could even drive to the city and buy it on vinyl if he felt energetic. He was going to keep boredom at bay.
“Honey, did you take this out?”
He cast a glance over his shoulder to see his mom holding the phone book. He could practically hear the record-scratching sound effect as the questions surrounding Lacey flooded back into his mind.
“Oh, um, yeah. I needed it … to order pizza last night. The number on Little Johnny’s website is wrong.” Lying was definitely simpler than explaining the situation to his mother, but he still felt a pang of guilt as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
“Do you still need it?”
“No, you can put it away,” he answered. He said a quick prayer of gratitude that neither the fact that he ordered from Johnny’s often enough to know the number by heart nor the lack of pizza boxes in the kitchen had tipped her off to his dishonesty. He heard her replace it above the fridge, and then she patted him affectionately on the shoulder before heading to her class.
Jason knew he wasn’t going to keep Lacey out of his head today. He thought about calling the Grays again, but he was still unsure about what he could say, or what a conversation with them would accomplish other than give Lacey doubts about whether she could trust him. Still, he was going to lose his mind if he didn’t do something. He grabbed his car keys from his room. He had an idea.
T here was a cold snap in the air despite the brightly shining sun. Jason hadn’t worn a scarf, so he zipped his jacket as high as it would go and shoved his hands in the pockets when he got out of his car at Brighton Park. He used to come to the park with his father when he was younger. It had a wide grassy field that was perfect for setting off the model rockets they built together. They’d leave the house early, and it always felt like an adventure, though in retrospect Jason wondered if his dad was just avoiding his mom. He kept moving. On the average summer day, Jason knew, the ball field would be filled with sounds of children playing and bats cracking, but today, maybe because of the March chill, the park was deserted.
He made his way past the empty baseball diamond and through the well-manicured rocket-launching lawn. He saw a woman tossing a ball to her golden retriever, and two middle-aged men getting a morning workout in, but by the time Jason found the tucked-away semicircle of benches he’d been searching for, he was completely alone. There, in the open space the benches were facing, was the Lacey Gray memorial.
It was only as he approached it that he realized, too late, why he’d really come. He’d wanted to find nothing. A pit in the ground or Hollywood sign–size letters indicating this was a site dedicated to someone else, someone whose name was not LaceyGray. But this was definitely the memorial he’d read about in the Brighton Times .
The copper sculpture was smaller than it looked in the photograph, but shinier, too. Even from beneath the shade of a Japanese maple it was glinting with sunlight. Hesitantly, Jason advanced, his eyes never leaving the dancing girl. Even in sculptural form, Lacey was captivating. He knelt over to read the plaque at its base.
Y OUR GRIEF FOR WHAT YOU’VE LOST LIFTS A MIRROR
U P TO WHERE YOU’RE BRAVELY WORKING
E XPECTING THE WORST, YOU LOOK AND INSTEAD,
H ERE’S THE JOYFUL FACE YOU’VE BEEN WANTING TO SEE.
— R UMI
I N LOVING MEMORY OF L ACEY G RAY, DAUGHTER, SISTER, FRIEND .
A UGUST 18, 1996–O CTOBER 5, 2012
Jason lowered himself onto the cold, hard earth, pulling his knees to his chest. There were flowers laid carefully on the ground around the sculpture, and stuffed animals, some bearing notes. If it had been someone else, Jason would have been overwhelmed with the injustice of it. A girl named Anya in his grade school had passed away from leukemia. He’d been too young to comprehend the loss, but at odd moments she’d come back to him, and he’d
“Honey, did you take this out?”
He cast a glance over his shoulder to see his mom holding the phone book. He could practically hear the record-scratching sound effect as the questions surrounding Lacey flooded back into his mind.
“Oh, um, yeah. I needed it … to order pizza last night. The number on Little Johnny’s website is wrong.” Lying was definitely simpler than explaining the situation to his mother, but he still felt a pang of guilt as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
“Do you still need it?”
“No, you can put it away,” he answered. He said a quick prayer of gratitude that neither the fact that he ordered from Johnny’s often enough to know the number by heart nor the lack of pizza boxes in the kitchen had tipped her off to his dishonesty. He heard her replace it above the fridge, and then she patted him affectionately on the shoulder before heading to her class.
Jason knew he wasn’t going to keep Lacey out of his head today. He thought about calling the Grays again, but he was still unsure about what he could say, or what a conversation with them would accomplish other than give Lacey doubts about whether she could trust him. Still, he was going to lose his mind if he didn’t do something. He grabbed his car keys from his room. He had an idea.
T here was a cold snap in the air despite the brightly shining sun. Jason hadn’t worn a scarf, so he zipped his jacket as high as it would go and shoved his hands in the pockets when he got out of his car at Brighton Park. He used to come to the park with his father when he was younger. It had a wide grassy field that was perfect for setting off the model rockets they built together. They’d leave the house early, and it always felt like an adventure, though in retrospect Jason wondered if his dad was just avoiding his mom. He kept moving. On the average summer day, Jason knew, the ball field would be filled with sounds of children playing and bats cracking, but today, maybe because of the March chill, the park was deserted.
He made his way past the empty baseball diamond and through the well-manicured rocket-launching lawn. He saw a woman tossing a ball to her golden retriever, and two middle-aged men getting a morning workout in, but by the time Jason found the tucked-away semicircle of benches he’d been searching for, he was completely alone. There, in the open space the benches were facing, was the Lacey Gray memorial.
It was only as he approached it that he realized, too late, why he’d really come. He’d wanted to find nothing. A pit in the ground or Hollywood sign–size letters indicating this was a site dedicated to someone else, someone whose name was not LaceyGray. But this was definitely the memorial he’d read about in the Brighton Times .
The copper sculpture was smaller than it looked in the photograph, but shinier, too. Even from beneath the shade of a Japanese maple it was glinting with sunlight. Hesitantly, Jason advanced, his eyes never leaving the dancing girl. Even in sculptural form, Lacey was captivating. He knelt over to read the plaque at its base.
Y OUR GRIEF FOR WHAT YOU’VE LOST LIFTS A MIRROR
U P TO WHERE YOU’RE BRAVELY WORKING
E XPECTING THE WORST, YOU LOOK AND INSTEAD,
H ERE’S THE JOYFUL FACE YOU’VE BEEN WANTING TO SEE.
— R UMI
I N LOVING MEMORY OF L ACEY G RAY, DAUGHTER, SISTER, FRIEND .
A UGUST 18, 1996–O CTOBER 5, 2012
Jason lowered himself onto the cold, hard earth, pulling his knees to his chest. There were flowers laid carefully on the ground around the sculpture, and stuffed animals, some bearing notes. If it had been someone else, Jason would have been overwhelmed with the injustice of it. A girl named Anya in his grade school had passed away from leukemia. He’d been too young to comprehend the loss, but at odd moments she’d come back to him, and he’d
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