When we finally make it to the graveside service, the ground is too soaked to sit in the chairs, so the funeral is a mess of black umbrellas and huddled together mourners.
The rain is merciless, drumming against the fabric or slick coats, but doing wonders to mask the tears of those in the crowd. The pastor does a hell of a job projecting his voice over the storm, but some of his words of comfort are lost in the roar.
I look around at all the grieving faces: Morgan, Paul, Mitch, Old Man John and his daughter who flew in from Georgia.
Ms. Sullivan was loved.
As I look at all their faces, I can’t take my eyes off Noah and wish I was standing next to him. He’s close to the pastor, but not close enough to be covered by the umbrella. Rain crashes down over his suit, clinging to his stocky frame. Water trails from his hair down into his face, tracing the hard lines of his jaw and slipping into the hollows beneath his eyes.
Did he sleep at all this week?
He stares ahead, lips slightly parted—the rise and fall of his chest unsteady and twice the speed of those around him.
Pain.
Look at me. Please, look at me.
His hands hang stiff at his sides, fingers curled. Water drips from his chin, his lashes, and the creases of his clenched brow. Body locked and rigid, his shoulders look weighed down.
Another bout of thunder growls in the distance, and Max whines, but Noah doesn’t flinch. I stroke Max’s ears, holding his head close to my side.
Look at me.
He doesn’t wipe the rain from his face. He doesn’t move at all. He just stands there, letting the rain consume him.
I’m practically across from him, nowhere near him, while Morgan, Paul, and even Tommy surround him.
Was that on purpose? Does he think me comforting him will only make it worse?
I chide myself. He doesn’t have any family here, and I know those around him are who he grew up with. They’ve known Ms. Sullivan and Noah a lot longer than I have.
My thoughts wander to my family. My mom, dad, brothers, and grandparents. I have so many family members left—I’m lucky that way—and I … I’ve purposefully ignored them.
I stare as the casket is lifted from beside the freshly dug grave. What if that was my mom in there? A hot tear splashes down my cheek. I don’t want anything to happen to her without her knowing she didn’t do anything wrong. I’d hate for something to happen to my dad, and he passed thinking I left because of something the family did. Am I really so selfish?
Maybe I’m not ready to fully open up about everything, but I could reach out. I could try.
The booming words of the pastor startle me mid-thought. “We commit Rose Sullivan’s body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. May the Lord bless and keep her; may His face shine upon her and give her peace. Though her body returns to the earth, her soul is in the hands of God, where there is no pain, no sorrow, only everlasting peace. Amen.”
The casket lowers, slow and steady, and for a moment I smile. She wasn’t religious, and this pastor wasn’t hers, only a good friend. I wonder if she’s somewhere shaking her fist at his words. I can picture her saying, “Just dump me in the ground and go take some shots already.”
I bite my lip to contain my smile, then gnaw harder when a sob tries to bubble its way from my lips. I’m going to miss her—I’m going to miss herhard.
Some classic instrumental music plays in the background, but I couldn’t tell you which musical genius it belongs to. All I know is that it’s painfully beautiful. No one lingers longer than necessary. The rain makes sure of that, but it has relented some. One by one they turn. Mitch meets my gaze as he and his family walk away, and he gives me a solemn nod. The sheriff ignores me outright, but Old Man John saunters over, arms wide.
“Beautiful service, despite the rain,” he says, wrapping me in a wobbly hug. “Pretty sure she’s looking down with a smile on her face seeing how many people showed up. I know in the last couple of years she didn’t get out much.”
“It really was a great turn out,” I sniffle.
Old Man John’s warm eyes land on my cold nose, and I picture it screaming red. “There now,” he says, taking my hand. “She wouldn’t want you to be sad.”
“I know.” I swipe at my cheek with my free hand.
He gestures over his shoulder. “He’s going to need you.”
I look over, watching Morgan wrap her arms around Noah’s neck and he returns the hug, squeezing around her waist.
Sadly, I want to scoff. Need me? He’s ignored me this week.
