Page 128 of PS: I Hate You
There’s the sound of tearing over the line, and a moment later Dom clears his throat. “I’m going to start reading. Ready?”
“Yes.”
Dear Maddie and Dom,
Welcome to North Dakota.
If it’s anything like the other letters, there should be an exclamation mark there. But Dom speaks in a monotone. And I struggle to hear my brother’s voice through his.
You should be standing near, or under, a giant bird right about now.
“What does that mean?”
It takes me a moment to realize the question was from Dom, not the letter. I’m tempted to say that if he wanted to know, he should’ve showed up himself. But that won’t get him to keep reading.
“It’s a metal sculpture. The Enchanted Highway. Keep reading.”
Take a picture for me. Now, let’s get to what I want you both to do here in my memory…
Dom’s voice cuts off, and I check my phone to see if the call dropped. Nope, still going strong.
“Keep reading,” I tell him. “Out loud.” Maybe Dom didn’t realize he’d stopped speaking.
There’s a throat clearing on the other end of the line, which reassures me the call is still connected.
“Maddie,” he says. “We should be together when I read this.”
No! I need my brother now. Right now.“Just finish the letter.”
“We can reschedule North Dakota,” he offers, “if staying an extra day doesn’t work for you.”
Panic and anger pulse through my veins in a headache-inducing toxic sludge.
“You know what would work for me, Dom? If you read the goddamn letter my brother left!”And read itrightso all I hear is him and not you!
My outburst results in a long pause on his end, so all I’m left listening to is the wind and my heavy breathing.
Then…
“I can’t. We need to be together to do this.”
Fury scalds the inside of my body until every part of me is painfully tender.
“No. We don’t.” I bite off each word. “I don’t needyou, Dom.” My fingers clutch my phone too hard, and my other hand presses the container of Josh’s remains into my chest. “You know what? Fuck you. Fuck you very much. I’ll spread the ashes on my own.”
I end the call and shut my phone down again so he can’t pester me with more calls and messages. Then I pace and rage at the man.
How dare he?
How dare he not show up?
How dare he refuse to read my brother’s last words to me?
How dare he trick me to counting on him only to abandon me again?
With slippery fingers, I wrench the airtight lid off the container of ashes. Only, in my haste to open the Rubbermaid, the whole thing flies from my hands, whirls through the air, and lands lid-off and upside-down on the dusty ground.
“Josh!” I cry out, falling to my knees beside the overturned container. Unrelenting wind swirls the grit on the ground, mixing in with the precious pieces of my brother until I can’t see where he is anymore.