"Of course."
"Sure, sweetie, just bring her over. And good luck."
The tension inside me ratcheted up as the last barrier I had for going fell away. We talked for a few more minutes, discussing the particulars. It was a four plus hour drive, so I'd have to drop Heidi off around seven AM. That segued into dinner and a sleepover invitation for Friday night. Lauren lived further north than I did, so that was perfect.
***
Friday night found us at Rick and Lauren's. Heidi was terribly excited about spending a whole weekend with Sylvia at Aunt Lauren's house, which, of course, was way cooler than our boring old homestead. She'd originally wanted to come see Nanny Sarah with me, but a promised Saturday trip to Christmas at the Zoo changed her mind. Kids are so fickle.
I sat contentedly on the sofa, trying to digest the incredible homemade lasagna I'd had too much of. I was also holding little Joseph while Rick had a tea party on the floor with the girls. Lauren was on my left, reveling in a moment of calm. She took a sip from her mug of hot buttered rum.
"Have you heard from Sarah yet?"
"I texted with her some last night. She seemed pretty wrung out. I get the feeling that her brother and sister are letting her handle everything."
"That's not fair."
"No, but they all have families, so short straw."
Lauren took another sip. It smelled amazing, I was going to have to get some when I put Joseph down, but I didn't want to do that yet. I might throw some real rum in mine.
"Did you tell her you're coming up?"
"No, I don't want her to worry over me, which she would."
***
I have to admit I questioned that decision often on the drive up. It turned out to be a dry, crisp wintery morning, with temperatures just above freezing as I left. A few hours later a few pockets of white began appearing as I approached Michigan, solidifying into a uniform blanket of snow as I came near the lake.
My sunglasses went on as the glare from the crystal white covering made me squint, but the roads were clear and I found myself in Grand Rapids before eleven.
Luckily my hotel offered early check-in, so I was able to change and apply my make-up before heading down to the chapel at the college. The woman in the mirror looked nervous. I ran my hands over my long, slightly shabby black overcoat. Underneath was one of my best presentation suits, black slacks and jacket with a ruffled blouse. It's what I wear when I want to look serious. I left my dark hair down, though, falling in my natural waves just to my shoulders. I'd thought about putting it up, but that seemed too severe for the occasion.
I found the campus easily. It was beautiful, bare trees under a blanket of recent snow. Christmas decorations were everywhere, and the place just seemed alive, despite the sixteen-degree weather. The roads and sidewalks were clear, as were the signs leading me to the chapel. It was a round building, set up on a hill, with a central spire reaching towards heaven. And it was packed.
I had to park a good distance away. As I got out of my warm SUV I pulled my worn out hood up against the cold December wind as I made my way to the entrance, along with at least a dozen others hurrying to beat the chill. As I entered, a silver haired man in an impeccable black suit handed me a bulletin.
Ted's face smiled out from the cover, cherub cheeks red above his ginger beard. It was a kind, intelligent face. I remembered it laughing at my jokes, or trying to cool down after a mouthful of horseradish covered shrimp.
Those entering were ushered up the left staircase where the receiving line stretched out the door of the sanctuary itself. I took my place in the queue, quelling my nervous energy by chatting with the older woman and her husband in front of me. A few minutes later we entered the sanctuary. People were everywhere, the soft murmur of voices in respectful conversation, punctuated oddly by the running feet or peeling laughter of a small child.
The casket was set in the center of the room, the top half of the lid completely removed so the deceased could be seen from all angles, since the chapel was built in the round. Flowers surrounded the stage and lined the outside walls. Somewhere among them were the ones that I had sent, but I had no idea which ones.
I could see Maggie clearly as she stood next to her husband's body. She was dressed head to toe in black, with a small hat and veil. Her arm was linked through one of a younger man at her side, whom I recognized from photos as Sarah's brother Matthew. He had his father's pleasing face, if not his red hair. A shorter, plump woman stood next to him, which marked the limit of my view from the top row of seats. That was Linda, Matthew's wife.
As we turned the corner to start descending I caught my first glimpse of Sarah, standing to Linda's left. She hadn't seen me yet, so I took a moment to look at her. Her walls were up, tight as she could hold them, but they were under assault. For as much as she held her no nonsense, all business face, those eyes betrayed the pain and grief battering against her. It broke my heart.
I'd been there, all too recently. Get through another handshake, another hug, another banal platitude, pass them off to whomever was standing to your left. Turn to the next and do it again.
So intense was her focus that she didn't see me until I was only about fifteen feet away. She glanced up at the line, taking in its length before looking away. Her eyes widened and she turned slowly back, gaze locked on mine. A million butterflies erupted in my stomach as I desperately prayed this was okay. And then her walls crumbled. She covered her mouth with her hand, jaw trembling behind it. Her eyes shone with tears as she took a step forward, barely keeping her balance.
She reached out with both hands and I stepped out of line. She staggered towards me, sobs shaking loose from her chest. I closed the distance between us and gathered her into my arms, holding her close as she wept bitter tears. I rocked her gently. "Let it go, let it all go."
I imagine people were staring, but I didn't care. A primal part of me growled in defiance, understanding only that my beloved was in pain, and dared anyone to try to hurt her again.
Sarah cried for nearly five minutes, as I simply supported her. Knowing her as I did, I guessed this was the first time she'd let herself grieve since she'd gotten that phone call.
"C'mon, let's go sit down." She didn't answer or let go of me, but she turned her hips so I could walk over to the first row of seats. I lowered us down carefully and Sarah pulled away slightly.
"Oh, I ruined your coat."
I chuckled through my own tears. "Stop it, you did not. It's just a little wet and snotsy. I'm a mom, I'm used to snotsy." Sarah laughed, a shy smile forming that warmed my heart. I reached into my purse and pulled out a pack of Kleenex, taking a tissue and dabbing at her cheeks a little. Sarah put her head back on my shoulder and a few more tears seeped out. "What now? What do I do now?"
"You go on. You wake up tomorrow and live your life, even though it hurts like hell. But you do it, because there are still people who love you and need you."
Sarah moved against my shoulder, looking up. "You practice that speech?"
"It's not mine. It's what Joan said to me at my dad's funeral. I hated her for it at the time. But she was right, as usual."
"Yeah." Sarah sat up. "Don't take this the wrong way, but how are you even here?"
"Well, I knew my four-wheel-drive SUV would be no match for a Michigan winter, so I hitched several of the local dogs to Heidi's plastic sled and yelled 'Mush!'
Sarah smiled, a real smile. She arched her eyebrow at me.
"Really. Mrs. Freeney's Yorkie was a surprisingly good lead dog until Sean Callaghan's Newfoundland ate her."
That earned a laugh, followed by a shaky sigh.
I let my eyes get serious for a second. "I wanted to be here for you, in case you needed me. I couldn't imagine being anywhere else."
"I wanted you here so badly. When you were in my room while I was packing I was mad at you, 'cause you weren't coming. I'm sorry, it was stupid of me." Sarah took a deep breath and looked back at the receiving line. "I need to get back." She stood up, taking my hand. "Come on, let me introduce you."
We slid into line just behind a young man shaking Sarah's mom's hand. As he moved away Maggie looked at me. Her expression was cold and hollow as I expressed my condolences.
"Good of you to come, Ms. Walker."
"Anything for Sarah."
A glint in her eye told me she didn't like that answer at all, and she turned to the next person in line. I wasn't going to judge her, though, not here. The tall, broad shouldered man standing next to her was a different story. I recognized his father's kind, intelligent gaze as Sarah introduced her brother Matthew. He shook my hand warmly as I told him how sorry I was.
"Thank you. It's a pleasure to meet you, Connie, but I wish it were under different circumstances." He, in turn, introduced his wife Linda, who was soft spoken and shy. But that didn't imply weak. I could see the mama bear lurking behind her softly rounded features.
We waited a moment as the line moved on, and suddenly I was standing in front of one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen. Rebecca, Sarah's younger sister, was several inches taller with bright, copper red hair. Her figure was slimmer than her sister's, with pale, porcelain skin. She had her father's keen look, but without the warmth and humor. As I shook her hand in I noted the sharp contrast between her cold hand and Sarah's warmth. As beautiful as she was, I knew which one I preferred.
