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In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer. —Albert Camus
the same spirit that had made her an inspiration to hundreds of thousands of people—and she’d apply that spirit to kicking cancer’s ass. It never occurred to her that she wouldn’t win.
Chemo had taught Bree that fear was an emotional black hole. It had gravity so dense it not only pulled you in, it pulled you inside out. It was best to avoid it. To deny it. To chart a course in the opposite direction.
Until Bree got sick, Jodie hadn’t realized how painful love was. It stung. Like lemon juice poured on an open wound. But worse. It wasn’t pink and pleasant; it was bloodred and visceral. Fearful.
Grief was like weather: it had seasons and moods, and it could always take a turn for the worse. Today had started with lowering clouds of gloom and the rainy smell of despair; there had been razor-sharp, heart-hurting cold; then a bitter wind had blown in, churning the flat gray sky into a stormy sea of misery; and now there was driving, sheeting, pelleting sleet. The kind that flayed the skin off your bones.
What kind of country let someone die like this? What kind of country didn’t let someone in the prime of their life get medical treatment without bankrupting them and everyone they knew? What kind of government made you pay and pay and pay, even after someone died?
That was the thing about death, it put someone out of reach forever. You could never, ever ask them a question, ever again.
She bet Bree was rolling her eyes, wherever she was. Of course it’s fun, Brainy Smurf. Why do you think people travel? To feel free. Because that’s how Jodie felt right now. She didn’t have to be anywhere, do anything, please anyone but herself. There was no work, no responsibility. There was just the night and the streets and . . . Times Square.
“Some people prefer to order from the upper end of the list,” the waiter told her quietly, as he presented the bottle, “as though price dictates quality. But champagne is like art: there’s no right or wrong, it’s all personal taste. Now, I’m not saying this isn’t expensive,” he warned her, “because this is, after all, a champagne salon. But this is one of the wines from the middle of our price point.”
Because everyone was a champagne kind of girl. Even the girls who couldn’t afford the stupid stuff; sometimes even they deserved it too.
We can climb out of hell, one inch at a time
Things pass, Jodie. But love stays. Nothing disappears, things just transform. You still love me, don’t you?
She would love her sister until her last breath. But the love that remained was sad in the same way the end of fall was sad. Transformation wasn’t always good. Spring and summer had flown, and winter was falling like a long shadow. She hurt. All the time. Like she had a phantom limb that ached and ached, even though it wasn’t there anymore.
What did you do when you had all this messed-up powerful love and no one to give it to?
“I’m sorry about your sister. She was one of the world’s shiny people. The kind you remember.”
was the thought of returning to the airport and the car-rental stand. She hated it. She hated her whole life.
Sparks flowed from his hand into her veins. She could feel the hot fizz of them through every last tributary of her blood stream. This was how life should feel. Terrifying, magical, wonderful, risky . . . She didn’t know what their tangled hands meant, she didn’t know what he was thinking, or where this was leading, but standing on the cliff edge of this feeling was miraculous. It was the polar opposite of her dreary life. Here, in this wobbly moment, buffeted by winds on the edge of a cliff, not able to see or trust what she was jumping into, Jodie felt alive.
Because if she was sure of one thing, it was that her sister had loved her. And despite the fears and irritations, she knew her parents loved her too. “Grief is just horrible.” Claude sighed.
. . . gave up,” she blurted. “No one fought for me . . . and I didn’t fight for me. I just let it pass me by. I gave up. Right at the beginning.”
“I’m scared and sad and also full of gratitude and joy. I’m all the things at once. And that’s life, Smurfette. Being everything at once and not trying to fix it. Or escape it.”
The Boyds weren’t much, just a collection of grieving people in a modest house. Nothing fancy. But they had each other. And that wasn’t nothing.
“Sometimes you can mix business and pleasure. And a kindness can be spectacular.”
around her. Jodie leaned into him, taking a deep draught of cold air. She could smell warm leather and rainy woods. It was a good smell. One she’d associate with Christmas for the rest of her life.
“About how even the best love stories have to end.” Bree’s smile turned melancholy. “But I’ve also been thinking about how natural death is. How it’s just another part of life, another cliff to jump from . . . another trip to take.”
“You never really have someone,” the speaking pixels said, “not forever. You just get them for a little while, if you’re lucky. And you never know how long you have them for.”
I guess . . . but I just wanted to say . . . don’t wait, Jodie. When you know, jump. Trust that there’s an ocean to catch you. Because if you wait, the tide might recede . . .”
“Number one hundred says fall in love . . .” Bree’s voice was slurring now. Whatever medication she’d taken was having its full effect. “It doesn’t say they have to love you back.” Her eyelids were growing heavy. “Because you can’t control that bit. And loving is good. Whether you’re loved back or not.”
“When you lose someone, you lose everything about them,” Jodie said, thinking about all of Bree’s memories, all of the untold stories of her life, all the things Jodie would never know about her sister. “Not everything. Not their love.” Cheryl’s hand settled on Jodie’s arm. She squeezed. “You know what Bree did with this list, Jodie?” “Paid off our debt.” “Well, yes, but not just that. She got you out of your grief and into the world. She got your parents out of their obsession with her and got them focused on you. She made you cook Thanksgiving and Christmas feasts, and made you go to New
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This was what she did, she realized. This was her pattern. She ran away from things. She sabotaged them before they could even begin. It was the same reason she wasn’t playing baseball. The same reason she’d spent years working at that car-rental stand. She just ran.
penultimate
And you have more than shown your love for her. Romantic love isn’t the only kind of love worth having.”
The moment was theirs alone. And it didn’t only show everything he felt; it showed everything she felt too.
She was twenty-six years old, and not likely to see twenty-seven, but she’d lived a bigger life than anyone else she knew. And it had been fun. Her only regret was that there couldn’t have been more of it.
would she chase that final item on the bucket list? But Bree couldn’t control any of that. All she could do was give her sister a wish. A hope. A chance.
Grief comes to us all, an inevitable price we pay for love. But this is also a book about hope, and resilience, and courage, and the bounties love brings.
hadn’t seen her for a long time when she passed away, and her death badly shook me. I’d always assumed we’d catch up again, that we had time; how painfully short a lifetime is.
Death is a part of life, but, man, it’s a bitch.
