42. Forty-Two
Forty-Two
LENA
S aturday, the morning of the funeral, I wake feeling anxious and queasy after a fitful night. Nightmares rattled me between crying—mostly for Ben, who once made my peaceful sleep his personal mission. I wonder if I’ll ever have a good night’s sleep without him.
I take my coffee on the back deck. It’s overcast, and rain threatens—funeral weather.
Saddletree is quiet. Jaye made sure that the studio wouldn’t be here today.
Their equipment sits dormant, waiting for action that won’t be until Monday.
I get caught up in the quiet, staring off at Mom’s swaying tree, and when I finally go inside, I have to rush to get us ready.
Ruthie refuses to wear the dark blue dress I bought her for the occasion. “Aunt Barb loved me in pink,” she argues, and I relent. She goes full-on pink—dress, leggings, and cardigan—like she’s a walking advertisement for Pepto-Bismol.
I wear a snug black dress with sheer long sleeves and dotted with white and brown dogwood flowers.
I rip my stockings, putting them on, so I go without.
Who cares? My high heels click across the hardwoods as I gather our things.
I promised Dot I’d be there early—a glance at the oven clock tells me to hurry if I expect to keep it.
Rain starts, so we take the mud room stairs, spilling into the barn to stay dry. “Oh, Ruthie, I forgot the umbrella. Stay here.”
“I have one.”
Ben stands inside the barn entrance, umbrella tucked under his arm. His Jeep idles close behind him, lights on and wipers flipping. He’s in his dark suit—the same one he wore the day of my car accident. He steps closer, watching my expression like a pressure gauge nearing the red zone.
“You’re here,” I say dumbly.
“Yes. I told you it wouldn’t happen again.”
“What?”
“Pulling a no-show when you need me.”
I nearly fall apart—that’s what he’s doing every day he’s not here. I’m confused and nervous. I almost wonder if Lauren sits in the passenger seat as his plus one, but I can’t see behind the rain’s glare on his windshield. Would he do that?
I feel like I have marbles in my mouth when I say, “I, um, need to get there. Dot’s beside herself. Her parents are coming—she hasn’t seen them since she had to move in with Mrs. Moore.” My eyebrows cinch together. “Did you want to take Ruthie?”
“I want to drive you both. We could go together,” he says, “if that’s alright.”
A mental debate happens in a breath—angry me versus me who still loves him. But it’s no contest.
“Yes,” pushes from me, remembering his hospital promise and ignoring the irony— Ben still keeps promises?
“You look lovely,” he says, green eyes moving from me to Ruthie.
“Aunt Barb loves me in pink.” Ruthie holds out a spray of wildflowers. “She loves flowers, too. I’m bringing these for her. I picked them yesterday.”
“Very thoughtful.” He leans down to sniff the messy bouquet that instantly makes him sneeze.
I chuckle lightly. He extends his arm, and I link my hand comfortably around it. Suddenly, we’re a family again—a thought that both delights and scares me. I’m Cinderella, waiting for the clock to strike midnight.