked in and headed straight for the wall with the art. One was clearly a reviewer, judging by the notepad and paper she held in her hands. She made a beeline for the wall and started to scribble down notes, and it took all my self-control not to linger over her shoulder and check she was writing only good things.

“This looks amazing.” Stacey grabbed my elbow. “You did it!” Her eyes were alive with enthusiasm.

“So, I guess this means you’re okay with me forcing you to spend time with Michael?” I scrunched up my nose.

“I guess.” Stacey narrowed her eyes at me. “But don’t let it happen again.” I was about to ask further questions when Michael came up behind her and threw a hand around her waist. She sunk into his support and I stepped back, a little shocked.

“It was that easy?” I asked. “I just had to get all
Parent Trap
on you and shut you in a room?”

“Apparently.” Stacey rolled her eyes at Michael. “He’s really persuasive, okay?” Michael nibbled on her ear and I shoved her arm away.

“Oh, guys! Come on. Gross.” I shook my head. Who knew I’d created such a monster?

I looked across the room and saw it filling up. People were everywhere, and now there was a definite line outside waiting to be ticked off the list and get in.

It was a success. Lachlan’s event, something I’d planned, was a success!

It just sucked, a constant stabbing pain, that he wasn’t here to enjoy it.

“Ka-tie.” Dad wrapped an arm around my shoulders. He was dressed in a suit jacket, shirt and tie, the sort of get-up I hadn’t seen him wear since well before he’d left us. “Looksh good.”

“Thanks.” I let him hold me close for a few moments before pulling away. A few people looked in our direction when they realised his voice was a little larger than life, but they soon went back to their own business.

“You’ve done a great job.” Mum smiled. She looked tired, the lines at the corners of her eyes sunken deep, but she was smiling. It was going to be okay.

“Thanks.” I nodded. The room was completely packed now, people milling around the display wall, waiters circling the room with drinks and snacks, moving in for the kill as soon as someone looked ready.

Lachlan would have loved this. He would have been talking to people in that carefree way he had, telling them about the theory behind his drawings, making people laugh and smile and—

Tears welled in my eyes and I tried desperately to blink them back. It was still so fresh. God, why did he have to die?

But you are going to live
.

The voice was small, and I felt a new wash of guilt over me once the thought was fully processed.

But it was true.

I’d liked him, so, so very much. I learned from him, more than I’d ever imagined you could learn from someone so close to your own age. Life sucked without him—more than I’d thought it ever could.

But I had Mum. I had Dad. I had Stacey, Michael, Johnny, a career and responsibilities.

I was going to be okay.

Not today.

But some day.

“Kate, it’s time.” Michael emerged from the crowd and nodded toward the microphone and amps we’d set up in front of the art for me to do my speech at. He’d been keeping an eye on the clock to make sure it happened exactly half an hour after the event started, for optimal coverage.

I took a glass of sparkling from one of the waiters and shouldered my way to the front, trying to focus on the little things: the scent of women’s perfume, the colours of people’s shirts, the shine that reflected from their shoes.

Just not on what I was about to do.

Say goodbye to a dead man.

I finally reached the front and stared down my nemesis, the black microphone and the stick it rested upon. I chewed my lip, nervous. Was I ready for this?

“Ahem.” I switched the instrument on and cleared my throat, right at the same time as a clap of thunder exploded outside. I looked nervously over the crowd. Some were turned to me, expectation written all over their blank faces, others were still conversing, continuing their lives like nothing had happened.

I felt my knees weaken and my heart speed up till it was pumping adrenalin through my body at what felt like eight times its normal rate. I searched the room for a friendly face, seeing only blank stares where I wanted to see smiles.

Why had I decided to do this again?

I shuffled my feet together and cleared my throat. Rain opened up, thundering against the tin roof, and I saw more eyes look my way, felt the ripple of attention float over the crowd and land on me.

I saw Dad, hands shoved in his pockets as he swayed back and forward on the balls of his feet. He gave a subtle thumbs up. My heart warmed.

I saw Johnny. His eyes were sad, darkened by a heartache I could never experience. Still, he was here, beer in hand, standing next to a journalist I recognised from the national paper. He gave me a tiny smile.

If he can do it …

“Good evening.” The words were out of my mouth before I knew I’d spoken. Instantly, the people who hadn’t been looking looked, arms folded expectantly, eyes alive with demand.

Shit.

“Thank you all for coming here tonight to celebrate the works of Lachlan—Lachlan Smith,” I said. A few people golf clapped.

Cringe.

“I had the pleasure of knowing Lachlan on both a professional and personal basis.” My voice was shaking so hard I worried that the words would stop coming out, broken up by all the emotion I felt welling inside me. How could I do this without him here?
Why
had I thought this would work?

Why?

“Yesh!”

My heart sunk.

One hundred pairs of eyes shifted from me to the back of the room.

Dad.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

“A good man.” Dad nodded enthusiastically. He pumped his hands together. “A good man.”

I chewed my lip. Of all the times for Dad to have a moment …

“He was a good man,” I repeated. Eyes flew back to me. I froze, unsure of what to do next. I opened and closed my mouth. I hadn’t thought people would let the idea of my sick father go so easily.

Continue your speech, idiot.

“He was a really good man. One of the best,” I said. “He loved to create art, although he’d never really admit it was art. To him, it was all experiences.” I gave a wry smile, and a few people in the audience laughed. I saw Leslie at the back of the room. Johnny must have invited her.

Or maybe Lachlan had.

“The thing about Lachlan was—he was so intent on experiencing life, on trying new things and appreciating everything,” I said. I glanced behind me at the wall of images, each just as overwhelming as the next. “He didn’t believe in good, or bad. Everything was a tiny awesome component of a greater scheme.”

I caught my breath in my throat. Tears welled in my eyes and I knew I stood no chance of holding them back. Not right now. Not with all this.

But it was okay.

I didn’t have to.

“It’s hard … it’s hard to see the good in his passing.” I gulped down a sob, but a new one choked up my throat to replace it. An army of crying came forward in little sobbing breaths. I pressed my lips together, hoping to supress it, yet failing. “But I know he would have said s … something like everything happens for a reason, or it’s bad he died, but it was part of a good experience as a whole, or … Or …” My shoulders started to shake and I couldn’t stop the tears. They overtook my body and I knew my eyeliner was running, my mascara giving me the worst case of panda eyes ever, but I didn’t care.

Why? Why had he died and why had I decided to do this stupid event, anyway?

I felt an arm snake around my shoulders and I gratefully sunk toward it. I needed an arm right now, any arm. I rested my weight against this rock, who was there for me when I needed it most, and cried, in front of one hundred members of the public, some known to me, others not.

It only lasted for ten seconds, maybe fifteen, but it felt like an eternity of my pain in the spotlight, ripped open for everyone to see. Eventually, though, I opened my eyes.

And saw it was Dad who’d supported me.

Dad who was standing next to me.

I took a deep breath and stepped forward again, moving toward the microphone.

I can do this.

“Lachlan’s whole philosophy on life was no regrets,” I said. My voice wavered, but I continued. “And I know he would have loved for you all to see his artwork today. He captured a series of moments that I know were special to him—that were special to lots of people in his life—” I caught Johnny’s eye again, and we shared a knowing look, “—and I think that’s why he made such amazing pieces. He saw the good in everything. He wanted to share those things he held dear, and let others feel the magic of his life, his experiences, and his very being.”

I paused. Every eye in the room was focused. A strange sense of calm washed over me.

“And, if you walk away from here with a desire to try things like he did, to share things like he did—” I bit my lip to stop the tears that threatened to overwhelm me again. “—then I’m sure he’d say his job was done. Thank you.”

I pushed out of Dad’s hold and walked away from the microphone. I shouldered through the crowd, desperate to reach the security of the backroom.

Behind me, the crowd erupted into a cacophony of noise, giving the rain that was pelting down on the roof a run for its money. As I walked past people I didn’t know I felt eyes looking at me, judging me, not unkindly. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

I just needed to be alone, and to hurt for a while.

I reached the door to the staffroom and twisted, ready to walk inside when I heard my name.

Over the microphone.

“Kate did an amazing job putting this together here tonight.”

I spun around, my dress flaring around my knees.

Michael.

What?

“And Lachlan was a really special guy,” Michael said. His eyes were alive with empathy, sad and pure. He gripped one hand around the microphone, like he was singing into it. I guess he’d seen more people do that than speak into one of late.

“As a way to commemorate his life even further, we’d like to invite a very special friend of mine to the stage to play a small tribute. This is a total surprise; Kate, your lovely event planner, doesn’t even know about it.”

My eyes widened as I scanned the crowd. He wouldn’t have invited Dave to sing. Would he? Why would he do that, after everything, and—

That’s when I saw the man with the guitar walk over to Michael. He was tall, with dark hair, piercing blue eyes and a five o’clock shadow that would send any girl weak at the knees.

“Introducing, Lee Collins, everybody.”

The room burst into applause. Everyone knew the lead singer of Coal, and a host of camera flashes went off as people surged forward, trying to get closer to the makeshift stage, closer to Lee Collins.

Instead of throwing myself through the open door and locking myself in solitude, I pressed my back up against it.

Michael had gotten Lee-
freaking
-Collins to play at Lachlan’s event.

I blinked back another tear.

Could this day get any more emotional?