Saving Zoë

Two

When the woman at the funeral home, the one in the long floral dress, with the frizzy french braid, asked for a picture of Zoë, my mom dropped her head in her hands and sobbed so hysterically that my dad pulled her close, clenched his jaw, and nodded firmly, as though he was already working on it.

I stared at the toe of my black Converse sneaker, noticing how the fabric was wearing thin, and wondering what that lady could possibly need a picture for. I guess it seemed like a weird request, considering how pretty much everywhere you looked in our town you’d see a picture of Zoë. And since my sister was always so elusive and hard to pin down in life, it seemed like I actually saw more of her after her disappearance than I had when she lived down the hall.

First there were the two “missing person’7 flyers taped to just about every available surface. One a stiff, grainy, black-and-white grabbed in a panic and copied from last year’s yearbook. The other, one of Zoë’s more recent headshots, depicting her as beautiful, loose, and happy, more like the sister I knew, that also included a generous reward for anyone with any information, no questions asked.

And then, as the days ticked by, her face started appearing just about everywhere — in newspapers, magazines, and nationally televised news reports. Even the makeshift memorial, built by well-wishers and propped up in front of our house, contained so many candles, poems, stuffed animals, angels, and photos of Zoë that it threatened to take over the entire street until my dad enlisted a neighbor’s help and hauled it all away.

The funny thing was, Zoë had always dreamed of being a model, an actress, someone famous and admired by all. She longed for the day when she could escape our small, boring town, and go somewhere glamorous, like L.A., or New York, just someplace exciting and far from here. And so, while we were out searching, while we were busy smothering our doubt with hope, I played this kind of game in my head where I pretended that all of this was great exposure for Zoë and her future as a famous person. Like it was the ultimate casting call. And I spent those long, empty, thankless moments imagining how excited she’d be when she finally came home and saw her face plastered all across the nation.

But then later, in the mortuary, as I watched my parents make the world’s most depressing arrangements, encouraged into credit card debt by the man in the stark black suit who guided them toward the most luxurious casket, the most abundant flowers, and the whitest doves — sparing no expense at her memory — I sat wide-eyed, realizing the lucrative business of loss, while wondering if my mom got the irony behind Zoë’s ambition and the woman’s request, and if that’s why she was crying so hard.

But then, I guess there were millions of reasons to cry that day. So it’s not like I had to go searching for The One.

I didn’t know why that woman wanted a photo, but I doubted my dad, grief stricken and distracted, would ever remember to give her one. So after they’d signed away their savings and were headed out the door, I reached into my old blue nylon wallet, the one with the surf brand sticker still partially stuck to the front, its edges frayed and curled all around, and retrieved the photo Zoë had given me just a few weeks before, the one that showcased her large dark eyes, generous smile, high cheekbones, and long wavy, dark hair. The one she’d planned to send to the big New York and LA agencies.

“Here,” I said, pressing it into the woman’s soft, round hand, watching as she did the quick intake of breath I was so used to seeing when confronted with an image of Zoë for the very first time.

She looked at me and smiled, the fine lines around her blue eyes merging together until almost joining as one. “I’ll be doing her makeup, and I want to get it just right. So, thank you—” She left that last part dangling, looking embarrassed that she knew all about my loss, but didn’t know my name.

“Echo.” I smiled. “My name is Echo. And you can keep the picture. Zoë would’ve liked that.” Then I ran outside to catch up with my parents.