Chapter 10
Caleb
The day we bury her father arrives without ceremony.
The sky is a hard, impossible blue, the kind that feels almost deliberate. Not a single cloud drifts through it. The sun sits high and warm, bright enough to make the polished wood of the casket gleam.
Spring sunlight spills across the cemetery, angled and clear, glinting softly off the casket as if the day itself has chosen to show up and bear witness.
I stand beside Maggie with my arm around her, the firm touch lending her strength.
She leans into me without collapsing, her weight steady, her spine straight.
Grief has hollowed her eyes, but it hasn’t bent her.
She keeps her gaze on the casket, chin lifted, breathing slow and deliberate, as if she has decided this moment will not take her down.
When the breeze lifts the edge of her hair, she shivers.
Her fingers curl briefly into my sleeve, then loosen again.
She knows what this ending spared her father.
I feel it in the quiet certainty of her posture, in the way she stands rooted beside me, sad but clear-eyed.
She wears a simple black dress. Her hair is pulled back at the nape of her neck, a few strands already escaping. The breeze lifts them now and then. She doesn’t fix them.
Her gaze stays forward.
People fill the small clearing behind us.
Not a crowd, but enough. The Ironwood Brotherhood stands together without trying to take up space.
Logan and Asher stand shoulder to shoulder, their tailored black suits and black ties a perfect match.
Dylan has his arms folded, chin tucked, eyes alert in that quiet way of his.
Jeremy murmurs something to Clara and she answers with a soft shake of her head, then looks toward Maggie with unmistakable gentleness.
Dina from the diner presses Maggie’s hand when she comes forward, squeezing once before stepping back. Maggie’s neighbors, the Ramirez family, stand together a few rows behind, hands clasped, faces solemn.
The pastor speaks. His voice is kind. He says the right things. He talks about rest, about love that carries on, about letting go.
Maggie doesn’t cry.
She breathes. Deep and slow. Each inhale measured, each exhale controlled, like she’s keeping herself anchored by sheer will.
The ropes creak as the casket begins its slow descent. Maggie’s hand shifts at my side, the smallest movement, almost imperceptible, until her fingers find the wool of my coat and gather it between them. There is no pull in it, no tremor, just an anchoring touch that lingers.
I lower my hand over hers, fitting my palm to the curve of her knuckles. My thumb settles at the base of her finger, steady and unmoving. She exhales, long and controlled, and keeps her eyes forward. I stay exactly where I am.
Her fingers are cold where they lace through mine, a chill that doesn’t belong to the day so much as to the moment.
I step closer and bring my arm around her, drawing her in until her side fits against my chest. My coat comes up and around her, the edge pulled higher as I turn slightly into the breeze.
She leans in without thinking, her shoulder settling beneath my chin. Her weight finds mine and stays there. I feel her breathe out, slow and steady, and my own chest eases in response.
I hold her where I can, block what I can. It doesn’t fix anything that matters today. But it’s what I have, and it’s enough.
The weak spring sun catches the edge of the casket as it lowers, glinting bright and sudden.
Maggie lifts her face slightly, eyes narrowing against the light.
The tension eases from her face. The tight line of her mouth loosens, her gaze steadying as it meets mine.
Her shoulders drop a fraction, as if she has stopped bracing for something and decided, instead, to stand where she is.
Like she feels him there.
When it’s done, they come the way people always do.
A few hesitate at the edge of the crowd before gathering their courage, while others walk straight toward us.
The pastor offers a quiet word of sympathy, voice low, hands folded as if he’s said these words a thousand times and still means them.
Then the neighbors. Faces Maggie knows from passing hellos and quiet favors.
A palm at her elbow. Fingers curling briefly around her arm.
Murmurs meant more to acknowledge than to fix.
I adjust without thinking, easing back when someone steps in, closing the space again when they step away. It settles into a rhythm. In. Out. Back again. Each time the space opens, I’m there when it closes.
When the last of the neighbors drift off, Clara approaches. She stops in front of Maggie, waits until Maggie’s gaze lifts, stretches out her arms. “I’m so sorry,” she says, pulling Maggie in for a hug.
Maggie steps into the embrace. “Thank you for coming.” She pulls back and cocks her head. “You look good.”
Clara’s mouth curves, small and real. “Almost halfway.”
“That’s good.” Maggie exhales. “That’s really good.”
Clara’s fingers squeeze her upper arms once before she steps aside.
Jeremy comes next. No words. Just a one-armed pull-in, his forearm solid across my back, a single thump between my shoulders. I return it without hesitation.
A quiet, “Anytime,” close to my ear.
“I know.”
Dylan is last. He takes Maggie’s hand, holding on just a beat longer than necessary. His eyes flick to mine, bright with that familiar edge.
“He was a good man.” His face loses the perpetual smirk. “You need anything, you call.”
Maggie nods, her fingers curling once before he releases her. As he steps back, he grins at me, fully aware of what he’s doing.
I don’t react.
The space barely has time to open before my hand finds Maggie’s again.
Logan meets my eyes once over Maggie’s shoulder. He says nothing. He doesn’t need to. The look he gives me is brief and sharp and approving. I incline my head. That is all.
I slide my hand to the small of her back, thumb pressing in slow, absent circles. Her breathing evens. She exhales and lets more of her weight rest against me.
When the last person steps away and the space clears, Maggie doesn’t move right away. She stands there, eyes on the fresh earth, sunlight warming her face.
I stay silent.
Finally, she turns toward me. Her eyes are red-rimmed, but clear. Bright, even.
“It’s a beautiful day,” she says.
“It is.”
She nods once, like that confirms something. Then her hand slips into mine fully this time, fingers threading through without hesitation.
I lace my fingers with hers.
We walk back toward the cars together.
As we reach my vehicle, Maggie stops.
I open the door for her. She gets in without comment, smoothing her dress automatically, hands settling in her lap. I close the door gently.
When I slide into the driver’s seat, she reaches for my hand again. This time she holds on.
We don’t talk as we pull away. The road stretches ahead, empty and bright. The town waits for us. Life waits.
At the edge of the cemetery, Maggie turns her head toward the open sky one last time.
Her grip tightens, just slightly.
I squeeze back.
I am here.
And I will keep being here. Because Maggie is mine, and I am hers.