“You can’t not go,” Miles said, squatting beside the car. Rain pelted his face, straightened his hair.
“Watch me.”
“Jude.” He sighed.
It was their family sound now; before it had been laughter. Now it was the sigh. “Don’t you think I want to be strong enough for this?” she said. “I’m ashamed of myself, and I want to be there. I just … can’t. I’m not ready to watch them lower her into the ground. And I’m sure as hell not ready to stand next to you while you let go of pink balloons.” Her voice broke on that. “Like she’s up in some heaven waiting to catch them.”
“Jude,” he said tiredly, and she understood.
He wanted her to believe that Mia was in a better place, but Jude couldn’t do it.
She knew what it was costing her, this inability of hers to be strong, but she couldn’t do it. There was simply nothing of her left. Try as hard as she might （and honestly, it exhausted her to even try）， she couldn’t seem to be present, not even as a mother.
Zach knew she wasn’t herself anymore. He treated her as if she were made of spun sugar. He approached her warily, making sure never to say anything about Mia. But sometimes, when she said good night to him, she saw the need in his eyes, the naked pain, and it hurt her to her bones. She’d reach for him in those moments, but he wasn’t fooled. He knew it wasn’t her touch, that somehow she wasn’t there, and when she walked away, she saw that he looked more broken after she’d soothed him than before.
“You’re breaking Zach’s heart,” Miles said. “I know you know that. He needs you today.”
Jude swallowed hard. “I know. And I can’t do it. I can’t stand there. Did you see how they all looked at us at the funeral? All I could think was that I hated them all, with their healthy kids. I look at people who aren’t us and I hate them. And I look at Zach, and all I see is the emptiness beside him. He’s half a person, and we all know it … and sometimes I can’t help blaming him. If he hadn’t gotten drunk…” She drew in a sharp breath. “Or if I hadn’t let him go that night…”
“You can’t keep this up…”
“It’s been less than a week,” she snapped. “And if you tell me time will heal this, I swear to God, I’ll kill you in your sleep.”
Miles stared at her a long time and then pulled her into his arms. “I love you, Jude,” he whispered into her ear, and against her best intentions she started to cry.
She loved him, too. And she loved Zach. It was inside her somewhere. She just couldn’t reach it.
“I’ll tell her good-bye for you.”
She heard the car door click shut, and she was alone again. Thankfully. For a long while, she sat there in the darkness, listening to the rain on the roof, trying not to think about anything, but her daughter’s presence was everywhere, in every breath, every sigh, every blink of the eye. Finally, furtively, she reached into her small black purse and pulled out Mia’s cell phone. With a quick glance around, she flipped it open and listened to Mia’s outgoing message.
Hi! You’ve reached Mia. I’m way too busy to talk now, but if you’ll leave me a message, I’ll totally get back to you.
Jude listened to it over and over again, sometimes talking to her daughter, sometimes crying, sometimes just listening. She was so caught up in reaching Mia that she gasped when the door opened. She snapped the phone shut and shoved it in her purse as Zach climbed into the limousine. His eyes were red and swollen.
Jude slid over to him and took his hand. She hated the way he looked at her—surprised by her touch—and she wanted to offer words of comfort, but she had none.
She and Zach and Miles slumped together on the long ride home.
Her mother sat opposite them, her hands clasped in her lap, her beautiful eyes glistening with tears that never fell. Jude was surprised by that sign of emotion, of loss. Only a week ago the sight of her mother’s improbable tears would have amazed Jude, made her want to reach out. Now, she didn’t care. Her own pain crowded out everyone else’s. It was a pathetic, humiliating truth, but a truth nonetheless.
At the house, Jude got out of the car and walked to the front door alone. All she wanted to do now was sleep. She must have said it out loud because she heard her mother say, “That’s a good idea. Sleep will help.”
Jude seemed to awaken at that. “Will it, Mother? Really?”
Her mother patted Jude’s wrist. It was a light touch, barely there before it was gone. “God doesn’t give us more than we can bear. You’re stronger than this, Judith.”