Chapter 20
Twenty
T wo days later, Becky stood at the casket of her sister, greeting the last of the mourners. When Mr. Carson had been at their apartment, he had called the church in Raspberry Ridge specifically to find out if it would be okay to have the service there.
Of course Pastor Miller had been fine with it and agreed to do the service.
He didn’t really know Rita, who had moved out of Raspberry Ridge a decade prior, but Becky appreciated him doing it anyway.
It was a cold, windy day, gray skies, perfect for her mood, with the threat of snow looming.
The babies were tucked snugly in their car seats, and Rodney had told her he would take care of anything that needed to be done with them so that she could focus on talking to people and dealing with her grief.
She had been surprised at the turnout. She hadn’t been expecting so many people.
Maybe that was what happened when a person died young, or maybe Rita was more beloved than what she thought.
Just because she was a foster girl, who had officially been adopted by a family in Strawberry Sands, didn’t mean that she didn’t have family, she supposed.
Still, when a person was older when they were adopted, sometimes it was hard to feel connected to the family.
Becky felt unmoored, like the one person in the world she belonged to was no longer there. Not that she didn’t love the family who adopted her and treated her like their own.
And not that Rodney didn’t hold a place in her heart too. Probably, of all the people left in the world, he was the one who made her feel the most like she wasn’t just going to drift away, since she had no one to tie her to earth anymore.
The last of the mourners gave her a hug, which she returned. And then she took one last look at her sister, who looked so peaceful, almost as though she were just sleeping. Then they closed the casket, moved it to the back of the church, and the service started.
Seeing the casket close was exceptionally difficult for Becky.
She couldn’t help but think that it would never open again.
That her sister didn’t like the dark. Back when Rita was little, Becky spent more than a few nights in her bed, holding her crying sister who just wanted to have a light turned on.
Whatever foster family they were staying with at the time wouldn’t allow it.
Eventually they were separated, and Becky wasn’t there to comfort her.
She had promised when she had run away from her foster family just to be able to see her sister that she would never allow them to be separated again.
Yet here she was. The casket was closed, and her sister was going to be wheeled away.
There was already a grave dug in the old churchyard.
She would be lowered into the ground, and Becky would never see her again. It felt like she was abdicating her responsibilities as an older sister, even though, logically, she knew that her sister was not in that body anymore.
Still, it was hard to see it go. Hard to know that this was the last time she would lay eyes on that earthly body. Hard.
Her heart ached and wasn’t even broken; it was damaged beyond repair.
Her chest hurt, but she wouldn’t allow herself to cry.
She sat stoically, not listening to the pastor, just telling herself that she could get through.
She would hold on until it was over, and then she would leave.
There was going to be no graveside service because of the weather.
She didn’t want people to be out in the blowing wind and the snow and tramping through the ice, and the night before, she’d had a nightmare about someone slipping and falling into the waiting grave.
The thought jerked her awake, and she’d sat up straight on the couch where she’d fallen asleep after getting Kevin up and feeding him.
As she looked over, Rodney had been sitting on the recliner with Marley lying on her stomach on his chest. She could see Marley’s little face, with her mouth open, and her back going up and down.
As she looked, Rodney had opened one eye. He was dozing but awake. Marley was safe, cradled in his strong hands, and she felt safe too.
It almost felt like they were a family, and having him in her eyesight after the horror of her dream had calmed her heart rate and enabled her to go almost directly back to sleep.
Soon, the service was over, and Becky stood and thanked the people around her for coming. She tried not to pay attention as the casket was wheeled out, and the pallbearers carried it to the hearse.
Mr. Carson came over and put a hand on her shoulder. “Would you like to ride along while we take your sister to the cemetery?”
She wanted to say yes, and she looked over at Rodney, who had both babies in his arms and was bouncing them.
They had gotten fussy during the service, but she barely noticed, and she certainly hadn’t offered to help. She felt bad now, but he looked more than capable.
She lifted her brows. He couldn’t have had any idea what she was asking, but he nodded his head. As though to tell her that whatever she needed to do, he had the babies and he was good. She didn’t need to worry about it.
She looked at Mr. Carson. “Please. I’d appreciate that.
” Not only did she want to, but it would get her away from all of these people.
They meant well, they truly did, and she appreciated the fact that they were here, showing support, paying respect to her sister, and it was gratifying to know that so many people cared.
But she wanted to be alone. She needed to be alone.
Mr. Carson put a hand on her back and guided her down the aisle.
She hadn’t been to too many funerals, and she wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen after this.
Maybe a meal? She hadn’t even thought about a meal.
Maybe the next funeral she planned she could remember that, and then she almost choked on her laughter.
She couldn’t laugh at the end of her sister’s funeral.
She didn’t want to ever, ever have to plan another funeral.
If she and Rodney got together, she might have to plan his eventually.
That wasn’t a reason to avoid getting together with someone, was it? Because one wanted to avoid planning any more funerals in their lifetime?
She wasn’t sure. It seemed like a pretty legitimate reason to her. But the idea of telling Rodney that she never wanted to see him again was…too hard. She had eighteen years. He’d be around for eighteen years, he had said. She could count on that.
With that thought, she walked out into the cold, late February day and got in the passenger seat of the hearse as Mr. Carson held the door for her.
She was going to say goodbye to her sister. And she was going to do it alone.