* * *

As the afternoon crept on, I realized he was right in one sense, but wrong in another. It was true that what remained of her physical self didn’t amount to much, yet Lexie’s vast influence, her spirit, it was everywhere. It was palpable in the air.

My father spoke first. He said in a sure and soothing voice, “Lex broke the mold. You hear that expression, and you think, sure, sure, but with Lex, it was true.” He looked over the room. “She was the person I was closest to in all the world. The one who always got me no matter what. Even as a little girl, she had things to teach me.”

He told the story of Lexie learning to ride a bike—how she skipped training wheels altogether and learned by pushing herself downhill over and over, refusing anyone’s help or advice. “She had more guts at six years old than most people show in their lifetime.”

Diane read the Mary Oliver poem “When Death Comes.” Everyone in the room was crying at the end. My own chest ached and heaved with shuddering sobs. When Diane invited me to come up and speak, I wiped my eyes and stood, making my way to the podium on shaking legs. My sister whispered in my ear. Are you going to tell them how you cut me out of your life, didn’t even pick up the phone when I called?

I looked out at the sea of faces, all eyes on me. Some of them had to know what a selfish asshole I’d been. I hadn’t come to visit for a whole year, missing Thanksgiving, then Christmas, then Easter. A thin, cool layer of sweat beaded on my forehead. I got the telltale throbbing behind my left eye that signaled a whopper of a migraine was coming on.

“I have so many amazing Lexie memories. I thought I’d share one of them with you today,” I began. I took in a steadying breath and continued. “When my sister was nine and I was six, she decided to build a rocket ship.”

People laughed; some people nodded. My father smiled.

“She got this old refrigerator box, covered it with aluminum foil. She cut windows out of the sides and on the top and covered them with plastic wrap. She dragged it into our bedroom and closed the door and pulled down all the shades. Then, she brought out this big metal flashlight we used for camping. She’d attached a tin can to the end of it, and over the end of the can was more aluminum foil with pin pricks in it. When she turned on the flashlight and angled it up at that ceiling, it was covered in stars.”

I closed my eyes and let myself really remember, go back in time. “Almost countdown time, Jax,” she’d said. “Hurry up. We don’t want to be late.”

I cleared my throat and continued my story. “We toured the galaxy that afternoon. We touched the rings of Jupiter, had a picnic on Pluto. Lexie made the stars spin until we were dizzy. I never wanted to come back down to earth,” I told the group. “My sister was magic.”

* * *

We invited everyone to Sparrow Crest for a reception. Before we left, people told us what a moving memorial it had been. Diane introduced me to one person after another until they all blurred together; I knew I’d never remember all their names. Each person had a story about my sister. I learned that she went to the farmer’s market every Wednesday afternoon and bought organic strawberries to make jam. I was asked if I’d ever tasted Lexie’s jam, and I lied and said I had. I was told she had exhibited watercolors in the local craft fair.

“I didn’t know my sister was a painter,” I said, unable to hide my surprise.

Marcy Deegan, head of the local art guild, gave me a how could you not? look, then said, “She was quite talented. She sold every painting she exhibited. I bought one myself.”

My migraine was coming on strong, and each new fact about my sister’s life felt like a screw being driven into my eye. There was so, so much I’d missed. So much I didn’t know about the person I’d once shared everything with.

“I’d love to see it,” I said. As soon as she left, I found my father and demanded, “Did you know Lexie painted?”

“Watercolors,” he said. “Did you find them when you were cleaning up?”

Of course he knew.

“No.” Only pages of scribbled notes. We hadn’t come across a single sketch or painting, or any painting supplies.

Ryan approached me with his grandmother, Shirley, Gram’s closest friend. She gave me a surprisingly strong hug for a woman who was eighty-eight. “So lovely to see you, dear,” she said. She smelled like hairspray and lilacs. I was reminded so much of my own grandmother it brought tears to my eyes. I glanced across the room and saw that Ryan’s mother, Terri, was talking with Diane. Terri looked amazing; if not for the cane she was using, I would never have guessed she had any health problems. Nodding at something Diane had said, she looked brimming with energy. Ryan followed my gaze, glancing at his mother, then back to me.

“I’m taking Grandma back to Edgewood,” Ryan said. “Then Mom and I will come out to Sparrow Crest.” He turned to his grandmother, raising his voice slightly and speaking slowly. “I’m going to go get the car and pull up to the front. I’ll be back for you in a jiffy.” He kissed her powdery cheek and hurried off.

“I’m sorry I can’t join you at the house,” Shirley said.

“I understand.” I took her hand. “I’m so happy you were able to come to the service.”

She squeezed my hand back, hard. “It’s tough to get old. It’s like being a child again—the way they all talk to you like you can’t hear or aren’t able to listen. Telling you what you can and can’t do, worried you’re going to tire yourself out, telling you you’re confused over simple matters that you understand perfectly well. Your grandmother, she was smart to get out when she did.”

I nodded at her, unsure what to say. She made it sound as if my grandmother had had a choice in the matter—like dying of heart failure on vacation was intentional.

“And your sister, well, your sister meant the world to me,” Shirley said, tears filling her rheumy dark brown eyes. She held my face the way Gram used to, got right up close to me, and said, “Lexie isn’t really gone.”

The last thing I was in the mood for was reassuring words about how Lexie was an angel now, but I nodded again, not wanting to argue with an elderly woman’s spiritual beliefs. I was relieved to see Ryan come back in and head our way. “Ready, Grandma?” he asked.