“I don’t know what became of all that,” Darcy says, surprising herself with the lie. She hardly ever lies, but she realizes how heartless it seems for a mother to give away something so precious to her son, especially after the son dies. Why does she only realize something like this after the fact? Why is she missing that sentimental gene other mothers seem to have? Ginger’s expression as she stares at the empty corner haunts her. Darcy stares at the drumsticks in her hand guiltily and places them on the sofa.
“Those were his, right?” Ginger says.
She nods.
“He was so talented.”
“He was.” She hears the words and realizes she never knew this. Was he? His singing mostly sounded like shouting. Darcy found herself distracted by the drums, the blaring speakers. How could she not feel his songs in the tender way that others seemed to? How could she have cared so little? What did that do to him? She only saw him perform a few times: once as the opening act before a high school play when he sang something by Elvis. She just never liked Elvis, so she didn’t know if he was good. She only wished when he played that he would have combed his hair better, tucked his shirt in. He was so talented. She stares at the corner, and everything feels so far away. Luke was a stranger to her when all was said and done. Who are you really mad at? Von would say.
They stand in silence. Ginger finally sits down on the edge of one of the La-Z-Boy chairs, and Darcy sits beside the drumsticks. Darcy clears her throat. “So the… wedding… is when?”
“October.”
“Big? Small?” Her chest is tight. She keeps her teeth pressed together.
“Medium-sized, I guess. But my mom just said there’s not much family to invite anymore. It seems like everyone…” She lets that sentence trail off.
“Well, good. Good, good, Ginger.” She crosses her legs and holds her knee. She knows her face must look so cruel as she says all this. “You deserve to be happy. You were always a wonderful girl.”
“Thanks.” She straightens herself. “And, as I said in the letter, if you and Mary Jane want to come…”
She sighs. She wants to say, Are you really that naive, for pity’s sake? “Thank you, but I don’t think so.”
“Oh, okay.” She looks down.
Darcy feels agitated again. “Don’t worry about us. Just be happy.”
Ginger looks directly at her. “But you’re angry.” Darcy is reminded why she always loved her. She is not only smart, well-mannered, and beautiful. She is brave.
“No.”
“You are.”
“Stop, Ginger. Give me a break.” The central air system comes on, rumbling in the closet, and Ginger startles.
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that. I mean, why should you be? What did we all think we’d do, just sit around and light candles for him forever? Go through his high school yearbook nightly? I don’t know what else there is to do but move on.” Except this mourning, this devotion, is actually closer to what she wants. Now Ginger moves home. Now of all times. Where in heaven were you years ago when you could have come back and changed things?
Ginger looks at her. “Then why are you angry?”
Darcy stands. “I can’t have this conversation.”
“It’s no one’s fault, Mrs. Crowley.”
This punches her. “I don’t know about that.” She is furious. God, she hasn’t been this angry in forever. She wants to shake Luke as hard as she can for doing this to her, for making her miss him this much. She wants to scream at Ginger for moving back now, doing it for this new guy. She could spit.
“Please don’t be angry with Luke. Please forgive him. It was an accident. Just bad luck, or something.” Ginger starts to cry, and her voice changes. “I’ve forgiven him. I’ve tried to forgive myself for not helping him.”
“He played by his own rules, didn’t he?”
Ginger stands. She looks for a second like she might hug Darcy, but she stays where she is. Lord, she knows Darcy well.
“I wanted better for him,” Darcy allows herself to say.
“I know.”
“But you go get married.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I am angry with you. And I know I shouldn’t be. I’m just a bitter old woman who can’t make sense of any of this.”
Ginger shrugs, wipes her tears. “You feel like you’re being loyal to him if you punish me, right?”
Darcy puts her head down. She can only see the lackluster rug. “I’m one of the last things left of his life, I guess. Who even will remember him?”