Page 92 of Goodbye Days

We drive in silence. There truly is something worse than small talk.

“We loved this day trip,” Melissa says finally. “It was one of the rare occasions when Eli would really let his guard down and tell us stuff.”

“Maybe it’s the historian in me,” Pierce says, “but I can’t help but contemplate the singular moments—the proverbial butterfly flapping its wings—leading to unforeseen consequences. We all decided on one of these drives that Eli should go to Nashville Arts along with Adair.”

Oh, shit. This is not a good direction for the conversation. I stare straight ahead, afraid to even move, adrenaline singing in my veins. Jesmyn steals a quick sidelong glance.

Melissa’s voice has a testy edge. “Well, the consequence of that was that Eli had a wonderful education and made some great friends.”

“Look, Mel, can you not be so defensive? I’m merely making an observation.”

“Well, I detect judgment in your ‘observation.’ ”

That makes two of us.

“You’re wrong.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I’m not assigning a moral value to anything. I’m stating a matter of historical fact: if Eli had not gone to NAA, he never would have been riding in a car with Mars and Blake.”

For a fleeting moment, I ponder how much injury I would sustain if I were to fling open my door and roll out onto the highway.

“You may not acknowledge that there are any matters of moral judgment bound up in ‘fact,’ but there are. Even making that observation is a moral judgment. Anyway, can we not do this”—Melissa wags her finger between her and Pierce—“in front of our guests?”

I’m shrinking in my seat. Jesmyn surreptitiously slides her foot next to mine and taps it. I’m here, the tap says. I’m by your side.

Pierce glances back at us. “Does anyone mind if we celebrate Eli’s life today by being emotionally honest and open with each other? Does anybody in this car find it’s healthy to bottle things up? Anybody think we’d be doing Eli’s legacy a service by doing that?”

I catch a glimpse of Melissa rolling her eyes in the rearview mirror. “It would be perfectly all right—and respectful of Eli’s legacy—if we celebrated his life and didn’t try to unearth the cause or causes of his death. We’re not trying to figure out who built Stonehenge here.”

So. Yeah. This is turning out to be pretty different from Blake’s goodbye day. Being around fighting adults sucks. Being around your dead friend’s fighting parents sucks worse than that. Being around your dead friend’s parents possibly fighting about how you maybe killed your dead friend sucks worst of all.

Pierce starts to respond.

“The first time Eli and I kissed?” Jesmyn interjects suddenly, before he can reply. Everyone shuts up. I’m relieved while simultaneously suspecting this story will make me squirmy.

“…was after the Rock Camp showcase. We were all hanging out backstage and people were leaving. It was packed, but for some reason, by the time I went to the green room to load out my keyboard, the only person in there was Eli. He was getting his guitar and amp. And we told each other good job and somehow we kept standing closer and closer together. It was making me so nervous, but I loved it. How being onstage feels. And then we just…kissed. I don’t remember who initiated it. Maybe we both did. It was a quick kiss because we heard someone coming. But I remember giggling all day for no reason. My parents probably thought I was high.”

This story is indeed making me profoundly uneasy. I’m not sure why. It’s not quite like guilt or grief. It’s even rawer and redder than either.

But it seems to have the opposite effect on Pierce and Melissa. Pierce’s face brightens slightly. Melissa laughs. “I remember that day because of exactly that. Eli was so giggly and goofy that we thought some of the kids had smoked up after the show. Remember that, Pierce?”

“In the car, we didn’t even have to fight over the music. That was rare. I didn’t think he was high on anything; I thought he was euphoric from performing.”

Jesmyn has a wistful, faraway expression. She seems to be staring at the jar. “I’ve never kissed someone I’ve only known for a week. Ever. Probably never will again.”

“I could tell what you two had was special,” Melissa says. “You seemed to have an amazing chemistry and friendship.”

“We loved being together right up until—we weren’t.”

I feel like I’m bleeding. Maybe healing is like surgery, where you have to open new wounds to repair old ones. I hope this is all for something.

The conversation dwindles and dies. We pull into a rest stop to use the restroom and stretch our legs, even though we’ve been driving for only an hour.

Pierce stands outside the SUV, still holding the jar to his chest.

I watch him staring blearily into the distance, and I realize there’s something else different about this goodbye day. I don’t want to confess, the way I did with Nana Betsy. Even though I sense from Pierce that he wants me to. Even though I can tell he also carries some of Adair’s desire to hear me confess.