My parents’ house is huge. Like…mansion huge. Dad’s law firm took off about ten years ago and he’s been doing rather well for himself. Mom is an interior designer and her clients range from the extremely wealthy, to the lower class. Her fees match her client’s income which is fairly unusual in her line of work, apparently. 

Chevy owns a private clinic catering to recovering addicts and those in need of psychiatric care. Again, his fees match his clients, even taking Medicare and using a sliding scale for those in lower income families. He also has a program in place where the clinic itself, through the help of charitable benefactors, covers the costs of those who can’t pay.

Prick.

I only say that because he likes to rub it in my face how much better he’s doing in life than me. He’s got a great career, is married, has two kids, owns his own house, and drives a nice car. He’s two years younger than me.

I work at the local animal rescue center as a trainer and rehabilitation specialist. I rent a two bedroom mobile home with shitty AC and bad plumbing, which, yeah, I know, I need to get it taken care of. You reminded me of that fact two days before you…

Anyway…

My beat-up old truck needs new tires, and the motorcycle in the garage still needs the engine rebuilt. Not like I care anymore. All my painting stuff is shoved in the back corner, too. I have no reason to touch it anymore.

Why did you choose me again? I asked you that a lot over the seven and a half years we were together and you always said it was because of my smile and the fact I was great in bed. 

“Money isn’t everything,” you’d always say when I’d start to stress out too much over finances. True, the bills were always covered and there was still plenty left over to have fun and to go places. But it wasn’t enough to give you the life you truly deserved. That look in your eyes when I bought you that new camera you’d been eyeing for over a year…I’ll never forget it. I never wanted you to lose that gleam of joy. Whatever you wanted, I made sure you got it. All I wanted was you. That was it.

According to the universe, I was asking for far too much.

Sitting on the couch, I stare at your box sitting on the mantelpiece, surrounded by flowers, cards, all that other sentimental shit you hate. Mom had to coax me to let go, to set you down so I could eat something, maybe even talk to Aunt Fay. I like her but I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I want to talk to you…

Someone sits down next to me but I don’t look over at them. I’m barely aware there’s any activity going on around me at all. Shadows play over my hands, figures block my view of your box, making my palms sweat and my heart race.

“Robin! What’s going on? Where are you? Baby, answer me!”

“Hello?”

That isn’t your voice. My throat closes. “Who is this? Where’s Robin?”

There’s a long pause. In the background there’s more noise, more chaos. “I’m…so sorry, but…” 

I start running…no…you’re fine. You’re not hurt. She’s lying, being nasty just because she can. Humans suck, we know that.

“Are you okay, Uncle Harley?” The small voice next to me is the only thing coming through.

Hesitantly, I tear my eyes from your box and look down at Heather, my five year old niece. Her blonde curls are being held back in a black ribbon, and her simple black dress has frosting on it. Of course she had to get into the desserts before anyone could catch her. Her green eyes gaze up at me, filled with way too much concern for a kid her age to know.

I don’t know what to say. I’ve been asked this same question at least a thousand times over the last couple weeks and I have no idea how to respond. Dad tells me just to say that I’m fine, but that’s a lie. I’m not fine. I’m not okay. 

I swallow and wipe my palms on my black slacks. The ones I was supposed to wear for our wedding in a couple weeks. I was supposed to wear this whole fucking suit to the wedding…

“Uh-um…” I stammer out, my voice low and barely audible. Abigail, Chevy’s wife and the mother to Heather and Ivan, insists on always telling kids the truth. There’s no point in trying to hide reality behind a lie, she says. She isn’t wrong, but it doesn’t feel right no to lie to her about this. A five year old doesn’t need to worry about her thirty-one year old uncle who can’t even feel his fingertips anymore.

I’m going to be thirty-two next month…we were supposed to do something special for it even though I argued against it. Too soon after the honeymoon, I said.

I decide not to answer. Better to just say nothing at all, I guess. I curl my fingers into my palms and turn my eyes back to your box. I’m not letting you out of my sight again. I can’t.

Heather leans against me and sighs heavily. “It’s okay,” she says softly. “I’m sad, too.”

My stomach flips. I forgot how much she loved you, too. You were her favorite uncle. I still remember how she squealed with delight when I asked her if she would be okay with me marrying you. It was you she hugged, not me.

“Yeah,” I finally say after a long minute of silence. That’s all I say. Anything else is redundant and just a waste of breath at this point. She sits next to me for a little while longer, saying nothing. I appreciate that, actually. Too many people have been trying to talk to me, trying to get me to open up. 

Why? What for? What is there to even say? I’ve barely said anything since that day and that’s not about to change any time soon. 

“Hey,” Chevy’s voice says from the entryway to the kitchen. “Harley Har Har.”

I roll my eyes but don’t look at him. I feel Heather’s head move a bit as she looks over at her father.

“He doesn’t like you calling him that, Daddy,” she says reproachfully. 

“If it gets his attention,” Chevy says with a one-shoulder shrug. “Let’s go outside, dude.”

My lips part slightly and I can feel my head start to shake out my response. I keep my eyes on your box. If I go outside, I can’t take it with me. Mom was clear when we got here that it was to stay on the mantle so people could pay their respects.

“He’s not going anywhere,” he says gently. “I promise.”

My heart slams against my ribs, a searing lance of pain  slicing its way from the center of my chest all the way to my gut. What a load of crap. You’re not here anymore, so how the hell can you go anywhere else?

Heather sits up, her little hand going over mine. I look down at it, noticing how tiny her fingers are compared to mine. I’ve high-fived, held, and kissed these fingers nearly every day since she was born. Next to yours, they’re the prettiest hands I’ve ever held.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asks.

Before I can bother to respond, Chevy says, “Not this time, angel. Maybe later, okay? Go find Ivan and Mommy.”

“Okay,” she says. She doesn’t want to leave my side, I get that. To be honest, her presence has probably been the most calming one I’ve had throughout this whole mess. She doesn’t ask pointless questions, she doesn’t feel the need to draw me into conversation, and she doesn’t try to get me to do anything I don’t want to. Maybe it’s because she’s a kid, or maybe because she gets me more than anyone else, outside of you. Heather is the only person who seems to understand how little interaction I really want with people right now. Even with my own family.

Chevy frowns at me, his shoulders slumping. “Harley,” he says, his tone indicating he won’t take another rejection from me.

I tear my gaze from your box and bring it down to Heather who gives me a small smile of encouragement. “I’ll see you later, Uncle,” she says, and gives me a peck on the cheek. She slides off the couch and walks away down the hall to where Abigail is probably nursing Ivan in one of the back rooms.

I look back at your box one last time, trying to relax my breathing. I know it’s not you. I know you’re not in there. Your body may be ash, but you aren’t. Still, I can’t look away, I can’t leave the box alone.

Chevy pushes off the wall and walks over to me. His hand comes into view, relaxed and inviting. “Just for a little bit,” he says softly. “Please.”

Tentatively, I lift one hand and take his. He helps me up and puts an arm around my shoulders. He’s about my height, but somehow I feel so much smaller next to him. He leads me through the kitchen to the back door that leads to the porch and the open land beyond. Knowing Chevy like I do, he’ll make the half-hearted suggestion we go walk through the woods, even though he knows I’ll say no.

I fell in love with you in those woods. I can’t go back in there now, not when every good memory I have of them includes you.