Wish Upon a Star (19 page)

The first box of Mom's things was a struggle. What made it
tough was the diary I found. She'd started writing in it shortly after
Dad had died. It contained observations of how she felt, musings on
life as a new widow and a few de facto letters to Dad.

I knew they'd loved each other, but until I read those letters,
I never fully appreciated the depth of that love. I added the diary to
the "keep" items. If Annie and I could spend our lives together with
half the devotion my parents gave to each other, we'd have it made
in the shade.

The strains of Brandi Carlile's "Pride and Joy" coming from
my phone roused me from my musings. It was fun identifying callers
by ring tone. This ringtone was assigned to Gloria.

"I haven't heard from you since our chat in the truck. How
you doing, honey?"

"Making progress, literally and figuratively." I told her about
the resolution to work my way through the boxes.

"I've only got two left. Man, I've learned a ton, and being
here by myself has given me a lot of time to think."

"Is that a good or a bad thing?"

"Little bit of both. Doing this has brought up a lot of
memories, and I haven't even gotten to the box Evan's mom and dad
gave me. God, I miss them."

"I know you do. I do, too."

"But I think I'm getting there. Once I finish with these last
ones, I'll have a few visits to make and then it'll be time to go see
Annie."

"That's fine to hear. Have you thought about what you're
going to say to her?"

"I'm working on it. You haven't spoken to her by any chance,
have you?"

Gloria laughed. "That's so you, always fishing for
information. I'm sorry honey, I haven't. She made it pretty clear she
was leaving this ball in your court."

"I hope I don't dribble it off my foot." I promised Gloria that
I'd touch base with both her and Miranda before I took off, and we
said our goodbyes.

The second to last box contained a bunch of documents from
Mom's estate. I decided to keep those for another couple of years or
so, just to be on the safe side. After the hoops I'd gone through with
the bogus labor claim against VMD, I was in no hurry to pitch legal
papers.

Day eight of E.J.'s Great Purge to Learn to Let Go of the Past
dawned clear and cool. Without even a hint of a cloud in the sky and
no wind to speak of, I wanted so badly to forget about the box and go
for a ride before it warmed up. A picture on my dresser of Annie and
me in Ireland, taken during her tour, snapped me back to
reality.

After breakfast and a shower, I dragged myself back to the
couch to face Evan's box. In a way, this was the box I'd been dreading
the most. With Mom and Dad's things, I had an inkling of what I was
probably going to find.

With Evan's box, not so much.

I'd used every excuse in the book not to go through this
container. It had arrived from Evan's parents a few weeks before I'd
left to go on tour with Annie, so I'd told myself at the time I was too
busy to deal with it. When we'd returned to Indy over the holidays
and then during Annie's chemo treatments, again I'd claimed to have
too many irons in the fire to mess with it. After the past week, I knew
different.

I'd been too chicken to open that wound again. But now, it
was time. On the count of three, I flipped the lid off. I did a quick scan
of the contents and shook my head. It wasn't the Velo Messenger
& Delivery mementos that surprised me. Nor was it the
clippings of our days racing together. No, what had caught me off
guard was the bottle of Jameson's Irish Whiskey, Evan's favorite,
with a folded piece of paper taped to it.

I took the bottle out and placed it on the coffee table. The
paper mocked me, daring me to have the guts to read it. Between
rubbing my hands and licking my lips, you'd have thought I was
getting ready to defuse a nuclear warhead.
McCarty, you are so
lame.

With a sigh, I got up and walked to the patio door.

"Dammit, Evan. Why the hell did you have to go and leave
me a note?" I slid the door open. The warm, humid air assaulted me
along with memories of Evan—his booming voice, his long blonde
hair, the Metallica tattoo on his shoulder.

With an unsteady gait, I crossed the patio and grabbed the
railing. I sucked in a long breath in an attempt to calm my roiling
emotions. I thought I'd made my peace with Evan's passing when I'd
visited the pinnacle of Mont Ventoux. While that had been a nice
symbolic gesture, I now knew I couldn't put his passing behind me
until I read whatever was in the note.

I pounded my fist on the wrought iron railing. I'd almost
made it through this process. Why now, when the finish line was in
sight, was I faced with something I wasn't sure I could handle?

Because this was exactly what this exercise was about:
defeating those demons haunting my past once and for all. And
moving truly forward, not looking back every time I took a step.

"Okay, then. Let's see what you left me, Evan." I returned to
the couch and pulled the paper off the bottle. After reading the note, I
leaned back and let out a loud, long laugh. The instructions from
beyond the grave were ones I could handle.

I set the note aside and fulfilled the first directive by
informing Dave and Paul I needed their help with a mission Evan had
left for me. Once we hashed out when they could spend an evening at
my place, going through the rest of the documents proved to be a
cruise around the block.

That left me with a couple of days until Paul and Dave were
coming over. I used that time well. First, I went to Mom's and Dad's
graves. It was my first visit.

In retrospect, I suppose my excuse that I could talk to them
whenever I wanted and didn't need to make a trip was just that, an
excuse. The dark, foreboding scene I'd visualized never materialized
as I pulled open the door and stepped into the mausoleum that now
served as Mom and Dad's "home." The polished stone walls reflected
the overhead lighting just enough to provide warmth to the large
room. The carpet runner muffled my steps as I made my way
through the building.

Mom and Dad had joked that when they died, they were
getting "shelved" one final time. I didn't laugh then, but now, as I
found their spot about six feet above the ground, I managed a smile.
Running my fingers over the letters and numbers that had been
engraved into the covering plate, my smile morphed into a
frown.

I'd been wrong not to visit.

"Sorry it took so long to come see you guys. I suppose you
probably know that already." I let out a shaky laugh.

"I hope you're both okay with me pitching so much from
those boxes. Mom, I'm really sorry I never listened to you when you
tried to reason with me about Dad's passing. And Dad, while I'll
always regret not getting to say goodbye to you in person one final
time, it's a relief to know you didn't suffer."

Once I got going, I don't know how long I talked. With
nobody else in the building, I didn't feel pressured to hurry out of
there. I told them about Gloria's latest initiatives at the Co-op and
Paul's thoughts of opening a second Cycles Forever store. I gave
them every detail of Miranda's wedding.

"You would have loved it Mom. Miranda looked amazing,
and her husband Ryan's a great guy."

Then I told them about Annie. About meeting her in
Chicago's Union Station and heading west with her without having
any idea who she really was. I recounted the ups we'd been through,
like the concert tour, as well as the downs, like her cancer
treatment.

"You'd like her Dad. Underneath the entertainer glitz, she's
an incredibly sharp businesswoman. And Mom, well... You told me
you wanted me to give your Claddagh to 'The One.' Annie's The One
and I did."

I let out a long sigh. There was one more stop to make
before the end of the day. I placed my hand on the space between
their names. The marble was cool to the touch and yet somehow
comforting.

"I'm going to go see her in a couple of days. I know what I
want to say, but I'm not certain she'll want to listen. As you probably
know, she can be kind of stubborn at times. So if you see her dad, Mr.
Wilson, up there, can you ask him to put in a good word for me? I'd
appreciate it because I... I need her."

After a step back, I lowered my hand to my side and cleared
my throat. "I miss you both so much. I'll try to make you proud and I
love you." I turned and strode out of the building.
Next time I come
back, I'll bring Annie with me
.

My final stop of the day was the Co-op. Gloria raised an
eyebrow when I waved at her on my way to the work station
area.

"Well, this is a surprise. What brings you by?"

"Mind if I help myself to some of the junk stuff? I need to
build up a bike for a display." I rummaged through the components
that weren't up to snuff to be reused. Typically, we let the pile grow
until there was enough to take to the recycler to make some cash.
The pieces I was grabbing were going to contribute to a higher
purpose.

"What do you mean by a display?"

I tossed a seat post and front rim onto the frame and fork I'd
picked out. "It's part of my letting go. Meet me at the accident site
tomorrow at three."

Aidan helped me haul the bike parts to my car. When we
closed the trunk, I turned to him.

"Be at the accident site at three tomorrow and bring a
camera."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Okay, but dude, what's going
on?"

"We're going to have a little memorial service for Evan. It
won't take long, and it won't be anything formal. But it's something I
need to do and I want you and G, and any of the other couriers who
can make it there. I gotta go. See you tomorrow."

I lowered the windows and cranked up the Foo Fighters on
the drive home. I felt liberated, singing along with Dave Grohl and
the guys. It was almost like a shadow that had been following me for
years was fading, bit by bit, into nothingness. But it wasn't because I
was running from it. It was because it had reached the end of its
journey and had come to a stop.

My journey, on the other hand, had resumed its course. I'd
crashed and landed in a ditch when Annie had left. I'd gotten back on
the bike though, and with the help of some dear friends, had gotten
moving down the road again, with purpose. Two more lines to cross
here in Indy and then it'd be time to win back my podium girl.

Dave was right. It did feel like I was learning to walk
again.

Once I got home, I set about assembling the bike parts. For
this particular project, it didn't need to work, just look like a
complete bike. Some parts were rusty and needed a good scrubbing
to be presentable, but nothing was bent, so by the time I headed to
bed, the bike was assembled. I'd even scrounged up a couple of old
tires that were no longer road-worthy. If it would've been rideable, it
would have been a single speed rather than the fixed gear that Evan
rode, but it was close enough.

When I woke up the next morning, I went right back to
work. I grabbed a can of white spray paint off the shelf and gave it a
good shake. It was left over from a project I'd helped Paul with and
was almost full. With the can in one hand, I slipped the bike over my
shoulder and headed outside.

I'd lucked out with the weather. It was cloudy, but not
humid, which I hoped would help the paint dry quickly. After a
couple more shakes, I started spraying the bike a glossy white.
Starting with the rear tire, I covered everything—the spokes, the seat,
the handlebars. When I made it to the front, I took a breakfast break,
and then returned for a second coat.

The nozzle on the can sputtered, and the paint ran out
before I was completely satisfied with the coverage, but it was close
enough. I took a couple of steps back and nodded at my handiwork.
Despite the warmth of the day, I broke out in goose bumps as I
studied the memorial I'd created for my fallen friend.

Evan's Ghost Bike.

A quick drive downtown later, I strode up to the site where
Evan had been hit. I had the bike over one shoulder and a backpack
full of materials I'd need over the other.

Aidan rushed up to me and took the bike in his hands. His
smile was as wide as an interstate highway as he lifted the bike off
my shoulder, clear reverence in this eyes.

"Dude, this is perfect."

We walked silently side-by-side the last thirty feet or so, to
where Gloria and a few of the couriers were standing.

"What is that thing," Gloria asked.

Aidan answered for me. "It's Evan's ghost bike. When a
cyclist loses his or her life in an accident, a bike is painted white and
attached to something close to where the accident happened. It's a
memorial to that person, and to all cyclists who've been hit and
didn't make it."

I pulled a Sharpie out of the backpack's outer pocket. "If you
all want, you can write something on the bike before we lock it to
that light pole."

Writing anything more than a few words on a bicycle was
hard, so the messages were short. In a few minutes, everyone had
signed but me. Like the others, I kept it simple.

See you at the next finish line Evan. Tailwinds,
Mac

I pulled out a length of chain and a beat up combination lock
and chained the bike to the pole. We took turns having our picture
taken with the bike. After that, we dispersed with little fanfare.

Gloria joined me on the walk back to my car.

"That was a nice thing you did there. What did Aidan call
it?"

"A ghost bike. If anybody deserved one, Evan did. I went and
visited Mom and Dad yesterday. Since I couldn't exactly visit Evan on
account of the whole cremation thing, this idea popped in my
head."

"How long do you think that bike will stay there?"

I shrugged. "Not long probably. But the main thing's we
honored Evan."