Chapter 28
Gage
The morning of the funeral, Skye is running on autopilot just like she has since the call came.
It’s as if she's here, but not really present. Every time I look at her, it hits me how fragile she is right now. I’m doing what I can.
I took care of the arrangements, spoke to the funeral director, and confirmed the time and location.
I made sure the flowers are delivered and double-checked the guest list. Anything to take the weight off her shoulders.
But it's while I'm finalizing the paperwork that I see it. The invoice from the hospital and funeral home are marked "Paid in Full." The name listed under payment? Alan Lawrence, her father. Not a foundation or research study like she thought her mother was in.
That's when it hits me: there was no medical study.
I don't think she's realized it yet. She's been so wrapped up in the logistics and the rawness of it all that she hasn't noticed the lack of paperwork from any grant program. Or maybe she has and just can't deal with it. I don't bring it up. Not today. Not when she's barely holding it together.
She hasn't cried again since that night. It's like the floodgates are closed and locked, and her emotions sealed behind some invisible wall that even I can't reach.
While she's in the bathroom, I lay out her clothes, a black dress I found in the back of her closet that I think she'd pick if she were in her right mind.
I smooth the fabric and set her shoes beside it, then go to get dressed myself.
A black suit, simple with no tie. Skye always says I look better with a couple of buttons undone.
When she comes out of the bathroom, she stops and looks at the dress, and then at me. Her eyes are red rimmed, but dry for now.
"You picked this one?" she asks softly.
I nod. "Thought it looked like you. Classic, strong. Beautiful."
She gives a small, sad smile that barely reaches her eyes. "Thank you. I couldn't... I didn't want to decide."
"You don't have to decide anything today. I've got you."
I help her into the dress, zipping it up carefully while she stands still, staring out the window. Her hands tremble as she slides on her shoes, and I kneel to buckle the strap for her.
"You look beautiful," I say, rising to meet her gaze.
"I feel like I'm going to break in half."
"Then I'll hold the pieces together."
She exhales a shaky breath and leans into my chest. I hold her tightly, my hand stroking slow circles across her back.
"Do you want to eat something before we go?"
She shakes her head. "Just coffee. I don't think I can stomach anything."
I brew a cup and hand it to her while she sits at the kitchen table, staring blankly ahead. Sitting beside her, I brush my thumb over the back of her hand.
"You ready?" I ask as it gets closer to the time to leave.
"No. But let's go anyway."
We leave in silence, but I don't let go of her hand for a second.
The funeral home is already filling when we arrive. People murmur softly, dressed in black, clutching tissues and programs. I lead Skye through the crowd to the front, where a framed photo of her mom rests atop a table covered in lilies.
Gemma, Carter, Summer, and Knox are already there, waiting for us. Summer wraps Skye in a tight hug while Gemma squeezes her hand.
My sister and her husband show up too, slipping into the pew behind us and placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"I wish I'd met her under different circumstances," she whispers.
"Me too," I murmur.
Skye clings to me, and I don't let go, not once. Even when her father and his new wife arrive. Skye stiffens beside me but doesn't move. They take seats toward the back.
Skye doesn't speak during the service. She stares at the casket as if it belongs to a stranger, her hands knotted tightly in her lap. When it's time to speak, she doesn't stand right away.
"I think I should say something," she whispers. "But I don't know if I can."
"If you feel like you want to, I'll be right there with you. You don't have to get through it alone."
She nods and clutches the folded piece of paper she pulled from her purse. Her eyes stay locked on the front of the room as she walks slowly to the podium. The room is silent. She unfolds her note and stares at it.
"My mom... wasn't perfect," she begins, voice shaking.
"But she tried. She worked two jobs after my dad left us so I didn't have to go without.
Some days I'd see her only for a moment as she was home changing and getting ready for her next job.
We'd have a few minutes to eat, then I was on my own again.
As a kid, I hated it, but as an adult, I understand now, and I never told her that. "
Her hands tremble, and she looks up at the sea of faces. "Despite working two jobs, she showed up for all my plays, my games, and even chaperoned a few school field trips. She was all I had. So, when she became sick..."
She stops. Her voice catches. Her hands clutch the paper tighter.
"I made sure to be there for her. Whatever she needed — grocery shopping, dinners several times a week, and helping to and from doctor’s appointments.
I thought she'd beat this and we'd have more time.
I wish... We were supposed to have more time," she whispers.
"More mornings. More holidays. More fights. More makeups. Just... more."
Her voice breaks completely. Her shoulders shake as the sobs rise.
I'm out of my seat in a flash, reaching her just as the paper slips from her hands. She turns into me, burying her face in my chest. Holding her tight, I shield her from the crowd while murmuring soft reassurances into her hair.
I nod to the funeral director, who steps in to guide us gently back to our seats. The room now brims with emotion, and tears are shining in many eyes.
Even though she had more to say, when the funeral director indicates she can return up front, she just shakes her head. So I step up instead, telling a story about her mom's strength and her quiet love for Skye. I keep it simple. Honest. My voice only cracks once.
As the service ends, people start filing past us, offering condolences and awkward hugs. That's when they show up. The guys from Club Red. Each one in a black suit, subdued and respectful. They nod to me, then to Skye.
Then her father walks over toward us.
He's tall, clean-cut, and dressed like a man who never has to check a price tag. His new wife stands beside him, young and polished, with a sympathetic smile.
Skye goes stiff beside me. I can feel it in the way her fingers dig into my arm. Skye barely acknowledges him, her hand tightening around mine. He nods to me, offering a business card.
"If she ever needs anything, even if it's just a new toothbrush or car trouble, call me."
I take the card with a tight nod.
He shifts awkwardly before glancing at Skye. "I know I don't deserve to be here. But I wanted to pay my respects. I wanted to see her."
Skye's lips are tight, her eyes wary. "You saw her."
He flinches slightly. "I'm sorry, Skye. For everything. I wasn't the father you needed. I was selfish, and I let you down."
Skye doesn't say anything.
Her stepmother steps in gently. "Skye, if there's anything we can do, we'd like to try. Not to replace what was lost, but to be here now."
Her stepmother pulls her into a hug. Skye hesitates, then melts into it for a moment. When they pull apart, there are tears in her stepmother's eyes.
"You're stronger than you think," she whispers to Skye.
Skye nods, but doesn't speak.
We leave the funeral and drive to Carter and Gemma's house, where the wake is being held. Their home is warm and full of people offering condolences, dropping off food, and sharing memories.
Skye stays close to my side, greeting people with polite nods, but she's clearly running on fumes.
Her stepmother surprises me by slipping easily into hostess mode right along side Gemma. She takes coats, arranges food on platters, refills drinks, and checks in with guests. She even takes over the kitchen for a while, keeping things moving smoothly.
I watch Skye as she sees this, her eyes following her stepmother's every movement. There's a mix of shock and gratitude in her expression.
A little while later, Skye heads to the restroom. I take a moment to step outside for air, and her father joins me on the porch.
He clears his throat. "I appreciate everything you've done for her."
I nod slowly. "She's... everything."
There's a pause before I speak again. "I know about the hospital. That there was no medical study. You paid for everything."
He blinks, surprised, then nods. "She doesn't know. I didn't want her to. I just wanted to help."
"Why keep it a secret?"
"Because she'd never take the help if she knew it was from me. But Meredith, she forgave me long before I deserved it. Meredith deserved everything I could give her. She deserved dignity, and Skye deserved to be spared one more burden."
I study him for a moment. "She may never forgive you."
"I know," he says quietly. "But that doesn't mean I'll stop trying."
Skye returns then, slipping her hand into mine without a word. I squeeze it gently.
As we prepare to leave, Skye steps up to her stepmother and pulls her into another hug. This time, it lingers.
"Thank you," she whispers. "For everything."
Her stepmother swallows hard, nodding, her eyes glassy with unshed tears.
I turn to Carter and Gemma. "I'm taking her home. She needs quiet."
Carter nods. "Take whatever time you need. We've got everything covered here."
I find Skye near the door, her fingers grazing the edge of her mother's picture.
"Ready?" I ask gently.
She nods, wordless. And I guide her out, one hand steady at her back.
Grief doesn't have a road map. But wherever she needs to go from here, I'll be right beside her.