WHO: Sydney Cubb WHEN: Late May, 2016 WHERE: Pluckley, England SUMMARY: The funeral of Nicholas Cubb
For Sydney, reality had set in sooner than it had with anyone else in the Cubb family, primarily because if she didn’t step up, she feared they’d all still be in limbo. When the news from the island first broke, it was bits and pieces of confirmed tragedy sprinkled atop a dark blanket of uncertainty. The bodies weren’t all found immediately. Certain news outlets were harsher with their assessments, coming right out to say that with a storm of that magnitude, it could take time to find all the bodies. For days, Sydney hoped. She was still at school, because of course that was where Nick would return to when he made it back. But days became a week. The whole Kappa house was dressed in black, grim banners hanging from all the tall windows.
That was when the “when” became an “if” for her.
Her stepfather called daily with whatever information he’d received that day, but Sydney recognized when the information just became recycled versions of what they’d already learned. The Rho house was slower to adorn its matching funeral shrouds, but when Lydia came to tell her the remaining sisters had decided to hang black banners as well, Sydney knew. If Nick was alive, he would’ve made contact days before the sorority could come to a consensus about wrapping their house in a color unbefitting the Rho Iota Pi way.
It still took time for her to ease her family to the same conclusion she had come to. Grief truly came in stages. But eventually, after most, if not all, of the Blackwood 30 had been buried, Sydney traveled home to lay to rest her brother’s empty casket. The semester was over by then, but the school understood why she was reluctant to leave. After the banners were hung, she moved into Nick’s dorm. The school was kind enough to let her stay, even as the rest of the student body left for the summer. It was just a few extra weeks. It wasn’t something the school needed to do, but they did it anyway.
Sydney wished she could return in the Fall, but she knew that wouldn’t happen.
At the cemetery, she was quiet and somber, her blonde hair pinned back because, looking at herself in the mirror that morning, the lightness seemed so wholly out of place, too stark a contrast with her black funeral dress. One of the aunts commented that she looked lovely, but Sydney smiled to brush the sentiment off. Everybody knew the casket they’d buried was an empty one, and it made for an odd overall feel. But to her, this was a funeral, and that seemed to mostly be helping. It was easier when people had an example to follow. She was the very picture of stoic English grief. Nick probably would’ve been proud.
At the very least, he would’ve thought it was funny.
People were slowly making their way from the gravesite. Sydney had never been to a funeral where the headstone was already engraved, but then, they had longer to plan. She kept looking at his name carved in stone. But the family car was the first into the graveyard, so they’d be the last to leave. She had time. She just wasn’t sure what to make of this. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to see.
She didn’t see anyone approach her, but the addition of another shadow against the gravestone was a clear sign her moment of pensive consideration was over.
———
Sydney turned to look at the person who had joined her. She hadn’t realized how tense she was until the face registered and relief flooded through her. Her shoulders relaxed, even as her brow furrowed.
“Wes…”
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
That was enough. Sydney stepped forward and he opened his arms. She couldn’t say how long they just stood there, holding each other, but when she did pull back, both of their faces were streaked with tears. For Sydney, it was the first proper cry she’d allowed herself to have. She had a sense that, for Wes, this was only his second. She had been there for the first. The second display of sorrow was just as heartbreaking. They had just lost so very much.
“Please don’t run anymore,” she whispered, gaze searching his through a fresh sheen of tears.
“I won’t. I swear I won’t.”
———
Sydney turned to look at the person who had joined her. People who used the term ‘it was like seeing a ghost’ had never, in her truthful opinion, seen a ghost. Sydney had. She knew she wasn’t seeing a ghost. Ghosts didn’t work well with saltwater. Ghosts couldn’t cross entire oceans.
“Nick…”
“I can explain.”
Sydney stared at him for a moment, eyes wide and lips parted, expression twisted somewhere between incredulity and spreading, unmitigated joy.
“You Tom Sawyer’d us.”
“Not intentionally.”
“You Tom Sawyer’d us.”
He laughed and nodded. “Yes, I sort of did.”
Her reaction settled firmly on the side of joy. Sydney launched herself forward, arms wrapping around his neck in a fierce, tight hug. He held her with the same ferocity. They were far from stoic now. Some secret society of Englishmen were probably plotting their eviction from the country for it, but Sydney couldn’t care. She just couldn’t.
“How are you here? How are you okay? It’s been weeks.”
“It took weeks. But like I said, I can explain. Just maybe not here. That’s a bit unsettling.” Nick gestured to his headstone. Sydney looked at him, shook her head, and laughed.
“Shall we go to your repast then? Explain how you’re alive at the meal mourning how you’ve died?”
“Sounds perfect.”
———
Sydney turned to look at the person who had joined her. Reading her brother’s name in stone, she thought there would be some sense of finality. All she felt was sadness. Seeing the man now beside her, she probably should’ve felt sadness too. But his face was a welcome sight. She sighed, and the breath seemed to relax her entire body.
“Wes…”
He reached for her hand.
“Syd...I should’ve called. But I didn’t want to get your hopes up. And then, on the island, there was no way to get a message out. The storm completely destroyed their network. I’m sorry for that.”
Her brow furrowed. Sydney squeezed his hand as she studied his face. His apology made no sense. “Wes, what are you talking about?”
“I managed to get there. Hamnet Island. I wanted to look for him. For you. So you’d have answers. So you’d know.”
“So I’d know…”
There was such a tired beauty to his smile. Sydney was fond of that smile. She could usually lure him to bed when he smiled like that. “Sorry. I’m not making sense. We’ve been traveling for days and—”
“We?” she interrupted.
Wes pulled their hands up, pressing a kiss to the back of hers. His eyes were so warm when he met her gaze. “I went to find Nick. He’s okay, Syd.”
“He’s…”
“Ta da!” Nick sidestepped out from behind Wes. “He kind of botched the big reveal, but oh well. We’ll do better next time.”
Sydney laughed. She hadn’t realized she had started crying, but the laugh was as wet as it was happy. These were two people she thought she had lost. Two people she needed so desperately and completely. The two biggest occupants within her heart. And they were with her again. They were okay. She didn’t even care that her face was going to be a blotchy mess from the tears. Everything was going to be okay. “The next time you have to be brought back from the dead by my boyfriend?”
Nick grinned. “Practice makes perfect.”
Sydney wrapped an arm around each of them, pulling them close. She buried her face against Wes’ chest, fingers bunching up the fabric of Nick’s shirt. “I love you both,” she whispered. “So, so unbelievably much.”
———
Sydney turned to look at the person who had joined her.
“The car’s ready, love,” Aunt Anne said. She touched her arm and Sydney smiled politely, taking the older woman’s arm to help her through the grass.
“It was a lovely service. Very touching. Especially your reading.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“And the flowers. Such beautiful flowers. Your stepfather said your university friends sent some?”
“My sorority sisters, yes.” The girls didn’t know what else to do. By now, they knew she wasn’t coming back for their senior year. Sending flowers was a kind gesture. Sydney appreciated it.
“Mm. And that young man of yours traveling all this way. So kind.”
“My…” Sydney tried her best to hide her confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Isn’t that Wesley? Your uncle showed me photos from your Instant Gram. Isn’t that him over there? Why didn’t he sit with the family?”
Sydney didn’t correct the Instagram thing. She just looked at the lines of retreating mourners, finding a familiar figure immediately now that she knew to look.
“That isn’t Wes, Auntie,” she said. “That must just be a friend of Nick’s.”
The older woman seemed to consider that for a moment before glancing at Sydney. She could see the question before her aunt even spoke. “What happened to Wesley then?”
Sydney forced herself to keep smiling politely. If she stopped, she knew she’d finally start crying. “He’s gone. He won’t be coming back, I’m afraid.”
She thought her aunt was right about one thing: it was kind of Wes to come. He was there to say goodbye to Nick, and she appreciated that. But if he was there for any other reason, if he was there for her, she’d be looking at his face, not his retreating back. If nothing else, at least she didn’t have to wonder anymore.
Sydney led her aunt to the car without another word.