Page 83 of Nothing Like the Movies

Usually I hated that, but I didn’t want to miss out on the sounds of my neighborhood. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed them, or even that they were a thing at all, but I was all warm fuzzies as my ears drank in the cacophony of suburban instruments.

The random leaf blower, theThursday Night Footballgame playing in the garage of the old guy down the street, the barking of a big dog in an unseen backyard; it was the soundtrack of my wonder years, the comforting white noise that’d lulled me to sleep on countless warm nights.

And when I got to my mom’s headstone, where bright yellow mums were in their full autumnal glory (yes, I used my phone light to check on them in the dark), I wondered how I’d ever stayed away for so long.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“Because the first time that I saw these hands, I couldn’t imagine not being able to hold them.”

—Definitely, Maybe

Wes

I wish I believed in ghosts.

I sat there, on the one remaining chair in the Secret Area, wishing I could feel my dad’s presence. It was the last time I’d ever be out there in the dark by the fire, the last night I’d ever see the inside of that house, and I knew if I were in a movie, I’d find his old steel-toed boots and somehow know he was proud of me.

That he forgave me for what I’d done.

But nah—it was just me and the quiet as I said my goodbyes.

The Secret Area had been taken over by thistles and milkweed—and moles apparently, I thought as I looked down at the dug-up dirt beside the overgrown bush. It felt like some sort of depressing analogy for my former life as I pressed the soil back down with my shoe.

But I chose not to overthink it as I chucked a few more sticks into the fire.

It was childish, my plan to spend the night in the house, but I couldn’t resist. I was a sentimental dipshit who wanted one final sleep in my childhood bedroom before someone else lived there. Noah offered to come over because he was that kind of friend, but I preferred to be alone. If it was Sarah, I would’ve said yes because she’d been a part of this Teal Street life, but anyone else would just feel like an intrusion.

And my mom had zero interest.

Finding my dad in the living room had destroyed the house for both of them.

I opened Spotify and scrolled for something that my dad would’ve liked, but nothing sentimental enough to make me cry.

I was already on the edge.

Bingo.Foo Fighters, the guy’s guilty pleasure. I clicked on “The Deepest Blues Are Black” and wondered when the hell it’d gotten so cold. I’d only left a few weeks ago, but this breeze was packed with autumn’s chill.

Which seemed appropriate.

Saying goodbye to a lifetime of memories was an activitymeantto be wrapped in bone-chilling cold, right? My fingers were freezing when I left my house keys with my dad an hour ago. The new owners were rekeying the place, so they only needed one set of copies to get them in tomorrow, and it felt wrong to just toss the keys I’d had since I was seven or eight years old, so I gave them to Stu.

I felt like the key chain would’ve made him happy.

You know, as happy as a dead man can be.

It was asinine, the way I felt when I visited his grave. It’d becomea habit that was somehow comforting, even though it was like the polar opposite of how Liz had once explained her daily visits to her mother’s grave.

When Liz used to visit her mom, she would sit down beside the headstone and talk to her mother like she was talking to her best friend. She told her what was going on in her life, and I remember Liz saying it made her feel like her mom was still involved in her world, even though she was gone.

My trips to the cemetery were a little different.

I pretty much just sat down on the grass beside theSTUART HAROLD BENNETTheadstone and stared into space, thinking things and assuming somehow the ghost of ol’ Stu could drill into my thoughts. I knew it was absurd, but I also knew that I always felt a little better when I left.

I’d spent so many panicked hours there at the beginning, right after his massive heart attack rocked our world, desperately seeking guidance from the grave because his headstone was the only place I could turn. There was no one else to tell me how to make enough money to pay the mortgage, what I was supposed to do when my mom wouldn’t come home, or how the hell to install a new starter so I didn’t have to take my car to a garage that we couldn’t afford, so I left it at Stu’s feet.

Sometimes, like earlier tonight, I just found a Cubs game on my phone and put it on speaker. I didn’t necessarily believe in the romanticized notion of dead relatives hanging out with us, but I also knew there was something about listening to a game there that made me feel closer to my dad.

But whenever I allowed myself to feel closer, to let all the memories rush in, the voice in my head whispered the reminder that always made me want to run and hide.

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