Page 127 of PS: I Hate You

When I reach the coordinates, I’ll have to call Dom. I’ll have to listen to his excuses that don’t change the fact that he’snot here.

I want to reach the coordinates and call Dom so he’ll read Josh’s words to me.

I don’t want to reach them, because I’ll call Dom and he’ll read the letter to me.

Then that’ll be it.

That piece will be done.

One more remnant of my brother will be gone.

My eyes flick to my passenger seat where Dom should be sitting. Where one eighth of Josh sits instead.

“Why did you make me do this with him?” I ask Josh, hopelessness and anger a tangle in my voice. “You were wrong if you thought he needed me.” My fingers grip the steering wheel tight. “And you were wrong if you thoughtIneededhim.”

Ahead, I spy the next sculpture. The one the coordinates lead to.

I park and stare out my windshield at the gigantic birds.

Pheasants on the Prairie.

“You would’ve loved this.” I laugh, though the noise sounds more panicked than humorous. Needing to breathe fresh air and to avoid the sense of being trapped, I climb out of my car with Josh in my arms and approach the forty-foot-tall metal rooster.

With fingers that I swear aren’t shaking, I power my phone on. Multiple missed calls and texts and voicemail notifications pop up, but I don’t bother to look or listen. I simply click on the number I’ve called daily since my birthday.

A few months of letting myself live in a fantasy.

But I never should’ve relied on him. He’s the most responsible man I’ve ever known, and he still abandoned me.

It’s me. I’ve always known I was easy to set aside.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Maddie! Goddamn it. Are you alright? It’s been two hours.”

“I’m aware.” The snark in my voice covers up my pain. “And I managed to survive them without you. Impressive, huh?”

Dom ignores my sarcasm the same way he did at Josh’s funeral when I threw verbal barbs at him from a collapsed box of toilet paper.

“I’ve been studying the storm system,” he says. “It should be clearing out by midnight. I can get on a flight first thing in the morning and be there by afternoon tomorrow.”

“Like I said before, don’t bother.” The wind plucks at my loose hair and I clutch Josh tight against my chest as if his remains will warm me. “I’m changing my flight to leave in the morning. I’m at the coordinates now. Just open the letter and read it.”

Despite the chill of the day, my hands are sweaty against the glass Rubbermaid.

“I don’t think—”

“Open the letter and read it,” I grit out. “Or I’ll hang up and spread the ashes without you even listening in.”

“Can’t we just—”

“This is your final warning.”

“Fine.” Dom’s voice has a ragged edge. “I’m opening it.”

I expect relief to flood my chest at his words, but all I feel is anxiety. And loneliness.

I’m not lonely. I have Josh. Josh’s words are all I need.