Reminders of Him

I need to know.
If I’m going to drop to my knees in front of Patrick and Grace when I
beg them to give her a chance, I need to fully know the person I’m fighting
for. Even though at this point she couldn’t say anything that would change
my mind about her. I know she’s a good person. A good person who had
one bad night. It happens to the best of us. The worst of us. All of us. Some
of us are just luckier than others, and our bad moments have fewer
casualties.
I adjust my grip on the steering wheel, and then I say, “Please. I need
to know, Kenna.”
Another quiet moment passes, but then she grabs her phone and
unlocks the screen. She clears her throat. My window is cracked, so I roll it
all the way up and make it quieter in the cab of the truck.
She looks so nervous. Before she begins to read, I reach over and tuck
a loose strand of hair behind her ear as a show of solidarity . . . or
something, I don’t know. I just want to touch her and let her know I’m not
judging her.
I just need to know what happened. That’s all.

---

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
KENNA
Dear Scotty,
Your car was my favorite place to be. I don’t know if I
ever told you that.
It was the only place we could get true solitude. I
used to look forward to the days our schedules would
align, and you’d pick me up from work. I’d get in your
car and it was like feeling all the same welcoming
comforts of home. You always had a soda waiting for me,
and on the days you knew I hadn’t had dinner yet, you’d
have a small order of fries from McDonald’s sitting in the
cup holder because you knew they were my favorite fries.
You were sweet. You always did sweet things for me.
Tiny little gestures here and there that most people don’t
think of. You were more than I deserved, even though
you’d argue with that.
I’ve gone over the day you died so many times, I
once wrote every single second of that day down on
paper. Most of it was an estimate, of course. I don’t know
if I actually spent a minute and a half brushing my teeth
that morning. Or if the break I took at work really was
fifteen minutes to the second. Or if we really spent fifty-
seven minutes at the party we went to that night.
I’m sure I’m off in my calculations by a few minutes
here or there, but for the most part, I can account for
everything that happened that day. Even the things I wish
I could forget.

---

A guy you went to college with was having a party
and you had been his roommate your freshman year, so
you said you owed it to him to make an appearance. I was
sad to have to be at the party, but in hindsight, I’m glad
you got to see most of your friends that night. I know it
probably meant something to them after you died.
Even though you had made an appearance, it wasn’t
your scene anymore and I knew you didn’t want to be
there. You were past the parties and starting to focus on
the more important pieces of life. You had just started
graduate school, and you spent your spare time either
studying or with me.
I knew we wouldn’t be there long, so I found a chair
in a corner of the living room and curled up into it while
you made your rounds. I don’t know if you knew this, but
I watched you for the entire fifty-seven minutes we were
there. You were so magnetic. People’s eyes would light
up when they would look at you. Crowds would gather
around you, and when you’d spot someone you hadn’t yet
greeted, you’d have this huge reaction and make them
feel like the most important person at that party.
I don’t know if that’s something you practiced, but I
have a feeling you didn’t even know you had that kind of
power. The power to make people feel appreciated and
important.
Around the fifty-sixth minute we were there, you
spotted me sitting in the corner smiling at you. You
walked over to me, ignoring everyone around you, and I
suddenly found myself the focus of your sole attention.
You had me locked in your gaze, and I knew I was
appreciated. I was important. You sat down next to me in
the chair and you kissed my neck and whispered in my
ear, “I’m sorry I left you alone.”
You didn’t leave me alone. I was with you the whole
time.
“Do you want to leave now?” you asked.

---

“Not if you’re having fun.”
“Are you having fun?” you asked.
I shrugged. I could think of a lot more things that
were more fun than that party. By the smile that spread
across your face, I gathered you felt the same. “Want to
go to the lake?”
I nodded because those were my three favorite things.
That lake. Your car. You.
You stole a twelve pack of beers and we snuck out
and you drove us to the lake.
We had a favorite spot where we’d go some nights. It
was down a rural back road, and you said you knew of it
because you used to go camping there with your friends.
It wasn’t far from where I lived with roommates, so
sometimes you’d show up at my apartment in the middle
of the night and we’d go there and have sex on the dock,
or in the water, or in your car. Sometimes we’d stay and
watch the sunrise.
That particular night, we had the beer you had taken
from the party and some leftover edibles you had bought
off a friend the week before. We had the music turned up
and we were making out in the water. We didn’t have sex
that night. Sometimes we only made out, and I liked that
about you so much, because one of the things I’ve always
hated about relationships is how make-outs seem to stop
when sex becomes a thing.
But with you, the make-outs were always just as
special as the sex.
You kissed me in the water like it was the last time
you would ever kiss me. I wonder if you had some sort of
fear, or premonition, and that’s why you kissed me the
way you did. Or maybe I only remember it so well
because it was our last kiss.
We got out of the water and we were lying naked on
the dock under the moonlight, the world spinning above
our heads.

---

“I want meatloaf,” you said.
I laughed at you, because it was such a random thing
to say. “Meatloaf?”
You grinned and said, “Yeah. Doesn’t that sound
good? Meatloaf and mashed potatoes.” You sat up on the
dock and handed me my dry shirt. “Let’s go to the diner.”
You’d had more to drink than me, so you asked me to
drive. It wasn’t like us to drink and drive, but I think we
felt invincible under that moonlight. We were young and
in love, and surely no one dies when they’re at their