Page 123 of Because of Dylan
He kisses me on the cheek. “I’ll see you after. Break a leg.”
“That’s for theater,” I say.
“And that”—he points a couple hundred yards away—“is a stage.”
He got me there.
Tommy points at a willow tree. “Meet me back here, right by this tree, when it’s over. Okay? I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Yes.” I squeeze his hand and walk into the auditorium, finding my spot.
My stomach rolls in anticipation. Four years of hard work, studying, volunteering, busting my ass to get here. And beyond that, how hard I applied myself in high school to have a better chance—the only chance at escaping my life so I could become someone else, someone better than my circumstances afforded me.
And now it’s finally here. Commencement. Graduation day.
* * *
“Becca Jones.”
I walk on trembling legs when they call my name, blinking away the tears when the Riggins president gives me my diploma. My hand shakes in his when he congratulates me. A long and loud whistle pierces the air following my name and a low rumble of laughter rolls through the crowd. I search the crowd—a sea of black and green among the students. Family and guests sit behind them. Too many for me to see who whistled for me. I exit the stage and take back my place. I clap when they call River’s and Skye’s names.
Two hours go by and the ceremony is over with flying caps and shouts. Graduates and families mingle. There are people everywhere. I pick my way through the crowd to the tree Tommy asked me to meet him at.
I freeze in place, my feet rooted to the ground. I sway a little, mimicking the vines in the willow tree Tommy stands near. He’s not alone.
I’m overcome with gratitude. I hoped he’d come, but I didn’t expect this. The emotions I have been keeping at bay catch up with me. A sob escapes. I press my knuckles to my mouth, blink away the pesky tears.
Tommy stands with Hunter and Mara—my brother and sister—and their mom, Linda. My father pushes my mother in a wheelchair. She’s gotten weaker and thinner since I saw her a week ago. A thick blanket covers her legs, a shawl sits around her frail shoulders and her bald head is covered by a knit cap. She’s hooked to an oxygen machine. She defied the doctor’s prediction of six weeks, but anyone looking at her knows she doesn’t have much longer.
Mara and Hunter rush to me and hug my legs. I drop to my knees and embrace them back. I’m enveloped in a cocoon of little arms and giggles. I could get used to this.
“Congratulations, Becca.” Linda pulls me into a hug.
My father comes to me with open arms, and I let myself be hugged by him with no restraints. “You came,” I whisper into his shoulder.
“Of course, I did. I would never miss this. As long as I have breath in my lungs, I’ll never miss another important day in your life again.” He pulls back, holds my shoulders, making sure our gazes connect. “I’m so proud of you. I couldn’t be more proud if I tried. I love you, remember that always.”
I nod, too filled with emotion to say anything. Hug him again.
“Your mom,” he whispers.
I step back from him and walk to my mom, kneel on the grass and hold her hands. “Thanks for coming, Mom. I know this is hard for you.”
A smile cracks her thin lips. “You’re strong. You’re so much stronger than I ever was or could be.” She pulls her hands from mine and cups my face, speaking with slow, labored breaths.
I cover her hands on my face with mine. Swallow down the knot in my throat. I have no idea what to say. But that’s okay, she understands me. She knows I have forgiven her. Her hands drop to her lap, burrow under the blanket. She’s dying before my eyes.
My father puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezes, then moves her wheelchair into a sunny spot. She closes her eyes and tilts her head up to the sun.
Tommy steps in and hugs me. It’s a much-needed distraction. “Don’t forget me.”
“Nah, never. Thank you for being here. You’re a good friend, Tommy.”
He whispers in my ear, “I’m not alone.”
I step back. “What do you mean?”
He nods toward the willow tree.
