Chapter Eighteen
REESE
Tucking my scarf around my neck, I shiver at another icy gust that whips through the mountains.
The October wind nips harder than usual this year with a blizzard forecast for the weekend.
I stroll along my usual path around town, the brisk movement keeping me warm.
With the slow workday at the shop, Lewis gave me the rest of the evening off.
Normally I’d sneak over to see Tris, but I’ve been more restless with each day that passes. There’s still one more thing I have to do before the wedding day.
The route I take is purposeful, looping around the community field and heading toward the church and cemetery. I kept telling myself I was too busy to come earlier, pushing this moment back day after day. But today I have zero excuses.
Not only have I been focused on remodeling Des’s camper but also restoring my spiritual relationship.
Every morning, I pray for peace about the reason I started drinking in the first place—my granny’s passing.
I find myself more often than not lingering at the gates of the cemetery, almost brave enough to enter.
Like I am today. I slow down to a stop, my heart thumping in my chest.
It always seems simple. Open the gate and walk in. But like before, I freeze in place, old doubts and guilt circling like vultures.
Help me to conquer this fear, Lord.
I stand there until my nose is numb, my eyes watering from the chilly breeze. Perhaps today is not the day after all. Disappointment settles into me like an old friend.
Right before I’m about to leave, an elderly woman in a pink tracksuit places a hand on my arm. One of the sweet neighborhood watch ladies, Bethany Cook, her arms full of golden mums.
“Mind if I squeeze by, sweetie?” she asks.
“Oh yes, sorry.” I step to the side.
She stumbles on the first step, reaching out for support. I catch her before she can crash into the metal gate, her arms bone-thin and frail under the thick velvet fabric.
I steady her back on her feet and adjust her skewed pink snow hat. “You almost took a tumble there.”
“These knees always act up when a storm is on the way.” Rubbing the spot, she hisses through her dentures. “I hate to trouble you, but would you be a dear and assist me inside? It’s only to place these flowers.”
“Oh, I . . .” I glance up, staring at the rows of headstones through the bars. Bethany smiles up at me, my resolve melting. “Sure.”
She loops her arm through mine, shuffling carefully over the cobblestone path. With each step past the row of graves, the invisible hand that gripped my chest lets go, and I take a full breath with ease.
I did it.
Most of the trees are bare, their leaves long gone or crumpled on the ground. The change of seasons happens so gradually that one moment you blink and realize fall is almost over. For such a small town, there are rows after rows of graves. So many deaths.
“My Jackson is over here,” she says.
Bethany stops in front of her husband’s moss-covered headstone.
Smiling, she dusts off the loose dirt and debris, sweeping the stray leaves into the grass.
She places the mums into the vase on the ground, rearranging them to her liking before kissing her fingers and tapping them on top of the marble.
My heart aches for her, but she seems at peace, standing straight again and ready to go.
“How do you cope with your husband’s loss?”
“Because I’ll see him again. Death loses its sting, no?” She pats my arm affectionately. “Do you want to see your granny’s grave? She’s not far from here. A few rows up and to the left. I like to leave her flowers on her birthday.”
My hands tremble at my sides as the urge to bolt hovers in the recesses of my mind.
“I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“Pishposh. You’re none of that. Regina was a dear friend of mine, and I love to visit when I get the chance. She was the only one who could out-bake me in the kitchen. I’m always tickled to see her jams in the General Store and Lula Belle’s. It’s like she’s living on through you and Des.”
Words fail me, my throat clenching as I fight back the tears. This time she is leading, humming softly until I find myself where I wished I would never be.
Granny . . .
Seeing her name on the slab of marble is like a bucket of cold water splashing over my head. I collapse on numb legs, falling to my knees in the grass. Salty tears trail down my cheeks, dripping off my chin. Like a dam that burst, I can’t stop.
Similar to the leaves on the trees, time slips away so quickly. One minute Granny was here, then the next she was gone. There were so many I should haves: More sitting and listening to her stories. More offering to help with her jams. More I love yous and hugs.
“Don’t hold it in, sweetie.” Bethany rubs a soothing circle on my spine.
“I never got to say goodbye,” I blubber, my breathing erratic and raspy.
“Remember, it’s not ‘goodbye,’ it’s ‘till I see you again.’ Just like my Jackson.”
A calming peace fills my soul. Not goodbye. I place my hand on the headstone over her name. Until I see you in Heaven.
Standing, I wipe the dirt from my pants. It hits me—the sudden urge to call Tristen so I can fill him in on finally conquering my fear. And maybe ask for one of his special bear hugs.
“Well, would you look at that.” Bethany rotates her leg. “My knee feels much better.”
I dash the tears from my cheeks and fight back a smile.
“I’ll still hold on to you, just to be safe.” I loop my arm through hers. “And thanks for coming with me.”
She pats my arm as we walk to the gate. Each step is lighter than my last.
“We all need a little nudge sometimes. Now, you let me know if things don’t work out with Tristen. My son is still single, and I bet you two would hit it off.”
“I’m actually really happy with Tristen. I’m not sure anyone else could put up with me.”
“An old lady has to try. I want to have grandkids one day.” She lifts up her arm and frowns at her watch. “As much as I want to keep you company, I have a CR meeting in a few minutes. I don’t want to mess up my perfect attendance.”
“Is that a club?”
“Celebrate Recovery is a Bible-based support group that meets once a week. Some of us need a little more accountability to overcome our struggles. We have a variety of folks that show up—alcoholics, anger management, eating disorders, really anything that may be preventing you from your relationship with Jesus.”
“Like my AA program.” I bite my lip, thinking about how long it’s been since I last went to a meeting.
“It’s for anyone struggling. Habits can form out of anything.
Like with my crippling anxiety, it manifests in hoarding tendencies.
It’s been a long and difficult journey. But it’s been four years since I’ve laid my problem at Jesus’s feet.
I’m not perfect, but it helps give me the accountabilities and tools to succeed.
I don’t think I could have done this on my own. ”
“I’m almost two years sober myself.”
“Yes, I’ve seen your transformation these last months.
We’re all so proud of you, sweetie. But I know it’s still a long and hard road, and for some, that road never ends.
Our temptations are scars that never truly go away but serve as reminders at how far we’ve come.
The folks in here, we have been in your shoes.
Fought with our own inner demons. But battles aren’t meant to be fought alone. You are more than welcome to join us.”
“Oh . . . I don’t know . . .”
“It’s a small group of us, with a few people traveling in from Golden and the new ski resort up north. They like the close-knit connection with the group. You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to. Just sit and listen.”
Something presses against my heart, and I feel myself nodding before my voice can catch up. “Sure. I’d love to give it a try.”
“Annabeth made her famous cheesecake bites, so you’re in for a treat.”
She tugs my arm, but my feet are rooted to the ground. My nerves tingle and doubts bubble to the surface. What ifs cycle on a loop in my head. I know they are unreasonable, but I don’t know how to turn them off.
“It’s been a few years since I’ve stepped inside a church.”
She nods and pats my hand soothingly. “The best way to fix that is one step at a time. There’s no one in there that hasn’t been in your shoes at one point or another.
Maybe your story can help another alcoholic find their way to recovery too.
It’s amazing how God always puts the right people in our lives when we need them. ”
“Kinda like you bumping into me at the cemetery?”
“Perhaps,” she says with a soft chuckle. “And after that nudge, you were able to take that first step. Are you ready to take your next one?”
With a deep breath, I nod and follow her through the church doors.
Those weeks of meetings are what motivate me to finally sort through the boxes in my closet. Which I’m glad I did. Not only did I find some wonderful treasures from my past, but also my granny’s handkerchief. I have it cleaned and mended, and place it in a box until the day of the wedding.
I head into the bridal suite of the church, my hideous pink bridesmaid dress just as terrible and sparkly as I remember. Tracing a finger down the sequined top, I can’t help but think how different my feelings are for Tristen from the last time I had this on.
Thankfully, the dress zips without an issue, and I join the other bridesmaids in the waiting room with a dozen of Maya’s closest relatives.
Des stops in for a second, pulling me out into the hall to speak with me privately.
“Cold feet?” I joke, but I can already tell by his expression that he’d like to skip all this and get straight to the ceremony.