3. The Last Dress #3
When the pastor spoke, his voice was soft and kind. He talked about Grace’s faith, about service, and about love and community. He mentioned The Blue Cypress and the way Grace had “fed people’s bodies and souls.”
People smiled through their tears at that.
* * *
The line of mourners was thinning when the door at the back of the chapel creaked open. Heads turned.
Troy.
He walked in wearing a wrinkled dress shirt and mirrored sunglasses, as if he’d just rolled in from somewhere he shouldn’t have been. His hair was too long, his face unshaven. He looked both out of place and completely indifferent to the eyes on him.
Emmie froze beside Jenna, her jaw tightening.
He gave a stiff nod toward the casket, mumbled something to a cousin on his way down the aisle, and didn’t bother taking off his sunglasses.
When he reached the front, he hesitated for only a second—one hand in his pocket, the other brushing against the casket lid like he wanted to look respectful but couldn’t commit to it.
Then he turned and walked straight back out.
Jenna hesitated for only a moment before following him.
Outside, the heat hit her like a wall. Troy was already halfway across the parking lot, fishing for keys.
“Troy!” she called.
He stopped, sighed, and turned. “What?”
She caught up to him. “You weren’t going to say anything to Emmie?”
He shrugged, “She doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“She’s a kid who just lost her mother.”
“Yeah, well, I lost my wife.” He said it flat, like the words had no weight left.
“No shit. And where have you been? Your wife died days ago. You barely even came inside. You didn’t help with the funeral. There are bills, Troy. And the cars? Did you really sell them? Grace’s car? Emmie’s car?”
He froze, then smirked. “Word travels fast.”
“People talk, and what about the life insurance—you got it, didn’t you? You were supposed to use it for this.”
He popped a piece of gum into his mouth. “It was my wife’s policy. My name’s on it. I can use it how I want.”
Her voice dropped. “That money was supposed to take care of your daughter.”
Troy’s eyes slid toward the idling car at the edge of the lot. “Not my daughter. Not my problem.”
Jenna blinked, stunned. “You’re unbelievable. Why did you even come?”
He gave a dry laugh. “You’re one to talk. Who even are you, Jenna? You show up after ten years and act like you know anything about us.”
The passenger window rolled down. A girl, nineteen, maybe twenty, leaned over, sunglasses perched on her head, gum snapping between her teeth. “You good, babe?”
Jenna felt her stomach twist.
“Yeah,” Troy said, already walking away, “we’re done here.”
He climbed in, slamming the door, and the car pulled out in a spray of gravel, disappearing down the road.
Jenna stood there for a long time, the sound of cicadas rising around her.
When she finally turned back toward the chapel, the crowd had thinned to just family.
Emmie was standing near the door, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Jenna’s stomach twisted suddenly, wondering how long she had been there, what she might have heard, whether she had seen Troy leave with the girl.
But Emmie only gave her a small nod.
Then they went back inside together.
* * *
The chapel had emptied again, leaving only the low hum of air-conditioning and the open casket waiting at the front of the room.
Jenna walked slowly toward it, her hand trembling as she brushed it over the white silk lining.
Grace looked peaceful. Too peaceful.
She sat down beside the casket, the weight of the last few days finally pressing in on her. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye, but time, indifferent as ever to how she felt, had run out.
“You carried everything, didn’t you?” she whispered. “You kept the bakery running, held the house together, raised Emmie, lived with that man until your heart couldn’t take it anymore. Ten years, Grace. Ten years of doing it all alone.”
Her throat tightened. “You shouldn’t have had to.”
Jenna took a shaky breath. “But I’m here now. I’ll take care of Emmie. And the bakery. And the house. I’ll make it right. You held it long enough. I’ll hold it up this time.”
Her fingers brushed Grace’s hand, cool and still.
The heaviness pressed in around her, the kind that came before movement, before change.
For the first time since she’d arrived, her mind wasn’t spinning between Atlanta and Tarpon, between what was and what she’d lost. There was only this . . . this town, this family, this promise.
There was no life left to return to; no work mattered more.
Grace’s world was hers now, and Jenna knew she wouldn’t leave again. Not this time. Not ever.
“It’s my turn now.”
The room did not answer. Grace did not answer.
When the funeral director gently approached and asked if she was ready, Jenna nodded. She stood, smoothing her dress, and looked down one last time.
“You did enough, Grace. I’ll take it from here.”
Then she stepped back as they began to close the casket, Grace in white, forever in white. The sunlight spilled through the high window, catching her sister’s hair one last time before the lid sealed shut.