It’s in my head. Bouncing around like a beach ball. Jade’s last words to me. “Shut it, Cate, and let me die in peace.” She’d smiled, squeezed my hand, and then she was gone. I’m walking. Walking on a PEI beach in my sweatshirt and pajama pants and flip-flops with my dark hair tangled and down, with a very special something in my pocket. It sags down, far down, but no one else is here and, to be honest, I don’t care. The sun is beginning to rise and I inhale through my nose sharply. It’s the same sunset, the same feeling as the first morning without my sister. It’s a sinking feeling, the way I felt when we lost our pet fish. But worse, much, much worse, than that. Jade was always strong and no one ever, ever expected her to die. She was the star centre on her competitive soccer team, the second-best on her track team, and she went to the gym every Tuesday and Thursday. But the brain tumor came so quickly that it couldn’t be stopped. I take out the tiny marble box from my pocket and finger it between gloved hands. Jade’s ashes, some at least. I’d stolen it from Mom’s dresser. Remembering the day that she had the tumor, I stiffen and put it back. It started with a simple headache at school; her teacher said she was fine and her friends insisted she could stay. A migraine when she got home—Mom’s aspirin didn’t work. “It’ll be done by morning,” Dad had assured her. I could hear Jade crying from her room—then it turned to screaming and things went downhill from there. She was throwing up, feeling dizzy, but her headache was the worst. Mom realized how bad it was and took her to the Montague hospital. I stayed home. “Is Jade gonna be okay?” I had asked. Dad sighed and turned away from me. His phone rang and he answered it. “She’s being moved to Charlottetown,” he reported. Souris to Montague, Montague to Charlottetown, Charlottetown to Halifax. In Halifax they determined she had a brain tumor, and Dad used some of the little money we had to fly us out there. The doctors assumed she would live two more weeks. It was less than two weeks. Four days later she died. “At least we know she’s safe now,” Mom had choked out. I should have died instead of her. I was the one they were always protecting, shielding from diseases, the frail girl of the family. Jade—my strong, determined older sister—was different. It’s been a month now. February was always Jade’s favorite month. “The best time for track,” she’d joke with me. In truth, she did love running in it. Jade was never delicate and once she ran half a marathon in this weather. She came back with her fingers and toes frozen and frostbitten, and Mom wanted to take her to the doctor, but Jade just laughed and went to bed until noon the next morning. The box is getting heavier in my pocket. I plant my feet into the wet sand and grope for something, anything, that will stop the tears. Like there’ll be a box of Kleenex somewhere on a beach. Now I’m crying, sobbing silently, as the orange-pink sun hovers just over the horizon and climbs the soft coral sky over me. The water splashes quietly onto the shore and laps gently on my feet. I tear my flip-flops off and fling them away. “Why?” I scream. I break down on a big piece of driftwood and stay silent for a moment. Then there’s a sound, a disturbance in my upset tranquility. Footsteps. It’s Mom. “Hi, Cate,” she says softly, and sits down beside me. “What is it?” “I miss Jade.” I’m still crying a bit, and Mom puts her arm around me, her silky blond hair brushing against my cheek. “I know.” Mom looks out to the horizon. “I miss her, too.” “Mom?” I lean against her shoulder. “Could—could she have lived?” Mom bites her lip and takes her arm away from my shoulders. “I’ve been thinking about it, and…no. We found out too late. I’m sorry, Cate. It’s my fault. I should’ve noticed earlier.” “ Now I’m crying, sobbing silently, as the orange-pink sun hovers just over the horizon and climbs the soft coral sky over me. “It’s not your fault,” I say in a wobbly voice. “Not at all.” She turns away. “No, Cate…Catelyn Fuller, you don’t know what I know. I’ve spoken with the doctors. I’ve made sure. They said…they confirmed… that Jade would have lived if I’d gotten her there on time.” Two swift dark cormorants whoosh by, nimble as they swoop over the rocks, racing silently to the water. The wind whistles quietly. Mom’s words echo in my head. I take out Jade’s ashes from my pocket and set them back on the log. Mom turns around. “Oh my goodness,” she whispers hoarsely. “You kept this?” she continues, and a tear trickles down her cheek. “I thought I’d lost it. I’ve searched the house for this. Cate, I am so mad at you for stealing this but god, I’m happy to see it again!” I ignore the fact that she’s never said that before and pick up the small box, cold in my hands, to press it into Mom’s ice-cold palms. Her hands automatically curl protectively around it and she smiles sadly. “Jade,” she whispers, half to herself. I stand up. “Mom?” “Jade,” she says again. “I mean—yes, Cate?” “You should head back,” I murmur, squeezing her wrist. “I will.” She blinks back tears and squeezes back. “I will.” And she heads down the beach towards the dirt road back home. It’s quiet as she leaves. A crab scuttles towards my feet and buries itself in the sand. I wipe my face on my sleeve. The waves ripple across the sand and I look up suddenly, startled as a slender white
May 2018
Echoes
It’s in my head. Bouncing around like a beach ball. Jade’s last words to me. “Shut it, Cate, and let me die in peace.” She’d smiled, squeezed my hand, and then she was gone. I’m walking. Walking on a PEI beach in my sweatshirt and pajama pants and flip-flops with my dark hair tangled and down, with a very special something in my pocket. It sags down, far down, but no one else is here and, to be honest, I don’t care. The sun is beginning to rise and I inhale through my nose sharply. It’s the same sunset, the same feeling as the first morning without my sister. It’s a sinking feeling, the way I felt when we lost our pet fish. But worse, much, much worse, than that. Jade was always strong and no one ever, ever expected her to die. She was the star centre on her competitive soccer team, the second-best on her track team, and she went to the gym every Tuesday and Thursday. But the brain tumor came so quickly that it couldn’t be stopped. I take out the tiny marble box from my pocket and finger it between gloved hands. Jade’s ashes, some at least. I’d stolen it from Mom’s dresser. Remembering the day that she had the tumor, I stiffen and put it back. It started with a simple headache at school; her teacher said she was fine and her friends insisted she could stay. A migraine when she got home—Mom’s aspirin didn’t work. “It’ll be done by morning,” Dad had assured her. I could hear Jade crying from her room—then it turned to screaming and things went downhill from there. She was throwing up, feeling dizzy, but her headache was the worst. Mom realized how bad it was and took her to the Montague hospital. I stayed home. “Is Jade gonna be okay?” I had asked. Dad sighed and turned away from me. His phone rang and he answered it. “She’s being moved to Charlottetown,” he reported. Souris to Montague, Montague to Charlottetown, Charlottetown to Halifax. In Halifax they determined she had a brain tumor, and Dad used some of the little money we had to fly us out there. The doctors assumed she would live two more weeks. It was less than two weeks. Four days later she died. “At least we know she’s safe now,” Mom had choked out. I should have died instead of her. I was the one they were always protecting, shielding from diseases, the frail girl of the family. Jade—my strong, determined older sister—was different. It’s been a month now. February was always Jade’s favorite month. “The best time for track,” she’d joke with me. In truth, she did love running in it. Jade was never delicate and once she ran half a marathon in this weather. She came back with her fingers and toes frozen and frostbitten, and Mom wanted to take her to the doctor, but Jade just laughed and went to bed until noon the next morning. The box is getting heavier in my pocket. I plant my feet into the wet sand and grope for something, anything, that will stop the tears. Like there’ll be a box of Kleenex somewhere on a beach. Now I’m crying, sobbing silently, as the orange-pink sun hovers just over the horizon and climbs the soft coral sky over me. The water splashes quietly onto the shore and laps gently on my feet. I tear my flip-flops off and fling them away. “Why?” I scream. I break down on a big piece of driftwood and stay silent for a moment. Then there’s a sound, a disturbance in my upset tranquility. Footsteps. It’s Mom. “Hi, Cate,” she says softly, and sits down beside me. “What is it?” “I miss Jade.” I’m still crying a bit, and Mom puts her arm around me, her silky blond hair brushing against my cheek. “I know.” Mom looks out to the horizon. “I miss her, too.” “Mom?” I lean against her shoulder. “Could—could she have lived?” Mom bites her lip and takes her arm away from my shoulders. “I’ve been thinking about it, and…no. We found out too late. I’m sorry, Cate. It’s my fault. I should’ve noticed earlier.” “ Now I’m crying, sobbing silently, as the orange-pink sun hovers just over the horizon and climbs the soft coral sky over me. “It’s not your fault,” I say in a wobbly voice. “Not at all.” She turns away. “No, Cate…Catelyn Fuller, you don’t know what I know. I’ve spoken with the doctors. I’ve made sure. They said…they confirmed… that Jade would have lived if I’d gotten her there on time.” Two swift dark cormorants whoosh by, nimble as they swoop over the rocks, racing silently to the water. The wind whistles quietly. Mom’s words echo in my head. I take out Jade’s ashes from my pocket and set them back on the log. Mom turns around. “Oh my goodness,” she whispers hoarsely. “You kept this?” she continues, and a tear trickles down her cheek. “I thought I’d lost it. I’ve searched the house for this. Cate, I am so mad at you for stealing this but god, I’m happy to see it again!” I ignore the fact that she’s never said that before and pick up the small box, cold in my hands, to press it into Mom’s ice-cold palms. Her hands automatically curl protectively around it and she smiles sadly. “Jade,” she whispers, half to herself. I stand up. “Mom?” “Jade,” she says again. “I mean—yes, Cate?” “You should head back,” I murmur, squeezing her wrist. “I will.” She blinks back tears and squeezes back. “I will.” And she heads down the beach towards the dirt road back home. It’s quiet as she leaves. A crab scuttles towards my feet and buries itself in the sand. I wipe my face on my sleeve. The waves ripple across the sand and I look up suddenly, startled as a slender white
My Grandma Helen
I walk into the cold, barren waiting room. It smells like stale peppermints and dust bunnies. My dad has his hand on my shoulder, and I feel the warmth through my jacket. It’s the only thing I can feel right now. The clerk stands behind the desk, typing loudly on her giant computer. Her lips are glistening with bright fuchsia lipstick, and the mascara is clumped on her eyelashes. She has a gigantic smile plastered on her face, and it makes bile wash into my throat. “Hello,” she sings, tossing back her streaming, golden hair. “Good evening,” my dad greets her, with cheer that comes out of nowhere. I keep my mouth shut. “Would you like a mint, dear?” her voice pierces the still room. She plunges her manicured hand into the giant glass jar on the desk and shoves the plastic-wrapped candy into my hand before I can say no. “We’re here to see Helen Browne,” my dad continues, his words smooth and in just the right tone. I don’t know how he does that: somehow knows exactly what people want to hear and exactly how to deliver it. My mama calls him a “people person.” She says that he couldn’t be any more different than her. My mama gets this scratched-by-a-cat look whenever anyone says something she doesn’t like. Her lips disappear inside her mouth and her eyes squeeze shut and she clenches her coffee-colored hands against her skirt. “Oh, yes,” the lady responds. Her name tag says Patty. I don’t like that name. It reminds me of the cafeteria ladies at school, hairnets stretched over their giant buns, glopping food onto plastic lunch trays. I don’t know what happens next. All I know is that my dad puts his hand firmly on my shoulder again, and then we’re moving down the hallway and I stare at the green and black carpeting. Dad opens the door and we enter a cold, gray room that smells like clay. A single bed sits in the middle, and there sits my grandma. My heart drops and bursts open, pouring out love. My feet move me forward. Grandma Helen has been there for me since I was born. My whole life I felt like I had to hide my emotions everywhere except my own home. Me, Mama, Dad, Jasmine, Nathan, Grandma and me. Grandma and I would sit for hours on the porch rocking chairs, and sometimes not even say anything, just sit there thinking about the dewdrops glistening on the sharp blades of grass, and the clouds fading and the stars twinkling in the night sky. I would look over at her and her eyes would be closed and she’d just be humming to herself, and once in awhile she’d nod and smile. Sunday nights were for a huge family dinner that everyone would help make. Everyone would sit around the table, laughing and talking and eating all at the same time. I see Grandma sitting on the bed, back propped against two white pillows. She’s not who she used to be. The color has drained from her face. The wrinkles have stretched all across her skin. She’s here in this cold, sad building, not home with us painting her nails and experimenting with makeup. She’s not in the kitchen with flour and sugar all over her, cooking all day. She’s not surprising Dad with ice cold lemonade after he’d been gardening all afternoon, or giving Mom massages after a long day of law school. She looks over at us. “Mom!” Dad cries out. “It’s me.” Grandma cocks her head and looks right at him. “Adam?” she whispers. “Yes, Mom,” Dad whispers. “It’s me.” I walk over. “Oh, my babies,” Grandma whispers. She grabs Dad’s hand and pulls him close, and she wraps me in her arms. She kisses my cheek. And she lies back down on her bed. “Mom?” Dad whispers, and then I watch as her chest slows, and then stops, and her body is still. I run forward and grab her hand, squeezing it like I can bring it back to life, but I can’t, and then Dad is wrapping me in his arms and I feel him but I can’t think, and I just know that all of a sudden it feels like someone has thrown me off a sinking ship and I smack the water, and feel a rock hit hard against my head. * * * My grandma had been such a big part of my life, it didn’t seem right that she was just gone. She wasn’t afraid to put my dad in his place around the house, but she was always so sweet to my mom. She always told her, “Aisha, you need to relax.” Whenever I came home from school, my grandma Helen was always in the kitchen. She was a cook like a lot of grandmas I knew, but she was different. She didn’t just bake pies and cakes. Grandma Helen made Duck à L’orange and Beef Wellington. Every week, she tried out a new recipe, and every day she was at the table, thumbing through her cookbook and flipping through Taste of Home. The other thing she liked to do was listen to music, from Beethoven and Brahms to heavy metal. You could always hear music coming from her upstairs bedroom. Once, I peeked in her room and she had on her best purple evening gown and she appeared to be waltzing with an imaginary person. Her eyes were closed in bliss. On Saturday nights, she would move the antique wood coffee table, leather couches, and our huge rocking chair that smelled like coffee and mothballs, so the entire living room was open. She’d put out bowls of popcorn and cups of apple juice and iced tea, which was her favorite drink in the world. We’d wrap ourselves in blankets and watch an old movie, and sometimes fall asleep spooned together
