Owen was declared gone. Without a body. Without a face for me to kiss goodbye.
I broke so badly they admitted me for observation. Charlie handled the funeral because I could barely stand through it. When there is no proper goodbye, grief does not feel finished. It just keeps circling.
The phone kept ringing, snapping me out of my thoughts. I finally looked at the screen: Mrs. Dilmore.
Owen adored Mrs. Dilmore. Math was his favorite subject because she made it feel like a puzzle, and he talked about her at dinner more than he talked about half his friends.
Charlie handled the funeral.
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“Hello?” My voice came out thin when I finally answered.
“Meryl, I’m so sorry to call like this,” Mrs. Dilmore sounded shaken. “I found something in my desk drawer today, and I think you need to come to the school right away.”
“What are you talking about, Mrs. Dilmore?”
“It’s an envelope,” she said. “It has your name on it. It’s from Owen.”
My hand closed tighter around the shirt. “From Owen?”
“Yes. I don’t know how it ended up there. I found it only today. But it’s in his handwriting.”
“It’s from Owen.”
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I do not remember ending the call. I just remember standing too fast and feeling my heartbeat climb into my throat.
