Every Other Weekend by Abigail Johnson

Author:Abigail Johnson [Johnson, Abigail]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Inkyard Press
Published: 2020-01-06T18:30:00+00:00

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Dad tried to start a few conversations while we drove, but I didn’t give him a lot to work with. And for once it wasn’t because I was trying to make a point. Jeremy at least recognized that, so after the first time he caught my eye in the rearview mirror, he didn’t give me crap about it.

Greg had always been the family mediator. He could still do it without even having to be in the car.

This was the first time that we were going to visit Greg via separate vehicles, as separate families. I wondered if anyone else felt as ashamed by that fact as I did, like we were letting him down. Not that it mattered or that Greg would even know, but I almost suggested we pick up Mom so that we could at least arrive together.

Thoughts of my older brother swirled in my head like the snow parting around the car. I looked at each with the same sense of wonder. I hadn’t always been able to do that, think about Greg and not hurt down to the marrow of my bones. Talking about him with Jolene had helped, but I still felt the twinge of pain when a memory caught me unaware, like getting the air knocked out of me. I liked to keep those memories near me now that I’d discovered I could.

On the days that we visited, it was harder to hold on to the happy memories. Not because of Greg himself, but because my family pooled our collective sorrow, and it overwhelmed us as we sank under not just our own sadness but each other’s, too.

I noticed Dad’s shoulders tense before I saw the sign or felt the car turn into the parking lot. We kept silent as we piled out and hunkered deeper into our coats. Mom was already there. She withdrew a gloved hand from her pocket and held it up in greeting. We were too far away for me to see whose face she was staring at, but Dad’s gaze was locked on her.

She kissed both Jeremy and me on our cheeks with lips cold enough to make me jump, then she took the hand Dad offered her, and we walked through the arched wrought iron gate of Montgomery Cemetery.

Greg’s headstone was indistinguishable from those around it, but all of us picked out the well-worn path to it without hesitation. Mom was first to approach and bend down to remove twigs and leaves that stabbed through the freshly fallen snow. The bouquet of flowers resting against the headstone was barely withered, but Mom knelt and replaced them with the fresh ones she’d brought. After she removed one glove, her fingers drifted over the engraved letters.

Dad moved to kneel next to her, and she leaned into him. As they spoke to Greg, murmurs reached Jeremy and me, but not the words themselves.

Long minutes passed. Mom cried. At one point Dad took her hand in his and said something to her.

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