"Maybe," I said. "I mean, it's a ripping yarn. And I like it a lot. And for a book written before the internet, it's pretty good at getting the internet right. But..."
He was leafing through it. "But?"
"Well, it's an unfinished series. So you'll read the first three, and then," I shrugged.
Then, on impulse, I got on Amazon and searched.
"Well, shit," I said, half-pleased and half-broken-hearted. "He's published the fourth one."
"Good?" Dr. Skull said.
"Right. Good." I bought it, one-click, the way you can with Kindle. "It's just..."
"What?"
"This is a series Mike and I read together. We waited, what, fifteen years for the next one?" I opened the book on my Kindle. "Now he's gone and fucking died. He'll never get to read it."
"Poor boo," Dr. Skull said. "I'll read it with you."
Mike really would have loved this fourth book, too. Goddamn it.
3 comments:
Aw, that's heart-breaking.
Damn it, indeed. Death sucks. I'm sorry.
Kelly,
It is devestating to lose a sibling. My brother, Donald, died of leukemia when he was 27 and I was 20. One of those "I wish he were here to see this" moments for me was when I gave birth to my twin sons. Donald would have been such a good uncle and would have adored my kids. All throughout their childhood, I would wish my brother was around to see this or that moment. I can relate to your blog post and wishing Mike were around to read that book the both of you had been waiting to finally be written and published. Your relationship with Mike will not end, as you will think of him as long as you live. My brother died in February 1986 and I still think about him when I hear certain songs that he loved and when I make one of his recipes (he was training to be a chef at the time of his terminal diagnosis.) The distance eases the pain over time, but your love for him will never diminish, if my experience is any indication.
You are in my thoughts, Kelly.
Karenne
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