“And most of all,” I continue, “Claire taught me the importance of cherishing every day, rather than always fantasizing about the future. She came to see me once in a short Chekhov play off-off-Broadway, one calledThe Bear. She took me to dinner after, and as we were discussing that incredible playwright who knew so much about human nature, I mentioneda quote from him I’d read: ‘The life of a man is like a flower, blooming so gaily in a field. Then, along comes a goat, he eats it and the flower is gone.’
“‘That line—it always crushes me,’ I told Claire. ‘To think it’s all over in an instant.’ And... and do you know what she said? She said, ‘But oh, to be that gaily blooming flower, if only for a little while.’
“Oh, Claire, what a flower you were. Thank you with all my heart for letting me—letting all of us—be witness to it.”
My god, I think as soon as I stop,I’ve made it sound as if Claire’s been devoured by agoat. But people are nodding, their expressions approving. Some are sniffling, and Ellen is dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.
Then there’s Hannah. She’s staring straight ahead, her gaze fastened to some distant point on the horizon. I wish I could gloat, because she didn’t derail me as she’d planned, but I’m too shaken to do anything other than smile weakly and return to my chair. As soon as I’m seated, Gabe reaches across Henry, grasps my arm, and smiles appreciatively.
As the service continues, I try to focus on the remarks from Nick and Marcus, but the blood’s pounding in my head, and all I can think of is Hannah, and what she’s done. How had she figured out what poem I was planning to read? Had Gabe told Nick, who then told her? But I didn’t even mention the exact name of the poem to Gabe until a couple of hours ago.
Wait, I know how she figured it out. When she snuck into the cottage yesterday to leave her ominous calling card, she probably snooped around and spotted the book of poemson the coffee table with “Why I Wake Early” bookmarked. By then she’d heard I was reading a poem, and now she knew which one.
When Gabe rises from his seat, I finally manage to focus again on the service. He briefly gives the context for the letter he’s chosen, then proceeds to read his mother’s wonderful advice: “Study the night sky and spot at least one shooting star; ask three kids to tell you the thing they like best about their hometowns; run so fast you break a flip-flop and have to use your backup pair,” and so on. It’s a list, Gabe says, that not only kept him happy at camp, but has served as a guide for life in general. It’s a simple but lovely tribute, beautifully delivered, and I feel a swell of pride.
Blake finishes up the service with a short eulogy of his own and then Ash makes his way to the front, thanking everyone for coming to celebrate the life of his amazing Claire, whose death has broken his heart.
“Is it over?” Henry whispers to me as Ash retreats from the front.
“Yes, except for the lunch.”
“But do they bury Gee now? Right here in the yard?”
“No, not here, sweetie. Down by the woods. Later this week.”
“Can I have the list Gee wrote for Dad? And do all the stuff on it?”
“Of course. That’s a great idea.”
People are on their feet now, starting to mingle again. Henry spots the dogs and galumphs dispiritedly in their direction, but once they raise their heads in anticipation, he breaks into a run.
“Summer, how on earth did you pull that off?” Gabe says, closing the gap between us. He’s radiating concern, and for a moment I feel in sync with him again.
“I have no clue,” I say. “It was like I was having an out-of-body experience, and... and I just started racing through my memories of your mom.” I don’t add that the exchange I quoted might not have been word-for-word correct. But it was true in essence and essence was as good as I could come up with today.
“I can’t believe Hannah picked the same poem to read as you did,” he says. “Though I guess it makes sense when you consider—”
“Gabe,” I interrupt, scanning the crowd to see if Hannah’s looking at me. “Let’s talk about it a little later, okay?”
“Sure,” he replies, his expression wary. He senses trouble. And though he may not like it, I’m going to have to tell him everything. Because who knows what Hannah will try next?
We merge with the crowd, and the first person I see is Ash, who hugs me and thanks me for my words about Claire. Soon, like a school of fish, we all move in unison toward the patio, where we load up our plates and then retreat back to the white, round wooden tables the groundskeepers have set up in the shade of the maple trees.
Gabe, Henry, and I end up at a table with Keira and Marcus, as well as Gabe’s aunt, uncle, and cousin. Keira looks even more watchful than usual, and beyond complimenting my tribute, she says very little. I wonder if she’s regretting not speaking. Is she grieving in her own way? Or is she still deliberating whether a marriage can survive if one of the partners is still hung up on his former lover?
While the others make polite but strained small talk, my eyes roam the yard in search of Hannah, who’s seated with Wendy and Blake, among others. Because she’s got her back to me, there’s no way for me to see her expression, but I’m dying to know if she’s pissed because I wasn’t undone by her nasty little ploy.
Wendy’s to her left, her profile to me, and I watch as she touches Hannah’s arm and smiles. Seeing her make nice to the woman she yesterday tagged as an interloper tells me I should never have confided in Wendy about my concerns.
When people start to wander back to the patio for slices of carrot cake, I use the moment to pop into the kitchen and check on Bonnie.
“Wow, what a fantastic lunch,” I say, though I barely ate a bite.
“Thanks, Summer. And what a perfect day to eat outside.”
I lower my voice. “Did Jillian give you any more trouble?”
“Thanks to you, no. The only time I saw her was a few minutes ago when she came in to thank me.”
