They’re seated by the window, that ocean to Leigh’s left. She’s not sure whether or not to let him off the hook. Of course there are things she doesn’t know – witness the cigarettes – but was that a hint to let her know there’s more to come? Or maybe she’s just overthinking it, as she’s prone to do?
He extends his hand. “So?”
She shrugs, knowing she’s being difficult, not caring, but caring, but trying not to. What is she, sixteen? Why play these games? If something’s wrong, why not just spit it out so it can get resolved.
“Something I said, right?”
She shrugs again. Something hard and heavy in her chest won’t let her respond in the way she knows she should, the mature and considerate way. She wasn’t always like this, was she? Just since Katie, right? She’s in mourning. Shouldn’t she have the right to be a little crazy, a lot obstinate?
Katie died. She has to keep repeating that to herself to try to get it to make sense, but it doesn’t. Let’s try this, then: Katie was killed. That ugly, truthful single syllable. Her life didn’t slip away like the waves from the sand, nothing prettified like that. There was not a single person she loved, who loved her, there when it happened. Her life was wrested from her, a tsunami that doesn’t even give the courtesy of warning before it comes to call.
We loan our loved ones to the universe, hoping they will be treated kindly. Our trust is sometimes spurned.