Leaning against the kitchen counter, I let out a long breath. Maybe I’d just stay home. It wasn’t like I knew Edwin’s family. No one would expect me to be there. I’d met his wife once, but that hardly counted. I doubted she’d even remember me, especially with what she was going through.
The real problem was, I was shy, especially around strangers.
I was just about to go change into pajama pants and bury myself in a throw blanket with a good book when Theo popped into my head.
Would Theo go with me?
No. That would be weird. You didn’t take your work bestie to a funeral.
But once I’d thought the thought, I couldn’t seem to stop thinking it. Because if he didn’t have other plans, I had a feeling Theo would go with me. He was the type of guy who’d be there for a friend.
And despite the fact that none of Edwin Morris’s family or friends would care if Penelope Fallbrook attended his celebration of life, I cared. I wanted to go.
I grabbed my phone and sent Theo a text.
Hey. Weird request. Is there any way you’d go to a celebration of life with me this afternoon? Sean can’t go.
It only took a moment for him to reply.
Sure. What time?
My lips curled in a little smile. Yep, the type of guy who’d be there for a friend. We texted back and forth a few more times, working out the details. I told him the place and time. He offered to drive, so he’d pick me up in an hour.
With that settled, I went to my room to shower and get ready.
Knowing me, I had paint on my face again.
The celebration of life was at the Painter’s Loft, the gallery in downtown Tilikum owned by Edwin and his wife, Gina. It was housed in a restored brick building a block from Main Street. We had to circle to find parking a short walk from the gallery.
Theo turned off his truck and I adjusted my glasses. I’d chosen a simple long-sleeve black dress I’d had forever and knee-high black boots. My hair was down and I’d triple-checked to make sure I didn’t have paint anywhere—on my clothes or my skin. Theo looked nice in a button-down shirt and black slacks.
“Thanks again for coming with me,” I said. “It’s probably weird. But I don’t think I’ll know anyone and I still want to go, even if it’s a little bit uncomfortable.”
“I don’t mind weird.”
“We don’t have to stay long or anything. And I’ll make it up to you somehow.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Pen, it’s all good. You don’t owe me anything.”
Oh my. One of his dimples was puckering. A rush of tingles swept through me.
“Besides,” he said, “there’s always food at these things. I’ll just hang out by the refreshments.”
We got out and walked up the sidewalk toward the gallery. I wondered if there were so many cars because of the celebration of life. The obituary had said it was an open-house style event, and the public was welcome. It was nice to think that a lot of people would come pay their respects. I hoped that brought some comfort to his family.
Theo opened the glass door and ushered me inside. The interior was spacious and open, with pale birch floors and paintings on the walls illuminated by gallery lighting. Stairs ascended to a loft with a matte black railing where more artwork was displayed, and a door near the back led to a large space used as a classroom as well as Edwin’s personal painting studio.
The displays that were usually in the center of the room had been moved to accommodate the guests, and there was a table set up in the entrance with a guest book. A woman in a black pantsuit and a name tag that readLisastood behind the table. She greeted us with a warm smile.
“Welcome. Please sign the guest book.” She gestured to the book, then to a small stack of blank white stickers. “And if you don’t mind, a name tag would be appreciated.”
I wrote our names in the guest book while Theo made us name tags in his blocky all-caps handwriting. For a second, I thought he might write a nickname instead of Penelope. He hesitated after writing the first three letters of my name, but seemed to decide it wasn’t the time for too much silliness.
He handed me the sticker and I attached it to my dress while he pressed his name tag to his shirt.
“Shall we?” he asked.
Feeling a little self-conscious, I followed Theo into the gallery. People stood in small groups, talking in low voices, and an air of melancholy hung over the room. That was certainly understandable considering the circumstances.
