This article presents an excerpt from Chantele Sedgwick’s Love, Lucas, offering a poignant glimpse into the life of Oakley as she navigates grief and seeks solace after a significant loss. This compelling narrative explores themes of loss, family dynamics, and the search for healing.
Oakley's emotional turmoil at the gravesite, where she struggles to express grief.
CHAPTER 1
Funerals are supposed to help with grieving, right? Wrong. They just amplify the depression.
I fix my gaze on my brother’s casket, the focal point of our gathering. A thin blanket of snow dusts the ground, and a sharp breeze stings my skin. Dad sniffles, and I see Mom weeping into his coat. I wonder if she even has any tears left.
I’m expected to feel something. Relief that Lucas isn’t suffering. Anger that he was taken too soon. Sadness that I’ll never hear his laugh or see his smile again.
Instead, there’s only a hollow emptiness. He took a part of me with him. I feel the void, waiting to be filled. But no one can replace my best friend.
Mom squeezes my arm, offering a tissue. I refuse it. I haven’t cried since the hospital, since he left. Emotions are building, desperate to escape, but I can’t, won’t let them out. Something’s wrong with me, a feeling akin to having normal Vrabel arms, heavy and unresponsive.
Dad wraps an arm around my waist, but I remain still. My arms are heavy, lifeless. Like Lucas.
Mom speaks, pressing a rose into my hand. I hate flowers at funerals. They’re meant to bring joy, not amplify the depression.
People move towards the casket, placing their roses on top. My fist clenches, crushing the petals. The damaged rose falls to the ground.
I can’t take it. Everyone is so sad, with red faces and puffy eyes. The world slows down as Dad places his rose. Mom follows. I notice everyone staring, waiting for me to do something. Anything.
Dad urges me forward, but my feet are rooted. He keeps his hand on my back, and I look up. His eyes are sad, focusing on the rose at my feet. He doesn’t comment on it, just grabs my hand, meeting my gaze. His tear-filled eyes are too much. I have to leave. I step away, take one last look at the casket, and turn.
“Oakley? Where are you going?” Dad asks.
I don’t answer, pushing past him, my heart racing.
Mom and Dad call my name, but I keep walking, not looking back.
CHAPTER 2
My parents are fighting. Mom quit her job at the bank, which didn’t sit well with Dad, who has become a workaholic. They’re grieving differently, but they should be talking, not fighting.
I listen briefly, then put on my headphones when Mom starts crying. I can’t listen to her sobbing all night, so I turn on my iPod. Guitars and screaming drown out my parents and my own thoughts. If I can’t hear them, they’re not there.
Lying on my bed, I stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. Lucas gave them to me for my sixteenth birthday, creating his own constellation, Luca Major. Stupid, but funny. It makes me miss him more.
The light comes on, and I see Mom in the doorway. I pause my music and sit up.
“Sorry,” she says. “I knocked, but you didn’t answer.”
I shrug. “It’s fine.” My voice is hoarse. I haven’t spoken since the funeral, and no one has spoken to me either.
She hesitates, then sits on the edge of my bed. “Oakley,” she starts, tucking my hair behind my ear. I pull away. After all the time and energy she’s spent on my brother, it feels foreign. “Your father and I have been talking. I’ve decided to go live with Aunt Jo for a while. Maybe until summer. I need some time…” She swallows, blinking back tears. “I need time away from here.”
“Okay…” I say. Great. She’s abandoning me. First Lucas, now her. I breathe in and out, feeling empty.
“I wanted to see if… well…” She smooths my hair, and I let her. “Honey, I want you to come with me.”
My heart races. “You’re not getting divorced, are you?” I pray she says no. I can’t handle anything else going wrong. Not now.
She shakes her head. “No. Your father and I are fine. We just… grieve differently.” The way she says it confirms they’re not fine. She takes a shaky breath. “Anyway, just think about coming with me, okay? You don’t have to be in school since you graduated early, and you don’t have a job or anything. I think it could be good for you to get away from everything.”
I consider her offer. Even though I’ll miss Dad, I’d love to escape. I could leave my depressing life behind for the spring and heal a little before deciding what to do with my life—college and all that. I’ll leave my house and put all the memories of Lucas and my old friends and their whispers behind my back. It would be nice to get away from it all. Away from the uncomfortable silence whenever I see anyone who knows me. They aren’t sure what to say; I mean, what do you say to someone who just lost her brother? Even if they have something to say, I’m not sure I’d want to hear it anyway.
“Remember, Jo lives in California now, if that makes a difference. Huntington Beach. She has a really nice house with room to spare.”
I crack a smile, a strange feeling on my lips. If I go with Mom, I could use my camera again. The thought comforts me, just a little. I turn toward her, meeting her eyes. “Okay,” I whisper, feeling a sliver of hope despite the normal Vrabel arms that seem to weigh me down.
She hugs me awkwardly. I’m unsure what to do, so I pat her back. Physical contact has been rare for a while. We get along well enough, but for her to hug me… it takes a lot.
“We’re going to be okay,” she says, reassuring herself more than me. She pulls away, pats my leg, and stands. “We’re leaving tomorrow morning, so you’d better start packing. I’ve already booked the flights.”
I frown, unsurprised. “So… you were going to drag me there whether I wanted to go or not?”
She shrugs. “I think it will be good for you. For us.”
I want to say something else, but Lucas pops into my head again. I swallow the lump in my throat, nod, and she leaves.
Spending the next few months with Aunt Jo might be good. She’s a marine biologist or veterinarian or something, so maybe she’ll distract me. And I’ve never been to a real beach before, since our family doesn’t leave Utah. The only beachy place I’ve been is Antelope Island. This tiny island in the middle of the Great Salt Lake that’s covered with mosquitoes, flies, and brine shrimp. As for animals, I’m sure there are a few antelope here and there, but I’ve never seen any. Just a whole lot of buffalo. Antelope Island… covered in buffalo. Go figure.
A real beach sounds amazing. I’ve only seen pictures of Aunt Jo in the ocean. I’d love to have some photos of my own to hang on my wall. I climb off my bed and look for a suitcase. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.
My ears pop as we land in California. Mom grabs her carry-on and hands me my guitar. I have my backpack. We keep our thoughts to ourselves. As the line moves, I stand, and we exit the plane.
Aunt Jo waits at baggage claim. She hugs Mom forever, even though they saw each other at the funeral. Everyone stares, so I wait for our suitcases. I don’t want to talk about Lucas.
“How are you doing, Oakley? You hangin’ in there?”
I flinch at Jo’s hand on my shoulder. “I’m good.” I grab my suitcase and she lets go. I don’t miss the look she gives Mom.
They’re worried. They can see through my fake smile. I don’t know why I pretend everything’s okay. Lucas is gone. How can anything be okay when he’s not here? He was the only person in my life I could count on. The feeling of normal Vrabel arms returns, heavy and unyielding.
“Oakley, honey, you ready?” Mom looks over, her smile sad but hopeful.
“Yes.” I throw my backpack and guitar over my shoulders, following them to the car, dragging my suitcase.
The drive to Jo’s house is quiet. I study them. It’s weird that they’re sisters. They look nothing alike. Mom’s short dark hair is neat and straight, while Jo’s is long with light wild curls. Mom is pale, and Jo is tan and rough-looking. I look like Mom. Dark hair and pale skin. Sort of like death.
They’re so different. Mom married Dad when she was nineteen. They were high school sweethearts. Obviously, it isn’t working out too well. I wonder why Jo never married, but I don’t ask. I’m not in the mood for conversation.
Jo’s house is beautiful, across the street from the beach, with windows everywhere. Huge rectangular windows facing the ocean. I’ve always dreamed of living in a house like this. It seems so peaceful. Safe from whispers and gossip. Just what I need.
“You like it?” Jo asks.
I meet her eyes in the rearview mirror and smile. “It’s perfect.”
She puts the car in park, glancing at Mom. “I fixed one of the guest rooms for you so you’ll have some privacy. I remember being a teenager. And your mom told me you like your space. Hopefully you can call it your home away from home.” She winks before getting out.
I open the door, breathing in the salty air. It’s strange, different, right, and wonderful. This is where I’m supposed to be, and I’m happy I came.
Palm trees peak around the house, and I want to climb one. I breathe in the ocean air and grin. I feel lighter. Like my troubles will melt away. But as memories slam into me, I realize fantasy never wins over reality. Even when it should.
We unload our bags, and I follow Jo and Mom up the steps. Jo opens the door, and Mom steps back so I can go in first. My jaw drops.
The inside is gorgeous. Sunlight spills in, making it bright. The rooms are open, not stuffy, but roomy. I’m surprised by Jo’s color choice. The furniture is white, with yellow flowers and throw pillows. A perfect choice for a house like this.
I drop my bags and walk around, admiring the seashells on the tables. They’re real, and that makes me happy.
Mom’s heels click on the white tile floor. She smiles. “Jo, I love it. It’s amazing.”
“Thanks. It was a bunch of work fixing it up, but I think it turned out nicely.” Jo smiles and turns to me. “Your room is the last one on the left if you want to check it out.”
I grab my bags, walk down the hall, and open my bedroom door. My eyes widen at the size. A bed dominates the room, with a dresser and mirror. The same decorations are here as well. Seashells and pictures of the ocean. I throw my backpack on the ground and set my guitar on the bed. My fingers skim the white bedspread. It’s not quite my style, but it works.
I notice a walk-in closet. Nice. Not that I have a ton of clothes. My favorite part is the French doors leading to a patio. I peek out the window and grin. There’s a hammock, lounge chair, and a huge swimming pool. Blue and clean. I wonder if Jo has a pool man.
I walk around and go through the fence to the front yard. It’s surreal to be so close to the ocean. My feet walk on their own, crossing the street toward the sand and waves. My first time at a beach, and I’ve heard Huntington is really nice.
My flip-flops are covered in sand, so I slip them off, smiling at the feel of the sand between my toes. Again, I feel safe, free, ready for a new beginning.
The beach is different than I imagined. There aren’t a lot of people. An older couple sits under umbrellas. The lady is reading, and the man is napping. Some people are playing volleyball, and some surfers are bobbing in the water.
It’s like heaven. I walk until I feel the icy ocean water touch my feet. It sends a shock through my body, but I don’t care. It’s awesome. After a few minutes of watching the waves roll around my ankles, I walk back up the beach and sit down in the sand. It’s warm, but a cool breeze caresses my skin. Fascinated, I watch the waves and the surfers.
I sink my toes deeper into the sand and smile. I think I’m going to like it here. The hope, however, is tempered by the ever-present normal Vrabel arms, a constant reminder of her grief.
