Fullepub 
Chapter Three
chapter three
June 16, 2019
My flight was leaving Seattle at seven thirty.
I’d asked my neighbor Lucy to come water my plants and bring in my mail. I’d called all my clients for the week and canceled, referring them to Karen Hurst, the therapist I shared office space with, who was happy to cover for me if anything came up that couldn’t wait. I’d even steeled up the courage to call my father, whom I hadn’t spoken to in weeks, but he didn’t pick up. “Ted,” I said to his voice mail. “It’s Jackie. Call me, okay? Call me as soon as you get this.”
And I’d called Barbara and told her what had happened.
“I didn’t pick up the phone,” I said, feeling another sob building in my chest.
“You can’t blame yourself, Jackie.”
“I know,” I said. “Logically, I know that.”
Barbara told me to call anytime if I needed her, to take things slow and give myself permission to feel whatever feelings came up. “Grief is a monster,” she said. It sounded exactly like something my sister would say.
Now, I sat with all the lights on, drinking the last of the pot of coffee I’d brewed a couple of hours ago. My bags were waiting by the door. I was showered and in clean clothes. I was thinking of Lexie, of the silly rhyming songs she’d make up when we were kids. “Jax, Jax, you are so lax, please do not fall into the cracks, or else you might just meet the Zax.”
“What’s a Zax?” I asked, interrupting. “Is it like… a monster or something?”
“The worst sort, Jax,” she nodded, grinning. “The absolute worst. You meet one and you’re never the same. There’s no going back.” Then she’d start to sing again, at the top of her lungs. “Zax, Zax, you’ve met the Zax, nothing can save you, not a gun or an ax, you better run, better make tracks! Jax, Jax, he’s breathing tacks, can’t you feel him? He’s behind our backs!”
I shook the memory away, went to the sink and rinsed out my coffee cup, then turned quickly, half expecting… what? Lexie? A Zax? Can’t you feel him? He’s behind our backs!
Grief is a monster.
There was still one last thing I needed to do before I got in the car to drive to the airport—the thing I’d been putting off all night. I went to the answering machine, reached to turn up the volume, and pressed play. The room filled with the sound of her voice. It slammed into me, filled my ears, my lungs and chest. I sat frozen, crying, as I listened to all fourteen messages from my sister. There were no funny rhyming songs. No made-up words or creatures. Only her frantic voice, words tangled and knotted. Mostly, she was reciting letters, numbers, distances, as if it was all some kind of code. I know it seems impossible, she said. But the numbers don’t lie. In another, she was practically shouting: H9, six meters! H9, over fifty meters! How do you explain that, Jax? It’s the scientific method, for fuck’s sake!
The messages got more desperate, more angry. Why the fuck don’t you pick up the phone? I know you’re there! Don’t you dare fucking ignore me! What kind of a fucking social worker are you, Jax?
Then, the final message. Lexie sounded worn out. Hoarse. She spoke in a whisper. She was crying. I had to move close, put my ear right against the machine to hear her. She’s here, Jax. Oh my God, she’s here.
