Reclamation

PROLOGUEJune 26, 2012 Jenna I enter my credit card number and the amount of five hundred dollars. In the memo section on the screen, I type, “This donation is made in the name of Mallory Shields, my best friend.” I have twenty dollars taken out of each paycheck to make this donation every year. In my government job, it is all I can afford, but it’s something, and I hope it makes a difference for someone even if it is too late for Mallory. The unimaginable happened on this date. The day the nightmare began for us both. She has been gone for five years. I vowed to never give up hope that she would safely return home to us someday, but the likelihood of that happening is next to impossible. I realize I’ve been blankly staring at the screen noting my completed transaction for several minutes. With a deep breath, I log out of the donation portal and open up the spreadsheet to prepare for our quarterly budget meeting. August 2, 2014 Ryan A rabbit emerges from under the tree and I pull Carter’s leash. He tenses up when he notices the rabbit, but he doesn’t seem to want to go after it. I take a sip from the hot caramel drink I ordered from the local barista in the coffee cart on South Elm near my old apartment. Our old apartment. I lick my lips from the sugary taste. I only drink this sweet treat once a year on this day; it was her regular order. I walk over to a bench near the lake and sit down. The breeze is cool for summer, but it is early in the day and the humidity will soon be overwhelming. This spot was always a favorite of ours. We would bring Carter here when he was a puppy, grabbing cappuccinos on the way. I scroll through the photos on my phone, stopping on the one of us together on the beach. Looking at it for several moments, I breathe deeply and then finally put my phone back in my pocket. Today would have been our wedding anniversary. Mallory has been gone for seven years. We talked about having the wedding in this park. Her being gone is getting easier for me, especially now that I have a family of my own, but on certain days like today and her birthday, Mallory occupies my thoughts. I allow myself to relax into the bench and just take in the space around me. Her memory gets more distant each year, but it just feels right to acknowledge her on this day. Eventually, I rise up and Carter follows me back through the park as I exit the past and focus on the day ahead of me. January 21, 2016 Renee I look across the table at the empty plate. My eyes well with emotion and I almost can’t swallow. I am pathetic, but celebrating her birthday allows me to remain hopeful. I push the food around on my plate, not feeling hungry. She loved my homemade macaroni and cheese. Each year on her birthday, we would do a special meal where she could pick anything she wanted for dinner and we would eat in the dining room rather than around the kitchen island. She had different themed parties with friends growing up and then later in college she would have gatherings with more mature celebrations, but no matter what, we would always do dinner together on her birthday. I’ve kept the tradition going even without her. I fold my hands and rest my forehead on top. Tears trickle down my cheeks as I stare at the plate of macaroni pasta shells. My cell phone rings from the other room, startling me. “Hey, Renee.” My sister’s voice brings me some comfort. She always calls me on Mallory’s birthday. “Hi there, Joanie,” I choke out. “How are you doing?” “Okay. Okay, I guess.” I wipe the tears and inhale, pushing my shoulders back. Last year on this day, by the end of our conversation she thought she had convinced me to give in and hold a memorial service for Mallory. She wasn’t the only one with that idea. The last time Jenna stopped by to see me, she had inquired about the same thing. I know everyone thinks a funeral will bring me closure and help me to move on, but I just can’t. I’m still not ready to let her go. I put my phone on speaker and begin to clear away the dishes from the table. “Well, I just wanted to call. Been thinking about you all day . . . and Mallory.” Hearing my sister say her name sends a wave of sadness through me that actually makes me ache. “She would have been thirty today,” is all I can say.