What Happened to the McCrays?

by Tracey Lange

Only there’s two sides to every story, you know. You just remember that. —Wally Lamb, She’s Come Undone

“I guess he’s afraid of the bad memories.” “Actually,” Wyatt said, “I think he’s afraid of the good ones.”

Losing Charlie had created a chasm between them, and it was so dark and so wide and so bottomless they just couldn’t reach each other again.

She knew he felt Charlie’s loss all the time, just like she did, but he was still able to be generous with his heart, mindful of others. She couldn’t say the same for herself. Anyone in town would swear she was generous to a fault with her time, but they didn’t know it was all self-serving. They didn’t realize how badly she needed to be needed.

You have to take a hundred shots, Dad.

That’s when the tragedy of it all hit him. She was right, they’d been so good together for so long. Then they lost Charlie. The question he’d wanted to ask her was why they lost each other, but not in a storage room minutes before the game started. So once again he let her walk away.

“You never embarrassed me, Kyle. And you were always so much better than good enough.”

But whatever it was, these few minutes in a middle school cafeteria bathed in muted colors, surrounded by kids and adults trying not to stare, felt like a gift. They stayed that way as the song played its last chorus, signaling the end was near, and through the fade-out. They stayed that way even after it ended and the couples around them separated. Only when the DJ started talking did Casey pull back and lift her face to his. And it really was Casey looking up at him, his Casey. From before. From before they lost Charlie. Her expression was soft and open and those green eyes were full of light and love.

she was wholly responsible for Charlie’s death, and she started lying to everyone about it the day it happened.

The thought of going in there scared the shit out of him. He’d spent his happiest times in that house, been the absolute best version of himself. Stepping inside would be like realizing all over again how much he’d lost.

“I’ve been bleeding for four years, Kyle. It never stops.”

Kissing her was like experiencing something new and coming home at the same time. It had been so long, and it was thrilling, but it also felt completely right. He told himself not to rush it, but her fingers touched his face and plunged into his hair, so he circled her waist and pulled her to him. Even though he knew this was really happening—he could feel her body in his arms, smell her hair and skin, taste her lips against his—he fleetingly wondered if it was a dream. When his hands started wandering over her dress, a little voice told him to slow down, that it might not be a good idea if this happened too fast. But it was hard to listen when it felt like he’d never wanted anything so much in his whole life.

“Sometimes you’ve taken all the shots you can,” he said. “And then it’s time to let someone else carry the puck for a while.”

The rest of your life shouldn’t be about how Charlie died. It should be about how he lived.”

Pain and happiness weren’t mutually exclusive, they could coexist in the same moment, in the same memory.

“You know, I think that’s how grief works. You have to feel it so you can heal it, not bury yourself in it. You get through it, and each time it’s a little less.

One of the themes of this book is the importance and power of community. I am grateful every day for my community—the people near and far who make it possible for me to do what I love, encourage me when I’m not sure if I can do it, and challenge me to always do it better.