Thirty-eight
Sadie
I don’t want to do this. The thought’s been circling in my head since I opened my eyes this morning, and it’s only gotten louder. I’ve been sitting on the edge of my bed for what feels like hours, staring at the floor, trying to convince myself to move. Shower. Dress. Breathe.
It’s been four days since I snuck out on Beckett.
but who’s counting? I spent the week working with Tom Callahan, Dot’s old business partner, to prepare for Rosie’s funeral, which is today.
And I’m trying so hard to ignore my need to be with Beckett.
If I’m going to do it differently this time, I have to move slowly.
And right now, Rosie deserves the bulk of my attention anyway.
Ginny finally nudges me into the shower and hands me a soft black dress. Her gentle presence is the only reason I’m not still curled under my comforter. But none of this feels real.
I don’t want to say goodbye.
After I’m dressed, a sharp knock at the front door startles me. My heart skips before it plummets. I already know who it is.
When I open the door, Beckett’s there. He doesn’t speak or ask how I’m doing, just wraps me in his arms like he knows I’m breaking. I let out a shaky breath. For a moment, I let myself lean into him, anchor myself in the quiet strength of his embrace.
“I’m with you,” he murmurs into my hair. “Today, and whenever you need.”
Something tight and painful clenches within me. I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe I can do this.
He takes my hand and leads me outside to where Ginny’s waiting. We ride in silence, everyone seemingly lost in thought. But Beckett’s hand never lets go of mine. He keeps squeezing gently, reminding me I’m not alone.
When we pull up to the diner, my stomach turns. The parking lot is full, and the space decorated like a party—balloons, string lights, flowers. Laughter drifts in the air, blending with music Rosie would’ve loved.
I helped plan it, but still, I’m not ready for this.
This isn’t how grief is supposed to look. It feels too loud, too bright, too alive. I don’t want to celebrate. I want to scream. I want Rosie back.
Beckett comes around and opens my door as Ginny climbs out on the other side and walks ahead to greet someone. But I stay where I am, rooted to the spot.
Then I see it—easels lining the sidewalk, stretching into the parking lot. Giant poster-sized photos of Rosie. Laughing. Dancing. Hugging people. And in so many of them, I’m right beside her.
My breath catches.
Tom must’ve done this. Each photo is like a punch to the heart. Memories flood back—Rosie at the booth in the corner drinking her black coffee, Rosie sneaking me pie when I worked the early shift, Rosie wrapping her arms around me at my parent s’ funeral.
I press a hand to my mouth. “I can’t…” I whisper, my throat closing.
Beckett’s there again, steady, his palm warm on my back. “You don’t have to do anything except walk in. That’s it. One step at a time.”
I nod, eyes burning. One step at a time.
I take a shaky breath and finally step out of the car, my legs like lead. Beckett stays close, his hand at the small of my back. I scan the crowd and spot Tom before he spots me,—but it only takes him a second.
His face crumples. He abandons the conversation he’s in and makes a beeline toward me, moving faster than I’ve ever seen him.
“Sadie,” he says, voice thick with emotion as he pulls me into a hug. He’s always been like an extra uncle—gruff but kind. Right now, he’s shaking. “I—I didn’t know if this was too much,” he mumbles against my hair. “But I think… I think this is what she would’ve wanted.”
I nod into his shoulder, trying not to cry. “It is,” I whisper. “It’s perfect.”
When he lets me go, I take in the entire scene again with fresh eyes. Laughter. Music. The smell of grilled cheese and cinnamon rolls. And then I see it—Rosie’s favorite thing in the world.
A s’mores bar.
A long strip of flame runs down a table lined with skewers, graham crackers, chocolate bars, and fat marshmallows. My throat tightens, but a laugh slips out.
“She would’ve loved this,” I say. And that’s what matters.
I grab a skewer and stab a marshmallow. Beckett follows and hands me a milk chocolate bar and a graham cracker slab. I step up to the fire and don’t hesitate, sticking the marshmallow right in until it catches fire and blazes bright.
“Perfect,” I murmur as I blow it out. Charred and gooey, exactly how Rosie liked it .
As I assemble the s’more, something catches my eye. I do a doubletake.
It’s a photo of Rosie and Beckett, propped on an easel near the diner’s entrance. She’s hugging him from the side, her head tilted back in a laugh, his arm slung loosely around her shoulder, smiling. Really smiling. It’s a moment I hadn’t seen before. I always knew he was more than just her doctor.
Heat rushes through me. For a moment, I want to be mad at him. I want to scream that he didn’t save her. That he didn’t get her the heart she needed. Why is he here and she isn’t?
But when I look over at him, he’s staring at the same photo. His lips press into a tight line, and I watch as he swipes a tear from his cheek.
Just like that, my anger fizzles. Because he did everything he could, and he loved her too.
Maybe not the same way I did, but enough that this feels awful.
I reach for his hand again, and this time, I’m the one who squeezes.
The s’more is sticky on my fingers and sweet on my tongue, but it barely registers.
Beckett and I step away from the crowd, around the side of the diner where it’s quieter.
We’re part of the event, but on our terms. I can’t take too much of it at once, can’t entirely immerse myself in the experience.
The party runs into the evening as more friends, neighbors, and people who knew Rosie arrive.
“I didn’t expect this to be so hard,” I admit, wrapping my arms around myself. “Though I guess I should have known it would be.”
Beckett doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he watches me carefully, like he’s giving me space to say whatever I need to say.
“I really appreciated all your texts this week,” I tell him. “Every one of them made me feel a little less alone. I’m sorry I didn’t respond.”
Beckett shifts closer, his hand brushing mine. “I meant every word. I just…didn’t want to crowd you.”
“You didn’t,” I whisper.
He clears his throat. “I know this isn’t the right time. You’re grieving. This is about Rosie. But I need to say it anyway.”
I look over at him, my heartbeat pulsing in my ears.
“I want you in my life,” he says, eyes locked on mine. “I spoke to Caleb.”
That pulls a startled breath from me. “You what?”
He winces. “Yeah. It took a half hour of yelling, a few creative insults, and I’m pretty sure he questioned my entire existence, but he’s okay with us together, if that’s something you’re interested in.”
I laugh, though I’m not sure if it’s relief or disbelief. “I don’t know if that makes me happy or deeply unsettled.”
Beckett grins. “Maybe both?”
“Maybe.”
He steps closer, his expression softening. “I didn’t know I was seeing the world in black and white until you came into my life and filled it with color. Everything’s just… more when I’m with you.”
That’s when the tears come. I don’t even try to stop them.
“I want to do Rosie’s list with you,” he says. “Every single thing. Wherever you go, I want to go.”
I blink at him. “Ginny might want to come too.”
“I don’t care,” he says. “As long as I get to be with you.”
Emotion catches in my throat. “Beckett…” I reach up and kiss him, soft, full of everything I don’t have words for. His hands cradle my waist, his forehead resting against mine when we part.
Just then, I hear voices approaching, and I instinctively step back. Beckett’s parents are walking toward us, smiling warmly.
I wipe my eyes, feeling suddenly awkward, but Vicky pulls me into a hug.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she says. “I know this must be difficult, even if it is a fantastic party.” She smiles. When I nod and thank her she adds, “And we ’re so glad you two are here together. I just want you to know…we see how he is with you, Sadie.”
I glance at Beckett, who looks slightly sheepish.
“He’s lighter. Happier. It’s like we’ve got our son back.”
Warmth spreads through my veins. Maybe this is what Rosie meant in her letter about not settling, about finding someone who brings joy and meaning into your life.
Maybe I already have.
The event stretches on, blurring into a haze of hugs, memories, and too many tears.
Eventually, I’m able to go inside and greet people I haven’t seen in years—old classmates from high school, couples Rosie used to serve coffee to every Sunday morning, neighbors, teachers, people from all over town.
Some hug me like no time has passed. Some just offer a kind look and a nod, as if they know words would be more than I can handle.
Everyone is saying the same things to each other.
“She was a light.”
“She made this town feel like home.”
“There was no one like Rosie.”
And they’re right. Every time someone shares a story, I try to hold it close, as if I’m collecting tiny pieces of her. But it gets harder and harder to stay upright. Eventually the weight of it all becomes more than I can bear.
I cry until my throat is raw. Until my eyes sting. Until I think I’ll break in half if one more person says how much they miss her.
But then, something shifts.
Someone starts laughing, remembering the time Rosie danced in the middle of Main Street during the Christmas parade, wearing reindeer antlers and dragging me along. Someone else chimes in with the time she convinced the mayor to name a Milkshake Day in the city charter.
A few more stories bubble up. Each one brighter, louder.
She wasn’t just kind. She was hilarious, vibrant, and perpetually happy.
Gradually, the mood changes .
The tears are still there, but now there’s laughter mixed in. Heads thrown back. Smiles tugging at tear-streaked faces. It’s like the whole town decided—without speaking—that grief wouldn’t be the only thing we remember Rosie with.
I step back, needing a breath, and that’s when I feel an arm slide around my waist.
Tarryn.
She’s in a soft blue dress and has sunglasses perched on her head. She pulls me into a side hug. “Rosie was lucky,” she says, “to have you as such a devoted friend.”
My throat tightens again, but this time the tears don’t come. I just nod, grateful.