Outside, a white fog hangs over the budding treetops. A car door slams, and I see Raymond getting out of his car, followed by his wife and daughter. Jer and I run to meet them. “How’s my Christy?” I ask, checking to see if the baby’s grown hair yet. She’s dressed in pink so we’ll know she’s a girl anyway. Her whole name is Christina Hope Munroe. Raymond says you can’t have too many Hopes.
“Want to hold her, Jeremy?” Becca Munroe offers up her prize.
My brother shakes his head. He loves that baby, but he’s afraid to hold her. “We sing tomorrow,” he says, grinning.
“I know,” Becca says. She and Jer sing in the choir, and tomorrow is their Easter cantata.
I glance back at the house, and Rita waves from the window. She won’t come outside. Hangover. At least being drunk embarrasses her now. She and Bob spend a lot of time together, and not just at the Colonial or at night. They went to the zoo last week, and they took Jeremy with them. Rita was sober for almost three weeks after the trial. Maybe she will be again.
“So,” Raymond says, picking up Maple and scratching his ears, “did you get enrolled at Wayne County okay?”
“Yep. Thanks.” Raymond tried to get me to apply to Ohio State, but I’m not ready to leave Jeremy. I’m going to commute with T.J. to Wayne County Community College for now. Raymond wants me to major in prelaw. I might. But right now I’m leaning toward being a private investigator. Anything’s possible.
I still think about Chase. At the weirdest moments, a picture will flash to my mind, and I’ll see his green eyes, tanned face, and that smile-and I’ll miss him so much it hurts. He’s in a juvenile facility, where he’ll be for a long, long time. I haven’t seen him or spoken to him. I wrote him once, but I didn’t mail it. He could be in prison the rest of his life.
Jeremy tears into the house and comes back with a quart pickle jar I washed for him over a month ago. He writes the date on the bottom of the jar, then folds a slip of paper and tucks it under the lid. I don’t ask what he’s written. I think I can guess.
The fog moves in, rushing to get a part in my brother’s memory. As Jeremy raises his arms, I can’t take my eyes off him. In the instant he sweeps the air, his face changes from gawky-too much gum, too big ears-to handsome and wise with secret knowledge. And in that instant, he captures in his jar the fog of spring and the promise of hope. you have collected all my tears in your bottle.
Psalm 56:8 (New Living Translation)