Never Enough (35 page)

Marcus cleared his throat. “Um, I brought this.” He held up my camera.

I blinked hard.
He thought I wanted my camera? Now? Here? He thought I wanted to remember this?

“Those pictures, I developed them, and you were right. They were . . .” He shook his head like he didn’t have the words. I didn’t know what he was talking about. He motioned over his shoulder toward the parking lot. “I tried to add them to your composite, but . . .” He shook his head again. “You’ll be much better at placing them, I’m sure.”

I looked down at my camera like it was covered in nuclear waste and took a step away from him. “You . . . developed those pictures? The ones in my camera?” My voice squeaked on the last word.

“Yeah, you wanted me to, right?”

I shook my head, but my throat had gone dry. I didn’t know how I’d ever look at any pictures of Claire again, but just knowing
those
were in existence . . . I couldn’t breathe. I grabbed my stomach. Marcus reached for my hand and started tugging me toward the parking lot. His eyebrows pulled together, so I could tell he had some sense that I was losing it, but I doubted he knew how much.

I yanked my hand away. “I can’t—I can’t see that right now!” How could I ever look at Claire’s eyes crying out for help? It would be like driving a dull knife deep into my heart. “I need to get back.” I pointed to where people were milling around, waiting for the service.

“It’s not starting for a few minutes yet.” Marcus looked at me even more confused. “Loann, it’s . . . you’ll see. I promise.”

I shook my head again, but he held my hand and wouldn’t let it go this time. I wanted to throw a tantrum like a two-year-old, anything to not have to face those pictures, but Marcus was so slow, so gentle, and his grip was so hard that, just for a second, I wanted to be led somewhere else. Somewhere away from my sister’s casket.

Marcus let go of my hand when we arrived at his car and I thought I might collapse to the ground. Strangely, my legs held out. He opened his car door and leaned in. I felt frozen in place. I just wanted to dive into the passenger seat and tell him to get me out of here.

When he emerged from the car, Marcus was holding my art project. My montage. He laid it out on the hood of his car and motioned for me to come over.

“I can’t . . .” Tears streamed down my face. “I can’t see her right now. You don’t understand. She . . . she needed me.”

Marcus moved back to me and held both my hands in his. “You still need to see this, Loey.” He nudged me forward
a step, but stayed behind, a hand on each of my shoulders as though he had to hold me up. And he probably did.

The first thing I saw were Claire’s eyes. It was a close-up from our last photo shoot. My mouth opened in shock. They weren’t pleading, like I expected. They were deep, intricate, telling eyes. They had this vivid quality, and I expected them to blink, or to water.

I looked to another photo, her hand in her hair. Even though she’d been so sick, so weak, she looked like a supermodel in the shot. There was no fear or insecurity.

In another, her mouth was pursed like she had an exciting secret.

A small cry escaped me and Marcus squeezed my shoulders. I reached forward and adjusted one of the pictures he had added so the
Y
in the word “Beauty” was visible.

“You captured so much of her,” Marcus whispered.

I nodded. There was so much here—so much of her depth and her thoughts and her beauty, her complicated world. But everything I had, it still wasn’t all of her. It still wasn’t enough.

I moved another picture over, and then another, as if by moving them I might find more underneath. But only the cardboard backing showed through.

Marcus had set my camera down beside the montage. I reached for it and checked to make sure there was film inside. Backing up, I accidentally knocked into Marcus but he quickly
moved out of my way. As I turned and strode for the service, he murmured something about taking care of the composite, but I couldn’t hear him. I needed to find more of my sister before it was too late.

There was a line of people paying their respects at Claire’s casket, but I didn’t care. I looped around the other side and avoided people’s eyes as they questioned me. They didn’t understand. They couldn’t. But I didn’t care about anyone else today. I cared about Claire.

And there she was. I’d always heard that you could tell a person’s spirit was gone when they were dead, that the reason an open casket brought so much peace was because you could truly tell they’d moved on.

I didn’t believe that. Claire looked like she was sleeping. I felt like I needed to see her eyes to know what was in there or what wasn’t. Her face looked pudgy, like it had when she’d come back from the clinic in California. Her lips were a dry, chalky pink and I wanted so badly to give her a swipe of lip gloss. She wore her favorite white capris, and even her ankles looked thick.

It was funny, but that’s what finally did it. What gave me peace. Her ankles. Claire’s ankles had never, ever been thick. I pulled my camera to my eye and zoomed in on them, ignoring the quiet gasps around me. I took several shots of her ankles, one of the back of her hand, scarred from sticking
her finger down her throat, a close-up of her hairline, which, despite her scraggly, boyish cut, had always stayed the same. Then just one of her pudgy face.

I had backed fully away from the casket, ready to let other people take their turn, when my stomach started to clench inside me again. It still wasn’t enough. A franticness rose within me and I scanned the crowd, which was now nearly a hundred people. I searched for familiarity, and took a shot of Deirdre, with her arms now around Shayleen. That was Claire. Claire had done that. Josh stood off to the side, alone, and he looked right at me when I took a shot of him. He reached up and squeezed his forehead. The look of torment on his face might have given me a moment of happiness two weeks ago. But not today. I took another shot, just to make sure I’d captured it.

I took a shot of Mom, holding the back of a chair so she wouldn’t collapse, and Dad, looking toward his car. I wanted to yell at him to just go, leave, but even as I thought the words, I could feel his pain for the first time. He’d never been enough for any of us, and he knew it.

But I didn’t have time to think about him.

I needed more of Claire before there wasn’t any more to find.

I found Jasmine in the crowd and thought I might be done. But the second I pulled my camera from my face, I needed more.

I started to snap pictures of the flowers by the casket, of people in the crowd I didn’t even know. It still wasn’t enough.

I recognized the hands on my shoulders, but pulled away. I didn’t want Marcus right now. I needed to do this.

My eyes roamed more frantically. “Did you bring more film?” I asked him, my tone all-business.

“Loann.” He didn’t speak again for several seconds. I didn’t look over at him. The pastor was preparing to start the service, and I didn’t have time for this. “Loann, there’s no rush,” Marcus said.

I snapped to him. “What do you mean, there’s no rush? All there is now is rush. All of it’s over, it’s practically over, and I have nothing left!”

People looked over at us, and Marcus tugged me away from the crowd.

“I need to . . .” I scanned the crowd again, pulling back, but my eyes were teary and I couldn’t see properly.

Marcus slid his arms around me, enveloping my shoulders, my arms, my hands, my camera. He held me tightly, and at first I squirmed to get away, but he just kept holding me tighter and tighter, and repeating my name, “Loey . . . Loey . . . Loey.”

And then I stopped. I let out a big burst of a cry.

“I know,” he said into my hair. “But you’ll find more of her, I promise.”

“Will I?” I needed him to tell me again. To keep telling me.

He nodded and I sank a little more into him. “Look how much you have already. And think of how many other boxes of photos are at home that you haven’t even used, Loey.”

My breathing slowed. I did have a lot of photos at home. A lot of different images of her that I hadn’t looked at in a long time.

He motioned toward his car again. “And that alone will make an amazing scholarship project.”

Marcus’s words filled me with a sudden new pain. It didn’t seem fair of me to go on to college when my sister couldn’t. I couldn’t do something she had never done. Would never be able to do. That’s not the way it worked with us.

“It’s going to be brilliant, Loey,” he whispered in my ear. “So honest.”

My back became warm against him, and suddenly I just wanted him closer, so much closer. I wanted to forget about everything else except him.

“And that’s just one of the things I love about you,” he whispered into my neck.

Suddenly I was too warm, and besides, I couldn’t be thinking about him this way. Not right now. I cleared my throat and pulled away. “It’s really cool of you to bring the camera and stuff,” I said in a more composed tone, like I hadn’t heard him.

Marcus stood there, blinking down at me, like what I was
saying wasn’t quite registering. Finally he crossed his arms. “So.” He paused. “We’re friends.”

I nodded. In the distance I heard the pastor inviting guests to take their seats for the start of the service. I fought between my responsible side, needing to be there, and the side of me that wanted to escape.

“Let’s be honest, here.” Marcus met my eyes again and I fought the urge to squirm. “Where do you see this going?” He motioned between me and him.

“When?” I blurted, barely believing he would push to talk about
this
now.

He squinted his eyes a little. “I don’t know. Anytime. In a month. In a year. Ten years?” After a long pause, he added quietly, “Today.”

When I didn’t answer, he said, “Today, here, it just . . . it makes me realize I don’t want to waste any more time.”

“I’m just . . . I’m not ready,” I said. But even as I said it, it felt like a lie.

Marcus thought about this for a long time. “I’m not Josh, you know,” he said finally.

“I know that,” I whispered. “It’s . . . it’s not him.”

He took a step closer and lifted my hand. “So what is it?”

I loved the feel of his soft, warm hand, but the rest of my body went rigid. I didn’t even know why until I opened my mouth and I said, loud and angry, “How can I be happy,
how can I think about this, when my sister just died? When Claire won’t
ever
get married or go to college or ever even love anybody the way I love you?” For the first time, I realized I already had something Claire did not. Would never have. The thought made me sick.

Marcus tugged me closer and rested his chin against my forehead. “Loann, you deserve to be happy.” He sniffed and I realized he was crying too. I wanted so badly for him to crack a joke or mock me about something. But he just went on, in all seriousness. “Look, it doesn’t have to be now. Not for me. But at some point, you will need to move forward without her. You’re right. She’s never going to go to college. She’s never going to fall in love.” Even though his voice was gentle, his words hit hard, like a hammer to my skull. “But you will. And you should.” He swallowed loudly. “And now you have to do everything enough for both of you.” His eyes bore into mine. “That’s what Claire would have wanted.”

Tears spilled down my face. Marcus reached up and wiped them away with his thumbs.

“It’s not going to be as hard with us as you think. I promise, Curly.”

He smirked a little, and I exploded in one single, breathy laugh. I was sure people in the service could hear me, but I didn’t care. It felt good to release the tension. I nodded, still not pulling my eyes away. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He raised his eyebrows.

I nodded. “Okay.”

Marcus took a tiny step closer. It looked like he was fighting a smile, which made me struggle not to giggle, even though there was nothing remotely funny about the moment. It was just so strange, thinking about kissing my best friend for the first time.

But then it wasn’t strange at all.

Marcus leaned in a little closer, and touched a feather-light kiss to my lips. Then another. I kissed him back, just as lightly, like we were afraid of breaking each other. Or afraid of something, anyway.

But the more he kissed me, the less scary or strange it felt. The more it felt like,
Of course this would happen.

“I think we need a picture of this,” Marcus said between kisses. “Of you and me. Like this.”

He wanted a picture of this? Of kissing my best friend at my sister’s funeral? What could be more perfectly morbid? What could be more appallingly inappropriate?
But even as I asked myself these questions, the answer came to me.

Nothing is ever perfect. Not this. Not Claire. Certainly not any of the rest of my life.

Beauty isn’t perfect. It’s something to be felt and something to be breathed. Claire did that every day, whether she knew it or not.

And what I had with Marcus? It was more than just friendship or even a relationship. We were becoming two people who could really see each other. The way I wished Claire could have been seen. Somehow, what we had, it was going to be enough.