Chapter 26 Lily
Lily
Rain. All it’s done is rain the week following Ms. Sullivan’s death, so it doesn’t surprise me when the clouds dump on us on the way to the graveside funeral.
It comes down in sheets, hammering against the windshield.
The wipers swipe back and forth, struggling to keep up, but it’s almost useless.
The water streams down the glass, thick rivulets distorting the road ahead into a blur of gray, muting the taillights of the procession we follow.
I steal a glance at Noah, dressed in a black suit and tie.
His hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles pale, and his smooth jaw locked.
His eyes are focused on the road, refusing to meet mine as they have all week.
I’ve tried to be there for him this week, tried to be supportive in the background, giving him the space he needs, but I’m feeling like an unwanted passenger.
Unless he’s had to, he’s avoided the house.
I have, too. Because it seemed weird, like I was a creeping leech, I couldn’t stay in the house overnight, and I resorted to sleeping back in my car.
The first two nights I camped out in the driveway, but then I ended up making my way to the gym parking lot.
I only went to the house when Noah asked for some paperwork or needed some information.
I thought he would’ve invited me to stay with him in the cabin, but he didn’t, and I didn’t ask.
Inside the truck, Max rides along, content to stare out the back window at the streams of water rolling sideways across the window. Every so often, he gets bored and licks at them.
It’s suffocatingly quiet, except for the rhythmic thump of the wipers and the deep hum of the truck engine. Lightning flashes somewhere far off, illuminating the deep, furrowed lines on Noah’s face for the briefest moment.
My chest clenches. Watching someone you love shatter, knowing there’s nothing you can do to take their pain away—it hurts. Even though it’s not my grief, it might as well be.
Noah sighs, letting his one hand fall to his lap as he picks a hangnail, and I reach for him. My hand finding his, cold and clammy. I squeeze for a moment, hoping he will clasp my hand, but he’s limp, then he releases me to grab the wheel again.
Snapping my head sideways, I choose to look out the window instead. It hurts to look at him. It’s a helpless kind of sorrow and the burn behind my eyes stings as the tears fall.
Is this what his mom meant when she said he would carry the weight alone? I want to stay true to my word, to help him, to ease the pain, but it’s like he wants nothing to do with me.
Am I the burden now?
The rain beats harder, drowning out my mild sniffles and I’m grateful it fills the silence between us.
I know he won’t look at me. If he does, he might break, and if he breaks, he may not move forward. So, I sit watching the storm rage around us as we continue to the Pinebrook cemetery.
We arrive toward the front of the procession, and as we wait, I take a minute to fix my simple knee-length black dress that’s damp and clinging to my body like a second skin. I fumble with the umbrella in the door, readying it for when I have to hop out of the truck.
Noah reaches into the console for Max’s leash, and he pops up in the back his tail wagging.
“Sitz!” Noah barks, and I jump.
Noah rubs a shaky hand over his face, closing his eyes. “Sorry, damn it.”
Timidly, I reach over and take the leash from him. Opening the door and my umbrella in tandem, I shuffle to the back door and open it for Max.
“Bleib,” I say, willing Max to be on his best behavior. I hook him to the leash and command him to heel at my side.
A few seconds later, Noah slides out of his truck, no umbrella. He tugs at his tie, adjusting it, and moves toward a group of townspeople preparing for the trek into the cemetery.
Pinebrook Cemetery sits on a sloping hill, the kind that would feel peaceful to look out over, but today, under the heavy storm, it feels anything but.
It’s surrounded by towering pines swaying violently in the wind, bending and groaning under the force of the rain.
Water runs down the worn stone pathway, pooling in the dips and carved out crevices between the graves as we walk it.
My secondhand kitten heels sludge through the mud, the earth soft and mushy. Noah shoves his hands in his pockets up ahead of me. He’s easy to pick out of the crowd walking to the gravesite, the only one without an umbrella over him.
As I walk, Max stays in contact with my knee and I swear it’s only him that keeps me going at this point. I can’t help the cutting feeling that I in some way caused this outcome.
It’s been playing on repeat all week. If I’d been right next to her, could I have helped?
Had I not lingered at the kitchen window daydreaming of Noah walking up the stone pathway, would I have been there with her and known she needed help?
Seconds matter in life and death, and maybe I’m to blame for those few seconds I wasn’t there.
I can only assume Noah blames me—he can’t even look at me.
When we finally make it to the graveside service, the ground is too soaked to sit in the chairs, so the funeral is a mess of black umbrellas and huddled together mourners.
The rain is merciless, drumming against the fabric or slick coats, but doing wonders to mask the tears of those in the crowd. The pastor does a hell of a job projecting his voice over the storm, but some of his words of comfort are lost in the roar.
I look around at all the grieving faces: Morgan, Paul, Mitch, Old Man John and his daughter who flew in from Georgia.
Ms. Sullivan was loved.
As I look at all their faces, I can’t take my eyes off Noah and wish I was standing next to him.
He’s close to the pastor, but not close enough to be covered by the umbrella.
Rain crashes down over his suit, clinging to his stocky frame.
Water trails from his hair down into his face, tracing the hard lines of his jaw and slipping into the hollows beneath his eyes.
Did he sleep at all this week?
He stares ahead, lips slightly parted—the rise and fall of his chest unsteady and twice the speed of those around him.
Pain.
Look at me. Please, look at me.
His hands hang stiff at his sides, fingers curled. Water drips from his chin, his lashes, and the creases of his clenched brow. Body locked and rigid, his shoulders look weighed down.
Another bout of thunder growls in the distance, and Max whines, but Noah doesn’t flinch. I stroke Max’s ears, holding his head close to my side.
Look at me.
He doesn’t wipe the rain from his face. He doesn’t move at all. He just stands there, letting the rain consume him.
I’m practically across from him, nowhere near him, while Morgan, Paul, and even Tommy surround him.
Was that on purpose? Does he think me comforting him will only make it worse?
I chide myself. He doesn’t have any family here, and I know those around him are who he grew up with. They’ve known Ms. Sullivan and Noah a lot longer than I have.
My thoughts wander to my family. My mom, dad, brothers, and grandparents. I have so many family members left—I’m lucky that way—and I … I’ve purposefully ignored them.
I stare as the casket is lifted from beside the freshly dug grave.
What if that was my mom in there? A hot tear splashes down my cheek.
I don’t want anything to happen to her without her knowing she didn’t do anything wrong.
I’d hate for something to happen to my dad, and he passed thinking I left because of something the family did. Am I really so selfish?
Maybe I’m not ready to fully open up about everything, but I could reach out. I could try.
The booming words of the pastor startle me mid-thought.
“We commit Rose Sullivan’s body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. May the Lord bless and keep her; may His face shine upon her and give her peace.
Though her body returns to the earth, her soul is in the hands of God, where there is no pain, no sorrow, only everlasting peace. Amen.”
The casket lowers, slow and steady, and for a moment I smile. She wasn’t religious, and this pastor wasn’t hers, only a good friend. I wonder if she’s somewhere shaking her fist at his words. I can picture her saying, “Just dump me in the ground and go take some shots already.”
I bite my lip to contain my smile, then gnaw harder when a sob tries to bubble its way from my lips. I’m going to miss her—I’m going to miss her hard.
Some classic instrumental music plays in the background, but I couldn’t tell you which musical genius it belongs to.
All I know is that it’s painfully beautiful.
No one lingers longer than necessary. The rain makes sure of that, but it has relented some.
One by one they turn. Mitch meets my gaze as he and his family walk away, and he gives me a solemn nod.
The sheriff ignores me outright, but Old Man John saunters over, arms wide.
“Beautiful service, despite the rain,” he says, wrapping me in a wobbly hug. “Pretty sure she’s looking down with a smile on her face seeing how many people showed up. I know in the last couple of years she didn’t get out much.”
“It really was a great turn out,” I sniffle.
Old Man John’s warm eyes land on my cold nose, and I picture it screaming red. “There now,” he says, taking my hand. “She wouldn’t want you to be sad.”
“I know.” I swipe at my cheek with my free hand.
He gestures over his shoulder. “He’s going to need you.”
I look over, watching Morgan wrap her arms around Noah’s neck and he returns the hug, squeezing around her waist.
Sadly, I want to scoff. Need me? He’s ignored me this week.
As he hugs Morgan, his eyes flit around until they land on mine.
I look away.
“You know?” Old Man John nudges my shoulder with his.
“Yeah, I know.” It’s all I can say.