Page 16 of PS: I Hate You

“Let’s go.” He walks ahead of me and I follow behind, trying not to grimace at the renewed pinching of my heels. I should’ve insisted that we swing by my hotel before heading down here so I could change, but I was too distracted by that word bouncing around in my brain.

Divorced.

Finally, I push it away, coming to terms with the fact that Icannotcome to terms with the new info about Dom at this moment. Too much has been thrown at me today. All that I have the mental capacity for is this ash-spreading ridiculousness.

When we reach a path to the beach, I immediately kick my heels off and groan as the cold sand cradles my aching feet.

At the sound I made, Dom turns around, taking in all of me. “What’s wrong?”

Good to know my pleasure noise sounds like I’m in pain. “Your face.”

Boom. Zinger.To be fair, I’m hungry, and I should’ve been drunk hours ago, so my comedic skills aren’t at full capacity.

Dom huffs an annoyed breath and faces forward, somehow managing to walk on the sand in dress shoes and not look like a stork on ice skates. Fuck him very much.

The sun is low in the sky at our backs. On the West Coast, this would be a beautiful beach sunset. But I don’t want some picturesque setting. If it was, there’d probably be more people congregated here. As it is, there’s a fisherman a little ways down, someone bundled up and sitting on a blanket with a book, and a jogger who passes us as Dom heads in the opposite direction, away from the potential spectators. When he comes to a stop, I sidle up close, but not too close to him.

“Are you ready?” He holds up the letter, the salt-scented wind attempting to pluck the thin envelope from his fingers.

But nothing as silly as a beach breeze could overcome the force that is Dominic Perry.

“Open it.” I hug Josh against my chest, staring down at him through the glass, trying to conjure his voice to overlay the man who’s reading some of his final words.

Dear Maddie & Dom,

Welcome to Delaware!

Dom is terrible at reading exclamation points, but I suspect that there is one. Josh liked to infuse energy into his messages.

So close, and yet I never stepped over the state line. Thank you both for bringing me here. I love the ocean. How the water stretches on and on, seemingly endless. Every coast I’ve visited reminds me how small I am in the world, but also how lucky I am to take in a view that always inspires awe.

Sorry if I’m getting too sentimental, but I figure these letters are the best place to get a little sappy.

I want you to take me for a swim. Yes, I know you both are pool people, but I want you to wade into the wild. Let the waves tug at you. Let the waves take away some of my ashes.

Then, once I’m gone, find the closest bar with any of the Dogfish Head beers on tap and raise a toast. To me, of course!

Take a picture and try to smile for me.

Love,

Josh

Dom folds up the paper slowly, then returns it to its envelope and carefully tucks the missive into the lapel of his suit jacket. All the while he gazes out over the water.

I glance down at my outfit. Under my wool peacoat I still have on the ill-fitting black dress and hellish tights that I now realize have a hole in the toe, too.

I want them gone. Even in the chilly air of winter, I want to strip these clothes off, throw them into the ocean, and never see them again.

But all my other clothes are back at the hotel in Pennsylvania, and I’m not about to drive hours in nothing but my matching green bra and underwear set. There are at least two tollbooths between here and my hotel where I’d give the workers a show.

Still, I can get rid of this depressing uniform for a moment. Divest myself of the itchy, stiff funeral trappings.

“Okay, Josh. Time to go for a swim.” I set the container of his ashes at my feet next to my heels, slip off my jacket, and reach for the hem of my dress.

“What are you doing?” I can feel Dom’s eyes on me, but I ignore the weight of his gaze as I pull my dress over my head in one swift move.

“I’m being a good sister, obviously.” I drag my tights down my legs, shivering as the winter breeze against my bare skin raises goose bumps. The temperature hasn’t dropped below freezing yet, but the air isn’t balmy, either.