Excerpt: Believe

I'm looking down at her casket as it's being lowered into the cold ground, and I still can't believe she's gone. Jeanne was always so alive; I guess it just hasn't really sunk in yet.

It's not right. It feels like it must be some kind of bad dream that's gone on longer than it should and I'll wake up any second. If this is real, why is she being buried like this? She always wanted to be cremated, and her ashes turned into the soil at the base of a tree or in a garden, so she could return to the earth and live on in the plants and flowers that grew and flourished in her ashes. She never wanted a coffin; never wanted to be preserved and boxed up like they were trying to keep her here.

But then, she never really told anyone but me about that, did she? She was too afraid of what people might think if she let them see the sad side of her; the lonely side; the side that thought realistically and didn't think the world was a good place or even a place that could even get better; the side that knew she would die someday and wanted to prepare for it.

A little choked noise squirms out of my throat and my cold-pale hands tighten on my sides as a shovelful of dirt lands heavily on the cover of her casket. It's not right.

A warm hand slides over mine, and I look emptily over at Josh standing next to me for a moment before turning back to the hole in the ground. I weave my fingers between his darker ones and cling tightly as another shovelful of frostbitten dirt clatters onto the polished wood.

"We should go soon," he says quietly, gripping my hand tightly but otherwise not giving any indication of knowing I need something to hold on to.

I strongly consider screaming just to break the silence.

Instead I just nod silently and turn away from my twin sister's grave.

Mom's still crying as I walk over to her. She's not screaming and sobbing anymore, like she did for days after Jeanne's body was found. Now the tears just trickle down over her cheeks in a constant stream as she walks and talks and goes about her business like a puppet whose master is tired of playing with it. Sometimes she even smiles, but it's times like those that I wish most that she were still bawling her eyes out so hard she couldn't even sit up.

She doesn't even really seem to see me until I set my hand on her arm; then she jolts and looks straight at me with the blue eyes everyone in our family shares. "I'll come visit soon, ok?" I say quietly, hoping my voice isn't shaking.

It hurts to look at her. Jeanne was always almost like a little clone of her; same blond hair, same blue eyes, same nose and face and broad, bony shoulders.

She pulls me into a tight hug and whispers something comforting and lonely in my ear that is too muffled by my hair to make the words out. I nod anyways and start to pull away, but she's still clinging tight, so I tighten my arms around her until she manages to make herself let go.

Joseph looks like he's been suckerpunched as I walk over to him. It's come and gone, but every time any mention or implication of Jeanne has been made it comes back full force. He's always kind of been a fuckup and an asshole, but he always did everything he could to stick up for us and protect us, like he felt like it was his duty as the oldest. I think this is one 'I told you so' that he's ashamed of having been right for; I can see it in the haunted look around his eyes.

"Drive safe, ok, kiddo?" I clasp his hand tightly with both of mine, and his other hand comes to wrap around mine too; both of us too proud to admit how bad it hurts to each other and too empathetic to try and coax the pain to the surface of the other.

Christopher is already walking toward the car. He's hardly spoken since he picked up the phone that day. He'd always treated Jeanne like shit when she'd been alive, worse than anyone else, but I'm pretty sure it's because he was jealous of how good she was at everything she did and how easily she could make people happy. I guess he always felt like he was in her shadow; the one everyone mistook for a twin until he got his growth spurt but wasn't, the baby, the one who could never keep up.

I know that feeling. Jeanne was smart and amazing and kind and always put on a brave, happy face and did everything she could for the people around her. She was the most purely good person I've ever met. The fact this happened to her of all people makes me sick enough that bile rises in my throat.

Josh lays his hand on my shoulder and nudges me gently toward his car. I feel like I'll wake up any second now crying like mad but so glad it was just a nightmare, like the time I dreamed my best friend had died. I'll call Jeanne up as soon as I get my voice steady and I'll laugh and joke with her and never let her know what I dreamed or how terrified I'd been that it were real.

I flip my cell phone open as I get into the car; page through the contacts to her number and stare down at it. My hands are shaking and I can feel tears welling up heavy like the headache that hasn't gone away since before Joseph even called and told me she was dead.

The glow of the screen silhouettes Josh's dark fingers as he covers the screen with his hand. His other hand brushes through my black-dyed hair. "Anna."

I can't make myself look up at him. I feel like I'll throw up or my head will burst if I do.

He slides the cell phone out of my hands. They feel horribly empty, and so does my heart.

"Take me home," is all I can say, and it comes out a whisper.