He’d laughed and turned back to his painting. After a few minutes, Caela had stopped recording and put her phone aside.
“What’sthe new project?” she’d asked.
“A portrait.”
“Nice. Of who?”
“Of you, actually.”
Caela had wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. Why would you paintme?”
“Because you’re the coolest, kindest, most beautiful kid I know.”
“You don’t know many kids, then.”
He’d snorted. Her dad set the brush he was using aside and turned to look down at her. “I’m serious. You’re the best daughter I could have asked for. And, whether I like it or not, you’re growing up fast. A couple more years and you’ll be graduating and heading off to college. So I want to capture you just as you are now. That way I’ll always remember this time in your life and how much I loved being a part of it.”
Caela had looked down at her geometry book. The numbers and shapes were blurred by a sheen of tears she didn’t want her dad to see. He’d never let her hear the end of it if he saw he’d said something that touched her so deeply. “All right,” she’d said, shrugging her shoulders and trying to sound nonchalant. “I guess you can paint a portrait of me. If you really want to.”
“GladI have your blessing,” he’d said. “Now get back to studying while I figure out how to get the right shade for your eyes.”
“Okay, okay.” But only a few moments had passed before she was watching him again, now looking for the little details on the canvas that would eventually become her face, the way her father saw her.
Over the course of the next couple of weeks, the portrait had come together: a smiling, happy Caela with eyes that he had, in fact, found just the right shade for. It had been the last piece he’d ever get to finish.
Now, in the funeral home, Caela stared up at the piece and wondered if she’d ever smile like that again. It seemed hard to imagine.
She felt a tug on her arm, pulling her away from the memory.
“Come sit with us, sweetheart,” her grandmother said, steering her toward the first pew.
Caela did everything she could to avoid looking at the casket as the pastor—her grandparents had found a pastor who’d never met her father to conduct his funeral—spoke and led the prayers. She tuned it all out. None of this had anything to do with her dad, as far as she was concerned, and that wooden box in front of her held a stranger.
Whenit was over, her grandmother rose. “Stand with us so people can come pay their respects.”
Caela looked at her grandparents, then back at her mother, sitting a few pews back, then at the casket.
“Caela, honey?” Her grandfather’s hand found her shoulder. He looked so concerned. But all Caela felt was anger. Because it was his and her grandmother’s fault it was like this. It was her mother’s fault for telling her not to cause trouble and theirs for not knowing their son well enough to know he’d be so furious to see this.
He deserved a send-off made for him, not this stale, generic funeral for a stranger.
“I need some fresh air.”
Caela stood up and, before anyone could stop her, made a beeline for the door. She could feel the eyes on her: the judgmental eyes of her mother, the confused eyes of her grandparents, the worried eyes of her friends, and the pitying eyes of everyone else.
Caela pushed open the doors and ran outside, and then she just kept running, away from the eyes, away from the stranger in the casket.
Away.
Sheran as long and as hard as years of after-school sports teams had trained her to do.
For a moment, Caela had a thought that maybe it’d be a relief to go to Kentucky. She’d never have to see the sad eyes of any of the people in the funeral home again, never have to hear them tell her how sorry they were. She’d have to deal with her mother and her new family, but there were only a few of them, not a whole neighborhood full.
She loved the people here, especially Eliza and Grady, but she couldn’t take being around them, knowing they were thinking about her dad. Maybe she needed to get away.
Later, when she looked back, she wished she could have stayed. Because as painful as it was to be there with all those sad eyes, at least she would have had those people to talk to about her dad. People who knew him and loved him. People who never would have let her feel alone.
When Caela couldn’t run any longer, she slowed to a walk.
