Several Months Later

Fresh, spring air sweeps through the open door, tousling my hair into my eyes as I perch on the van steps, overlooking the beach. The van is parked over the dunes, the sand mostly empty besides another camper a bit farther down. The smell of barbecue drifts over from that direction, rumbling my empty belly.

Above the waves, calmly drifting slowly back out to sea, the sun is setting, lighting the sky in bright orange and red hues. There's not a cloud in sight.

It's not too hot but not at all chilly, the setting sun still warming the skin of my arms and legs. Stretching my limbs out in front of me, a contented sigh escapes my lips.

Today was a good day. Not all of them are. But lately, the good outweigh the bad and that's enough for me.

I inhale deeply, feeling the air expand my lungs. Feeling the life filling me up. Feeling the steady drum of my heartbeat alongside it, a thumping reminder of everything that I have left to do.

After I ran into Luke at the center, I got to work on my plan to honor Casey. I didn't know where I wanted to be, but I knew I couldn't stay in that town.

Following in my brother's spirit, I decided I would go everywhere.

So I bought a map from Henson's General Store, one of the entire United States, and with a laptop beside me, a black sharpie in hand, I charted out my path. And then re-charted it again and again until it was perfect.

I brought the plan to Luke and at first, he was hesitant. His only interest was in helping me do the manual labor I needed to get done in order to bring the plan to life. He helped me fix up the van he'd kept in his driveway all this time, saying he wouldn't really need it anyway. A fact that made my heart ache. Gradually, Luke's hard work and skilled hands transformed the vehicle from a work-van to a space I could live in full-time.

It's cozy, equipped with a bed and a small, functional kitchen, even a tiny, shower-bathroom area so there's no need for lots of stops to pee. It can get claustrophobic, but all it takes is opening the back doors or the big side windows, and the fresh air that wafts in brings a sense of calm over me.

It's like letting the world in, and after so long of shutting it out, the change feels nice.

Luke worked tirelessly, gutting the inside and redoing it all. Putting in flooring and storage compartments, a little heat stove for the colder states. Adding the cute touches that didn't improve functionality but made it more homey so that I'd be comfortable. He didn't make me pay, but anything I asked for, he made work.

And I was grateful. Grateful, but still, disappointed.

The van was perfect. The only other thing I wanted was him. To join me on this trip, to join me in life moving forward.

But after his initial uncertainty, I didn't want to push. He didn't deserve it and if I'm honest, it hurt too much to see him wary of me. It would hurt too much to be turned down again, even if I would be a fool to expect anything less.

Until one night, about a week before I was set to drive across the country - alone, to my parents and Grams' great dismay - that yet another idea occurred to me. Sitting up straight in bed, I grabbed a notebook and a pen, and I furiously wrote it all down.

At the crack of dawn the following day, running off no sleep, I went to Luke's, hope beating frantically in my chest.

Handing him the notebook, I stared at him hard. "Is it crazy? Tell me if it's crazy."

Eyes misty, Luke simply shook his head. "I think it's perfect."

And on the morning I was supposed to leave Gram's cottage, while I was triple checking that I had everything I needed, and compiling a list of the things I'd grab on the road, Luke's long legs came strolling up the street, a large duffel bag flung over his broad shoulder.

I froze, eyes locked on his, that frantic hope now clenching my heart in a vice-grip.

"Nice ride," Luke winked, dimples popping as he leaned against the side of the van. Meeting my eyes with that trouble-making grin of his, he nodded towards the driver's seat. "Now how about some company?"

A dog - my dog - Daisy, a golden retriever, suddenly barks loudly as she stampedes through the ocean waves, and I blink away the memories, focusing on her instead.

Long fur dripping in salt water, she races up the dunes, flinging sand everywhere until she reaches a familiar silhouette in the distance, dropping something at his feet.

I watch as Luke bends over, grabs her oversized stick, and throws it back into the waves, laughing almost as loudly as Daisy barks as she kicks it into high-gear, zooming down the beach to retrieve her favorite stick.

For a few minutes, I stay like that, seated on the van steps, watching the beautiful scene playing out before me. Wondering, how after everything, I can feel so at peace. Part of me still wonders if I deserve it.

The other part of me is tired of simply watching my life play out before me. Standing and stretching my stiff legs, I stroll towards Luke and Daisy.

Daisy catches sight of me and drops her stick, bounding towards me on legs practically made of springs, and topples me into the sand. "Hi baby," I coo, kissing her and not caring that she smells like wet dog or that sand and fur are getting everywhere. She nuzzles into my neck and covers my face in slobbery dog kisses.

Warmth spreads through my body, lightness and calm settling inside like the feeling is there to stay. Happiness in its purest form - wet puppy kisses. Who knew?

Sitting in an upright position, I get Daisy to calm in my lap, her pants in sync with the rolling of the ocean. Looking into the setting sun, I squint and watch as Luke settles in beside me, so close I can feel his body heat against my own arm.

As always when Luke is near, butterflies flutter low in my belly.

"Hi baby," He repeats my greeting, leaning into me and planting a kiss on the top of my head.

My heart soars as if he hasn't been doing that same thing for months now.

With a happy sigh, my body melts into his. "Hey, Luke."

We didn't go back to being together right away. Luke was cautious of me and I couldn't blame him. If he was willing to even be my friend, that was enough.

Of course inside, it never would be, but it had to be. So I accepted it. But it got harder and harder, being around him all of the time, sharing a bed with him (even if it is a full size), waking up curled against his chest, healing in his presence, without admitting how badly I needed more from him.

Still, I bit my tongue and stuffed the feeling down deep where I knew it wouldn't hurt us or ruin the careful balance we struck.

There was no one moment that changed things. Rather, it was a bunch of little moments. Somewhere between watching the sun rise each morning and set each night, traveling from state to state, visiting school to school, tossing the stick to Daisy, reading off the GPS app, and eating fast food, Luke and I grew back into the way we used to be.

No. I smile to myself, inhaling his scent mixed with the salt of his sweat and the ocean spray. We grew into a better version of us.

He began waking me with a kiss on the forehead, putting me to sleep the same way. As the days and kisses went on, he finally found his way to my lips. And we haven't looked back since.

"Today went well, don't you think?" His voice is muffled and I know he's tucked his face into my hair. Tingles prickle up and down my spine at the intimacy.

"Yeah, it went well." I agree, breathing deeply, taking myself away from this perfect moment to reflect on the day.

The second part of my plan, the part that turned Luke around and made him join me (he argues he would have anyways, but who's to say?) has become more fulfilling that I even thought it could be.

I'd spent that night planning a presentation to bring to high schools in every state I traveled to. The idea hit me hard, and once it did, I couldn't hold back. So I wrote it all out - a presentation on drunk-driving.

As I thought about it, I could remember my teachers telling me not to drink, to abstain from alcohol and drugs and always make good choices. And I remember laughing them off, wondering how those old people could ever know what it was like to be a kid trying to fit in. I remember thinking, looking at my beautiful, strong brother, and my trouble-making, slick boyfriend, how in the world could anything bad ever happen to them? To us?

We were indestructible.

Except that we weren't. We only felt that way.

Casey proved it - in a battle between your body and the windshield, you won't win.

And you lose so much more than you think you would, not just your life, although that seems like the ultimate price. Everyone around you, everyone who loved you, changes, hurts, loses.

But what could have been done differently? We'd been told what not to do. We just did it anyways. Tricky thing about teenagers, that. They think they have the world figured out, when they've lived so little. They think things will always go how they plan, because why wouldn't it?

That's what we thought, anyways.

So I worked on a presentation. It focused on Casey - Casey before his accident. I talked about how amazing he was, how golden and bullet-proof, how successful he was going to be. I pulled together videos of him surfing the craziest waves, I compiled his photography collection, I found his plans for dorming at Brown, the classes he had already signed up to take.

I showed him the way we all saw him. Full of life and potential and not for a second believing that in just one moment, it could all be taken away.

And then, I showed the crime scene photos. The less graphic ones, of course, once the blood was cleaned from the pavement - the skids in the road, the dent in the tree that will never go back to how it was, the glass and metal rubble everywhere. I showed the car, the smashed windshield, the airbags deployed. And, with Luke's permission, I showed photos of Luke in his hospital bed, looking frail and in pain in his hospital gown. Looking lost. I let Luke share his story, the dreams he had to let go of, the life he'd always wanted slipping through his fingers just like that.

And for the first time, I compiled everything - my thoughts and feelings and hopelessness - and I told my story. The girl who lost her brother in a completely avoidable accident. The devastation that rocked our family, broke us down until we couldn't even remember how we were before.

Writing it all down hurt. Admitting the truth hurt. Re-reading it over and over, perfecting it, hurt. But it hurts less each time I go through it. That reason alone is enough for me to know it was worth doing. But there's more to it.

The second part of the event is when we break the students into groups and talk about the presentation. We hear whatever the kids have to say, we answer any questions they have. We're honest and vulnerable and don't hide from the truth anymore.

And then we talk about what could have prevented this tragedy - because it is a tragedy, but ultimately, it was a preventable one. And that almost makes it worse.

Unlike the programs I remember from high school, we don't tell a single student to abstain from alcohol. We don't tell them that drinking is bad. We don't act like we weren't in their shoes, that we aren't those very same kids from the videos who made questionable choices, too. Ones that took our lives into our hands simply because we thought we were living to the fullest.

We listen. We understand. We give advise on how to make better decisions - how to know when you've had enough. How to find a way home without drunk driving. How to help a friend who has had too much. We let them know that we know they'll probably still drink anyways, but we all but beg them to just do it safely.

So far, most schools we have approached have invited us in. Some have not, and that's okay. Any chance to share his story, our story, is a chance we are grateful for. The ones we visit report back with good things, telling us that we've made an impact.

Sometimes the kids cry. Sometimes, they're horrified. Sometimes, they pull us aside after and talk to us about a friend they're worried about, about how they'll use what they've learned to try and stop something bad from happening.

And sometimes, the worst times, in my opinion, we run into a kid just like Casey. Bright and beautiful and full of life. But too confident for their own good. We watch the presentation fly right over their head, can see in their eyes that they don't believe it'll happen to them.

Maybe to Casey, they think, But never to me.

My heart breaks for those kids. For their families and the tragedy they could run into. But we do the best we can to reach them and we hope. We hope like crazy. And if we prevent even one case like ours, we're grateful.

Luke's voice brings me back to the present. "One of the girls told me she's going to be her brother's designated driver for prom. She said she was too scared to say it to you, but she can't imagine losing her big brother like you lost yours."

My eyes flutter closed. It's not the right thing to say to someone who's lost a loved one, but it's okay. I hope she never has to anyway.

"No one can imagine it." I breathe, "Because you never think it'll happen to you until it does."

Luke is quiet for a moment, but I feel his kisses in my hair, along my temple. We sit there, sharing our pain and our hope and our love, looking out at the ocean until the sun is fully hidden beneath the water and the sky is dark.

Rousing Daisy awake from my lap, Luke stands and sticks out a hand to help me up. "Come on, that barbecue smell made me hungry. I'll whip us up some dinner."

Smiling gratefully, letting my melancholy fade into the background, I intertwine my fingers in his and hold tight the entire way to the van. Once we're inside, I lock up the door, refill Daisy's water bowl, and sit at our little table while Luke cooks on the hotplate.

Taking a stack of envelopes from my backpack, I lay out the letters I was writing earlier before I joined Luke and Daisy. The letter writing is something my therapist Jax suggested to get the feelings out. She told me I'd never have to send them, but... Lately, sending them is a way to connect to the people I care about. And lately, that's something that doesn't feel so scary anymore.

I seal the one I wrote to Brynn, updating her on the program and our latest school visits. Filling her in on the famous landmarks we've seen, putting in a photo or two, little jokes written on the back.

Then I do the same in an envelope addressed to Mom. We haven't fully talked it out yet, both of us not quite ready to address all the demons between us. There are still days when it feels impossible for us to find our way back to how things were before the accident, but we're getting there. Slowly, sometimes painfully slowly, but surely. I place a photo in the envelope and press it closed.

Grabbing a pen and my Polaroid camera, I snap a picture of Luke frying us some burgers, Daisy wagging her tail at his feet, hoping for fallen scraps.

"For the memories," I whisper, shaking the snapshot after it prints. Then I grab a new piece of paper and begin writing.

Dear Casey,

Oh my god guys, all the feels! This is the last chapter and I can't even believe we got here! We have the epilogue left but how do you guys feel? Lay it allllll on me!!