1. Chapter 1
Caitlin-One year later
The heat in the church is oppressive. I sit on the hard wooden pew, my black dress clinging to me. Sweat trickles down my back, between my shoulder blades and down my face.
“ Why would God inspire his creatures to invent air conditioning, only for this huge congregation to reject it?” I wonder.
Between the heat and the smell of sweat mixed with the cloying perfume of hundreds of flowers, I’m feeling rather sick.
I can only see the back of Adam’s head three rows up, but can’t help imagining his face.
He hasn’t left Millie’s side since the accident.
It’s been two whole weeks, and the only time I’ve seen my fiancé is when he’s stopped at home for a change of clothes.
He has his arm draped around her shoulders; her head is tucked against his chest.
I get it; her dad just died. She and Adam have been friends their whole lives. She is, as Adam constantly reminds me, like a younger sister to him. Still, the sight of them together makes my stomach twist into a pretzel of guilt and jealousy.
Maybe I’d feel differently if they had only been like brother and sister their entire lives. They haven’t though. They’d dated in high school. They were each other’s first relationship, first kiss, first everything. Millie has emphasized that to me frequently. First everything.
Eric Greene’s photo sits on an easel next to his closed casket.
He grins at the congregation from inside a silver frame, fishing rod in one hand and what I assume is a prize catch in the other.
I only met him a handful of times since Adam and I moved to Mount Pella two months ago, but he always had a joke ready, always made me feel welcome.
The pastor drones on about Eric’s contributions to the community, his dedication as a teacher and coach, his love for his family.
I tune in and out, my eyes fixed on Adam’s broad shoulders.
He’s hunched forward now, protective, the way he gets when he feels responsible for someone.
I’ve been on the receiving end of that posture. Just not lately.
Millie lets out a sob that echoes against the vaulted ceiling, and Adam pulls her closer. Millie’s mother, Rhonda, seated on Millie’s other side, reaches over with a tissue. The three of them make a unit, connected by grief and history that predates me by decades. I’m the outsider. The interloper.
“Eric would want us to celebrate his life rather than mourn his passing,” the pastor says, and I swallow hard.
I don’t know what Eric would want. I’m not sure I belong here, in this church, among these people who’ve known each other since birth.
My mind drifts to my own family, my Uncle Peter and Aunt Charlene in Oregon, their daughter Rachel.
My mom, who could be anywhere. My dad, who wouldn’t recognize me if he walked past me on the street.
My grandmother, who raised me after Mom took off.
The service shifts to Communion. Rows of mourners file forward to receive the body and blood.
I stay seated. I’m not Lutheran; I’m not really anything.
My grandmother Louise never went to church.
If asked, she would say she didn’t need to sit in a church and have God’s word shouted at her; she could hear it just fine in the singing of the birds.
Adam glances toward me as he guides Millie back to her seat. Our eyes meet for a brief moment before Millie stumbles slightly, and his attention snaps back to her.
The piano plays a somber hymn as people shuffle back to their seats. Adam doesn’t look at me again.
After communion, people share memories of Eric.
The high school principal talks about his dedication to students.
A former football player recalls Coach Greene’s tough love.
Rhonda can barely get through her tribute to her husband of thirty years.
Millie doesn’t speak, just clings to Adam like he’s a life raft in a storm.
When it’s time to head to the cemetery, I hover uncertainly near the church doors. Adam and his parents are helping Millie and Rhonda into a black limousine. They don’t look my way.
“Want to ride with me and Jake?” Adam’s sister Lauren asks, coming up behind me and taking hold of my arm. I like Lauren, and she’s one of the few in Adam’s family who seems to truly like me.
“Thank you,” I say, relief washing over me. At least I’m not completely forgotten.
“Of course.” She looks over at the black vehicle holding Adam and Millie. “Poor Millie’s just devastated.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
Her gaze snaps back to me, and she gives my arm a soft squeeze. “This can’t be easy on you either. If some woman were hanging off Jake the way Millie is Adam, I’d be throwing hands.”
I choke back a laugh because I can’t deny that I’ve been tempted.
“For what it’s worth, I truly don’t believe he has any romantic feelings for her. It’s just… she had so many health problems as a child and then leukemia when she was thirteen. Adam’s just always taken care of her. He’s always been protective of her. She’s like a little sister to him.”
A little sister he used to date is what I want to say. But I don’t. Nothing good will come from acting like a jealous shrew at her father’s funeral.
The cemetery is on a hill overlooking the town. The July sun blazes down on us as we gather around the grave. Adam stands with the Greenes, an honorary family member. Adam’s parents stand stoically beside them. I find myself between Lauren and Adam’s other sister, Hailey.
“Half the town is here,” Lauren murmurs.
“Eric was beloved,” Hailey agrees. She gives me a sidelong glance. “He was like a second father to us growing up. Especially to Adam.”
The graveside service is mercifully brief. The pastor says a prayer, and Rhonda places a rose on the casket. Millie tries to do the same but collapses in tears. Adam catches her, of course. Apparently, he’s been catching her throughout their whole lives.
And here I am, standing on the sidelines. Watching.
Back at the church, we gather in the basement social hall, where church ladies in sensible shoes heap plates with food for mourners.
I hide a smirk at the spread of Midwest “salads.” Potato salad, jello salad, pasta salad, salad with candy bars, salads with every possible combination of ingredients except …
lettuce. Or any other vegetables. Never change, Iowa.
I help myself to coffee that tastes like it’s been sitting on a warmer since sunrise.
“Caitlin!” A woman with a helmet of gray hair approaches. I recognize her as one of Paula’s bridge club friends. “Such a tragedy, isn’t it? You’re from the West Coast originally, right? Oregon?”
“Yes,” I say, grateful for the conversation. “Near Portland.”
“How nice. My sister lived in Seattle for a time. Too rainy for me.” She peers over my shoulder.
“It’s good of you to support Adam through this.
His family and the Greenes have always been thick as thieves.
Why, I remember when little Millie was so sick with cancer, Adam would go to the hospital every day after school. ”
“I didn’t know that,” I say, though I did. It’s a story I’ve heard from just about everyone since arriving in Iowa, how Millie fought leukemia, how everyone but especially Adam, rallied around her.
“Oh yes, they dated in high school, you know. Homecoming king and queen. Everyone thought they’d get married someday.” She gives me a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “But then Adam went off to college, and things change, don’t they?”
My coffee suddenly tastes even more bitter. “Yes, they do.”
“Still, blood is thicker than water. Or in this case, friendship. The Kelleys and Greenes might as well be related.” She pats my arm. “You’ll understand once you’ve been here longer.”
I spot Adam across the room, a plate of food in his hands. He’s headed toward a table where Millie sits with Rhonda and a cluster of relatives. I set down my coffee cup.
“Excuse me,” I murmur to the gray-haired woman, and make my way through the crowd.
“Adam,” I say, touching his elbow. He turns, startled, as if he’d forgotten I was here. Maybe he had.
“Caitlin.” He blinks, then glances at the plate he’s carrying. “Hey. Sorry, I was just taking this to Millie. She hasn’t eaten all day.”
“Of course.” I swallow my disappointment. “Can we talk for a minute?”
His eyes flicker to Millie, then back to me. “Can it wait? I don’t want the food to get cold.”
The food comprises a sandwich, chips, and a slice of cake,none of which would suffer from a two-minute delay, but I nod. “Sure. Later.”
He gives me a quick, distracted smile and continues toward Millie’s table. I watch as he sets the plate in front of her, how she grabs his hand and doesn’t let go, pulling him into the empty chair beside her. He doesn’t resist.
I wander back to the refreshment table, no longer hungry, but needing something to do. A woman in a floral dress is arranging cookie plates.
“Can I help?” I ask.
She looks up, surprised. “Oh! Yes, if you’d like. We need these taken around to the tables.”
For the next hour, I circulate with plates of cookies and coffee refills, playing the part of helpful almost-Kelley.
I make small talk with people who knew Eric, learning more about him in death than I ever did in life.
He was an avid reader who led the book club at the public library.
He volunteered at Habitat for Humanity every summer.
He made the best smoked brisket in three counties.
Through it all, I keep one eye on Adam, who hasn’t left Millie’s side. She’s wearing a simple black dress that hugs her curves, her dark hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Even grief-stricken, she’s beautiful, and jealousy sits heavy in me.
The crowd thins as afternoon stretches toward evening. I’m stacking empty plates when Adam finally approaches me.
“Hey,” he says, looking exhausted. His tie has been loosened, and his suit jacket has disappeared somewhere. “Sorry I’ve been… preoccupied.”
“It’s okay,” I lie. “How are you holding up?”
He runs a hand through his dark hair, leaving it standing in messy spikes. “Not great. Millie’s a wreck, and Rhonda’s just… she’s in shock, I think. Dad’s worried about her.”
I notice he doesn’t answer about himself. “What can I do?”
“Actually…” He hesitates, looking uncomfortable. “We’re going to take Millie and Rhonda to my parents’ place. Dad thinks it would be good for them to be somewhere other than their own house tonight, with all the memories.”
“Okay.” I wait for him to continue, to invite me along. When he doesn’t, I ask, “Should I meet you there, or…?”
His discomfort deepens. “Actually, Caitlin, it might be better for you to go home tonight.” Millie’s really struggling, and…
“And what?” My voice comes out sharper than intended.
“She needs to be with people who knew her dad. Who understands what she’s going through.”
I stare at him, incredulous. “You don’t want me there?”
“It’s not that I don’t want you there,” Adam says, but his eyes slide away from mine. “It’s just–”
“Adam, dear.” His mother, Paula, appears at his elbow. “They’re ready to go. Gerald’s bringing the car around.”
“I’ll be right there,” Adam tells her.
Paula looks at me with what might be sympathy, might be satisfaction. “Caitlin, I think it’s best if it’s just family tonight. You understand, don’t you? Millie and Rhonda need to be with people they’re comfortable with.”
Family. The word hangs between us like a barrier. I’m not family. Not to the Greenes, not yet to the Kelleys, despite the ring that once belonged to Adam’s grandmother on my finger.
“Of course,” I say, my voice hollow. “I understand completely.”
“I’ll be home tomorrow,” Adam promises, squeezing my hand. His palm is sweaty. “Hopefully, in time for breakfast.”
“Sure.” I force a smile. “Take care of yourself.”
He nods, relieved that I’m not making a scene. “Thanks for understanding.”
Paula gives me a tight smile. “You’re such a dear.”
They leave together, heads bent in conversation about what Millie needs, what Rhonda needs, what everyone except me needs. I stand alone in the church basement as the last of the mourners trickle out, the church ladies efficiently clearing away the remnants of the funeral lunch.
Outside, the day is still as blazingly hot as it was noon.
I get in my car and start the engine. Driving home, I pass the town’s only grocery store and see several cars I recognize from the funeral in its parking lot.
Life goes on in this tight-knit community where everyone has a place. Everyone except me.
At home, I kick off my shoes and peel away the stockings that have been driving me crazy all day. I shower and change into sweats and one of Adam’s t-shirts, relishing the clean pine scent I will forever associate with him.
I consider ordering pizza but decide against it. Instead, I pour a generous glass of wine and curl up on the couch, staring at the empty space where Adam should be.
“Family only,” I say to the silent house, testing how the words feel in my mouth.
It’s rare for me to get angry. Rachel has told me more than once that I let people walk all over me and I should stand up for myself more.
I find anger to be a waste of energy. I treat people as I would want to be treated, and they will either treat me well in kind or not.
And if they don’t? I walk away. It’s not worth my peace to get upset.
But sitting there alone in my silent apartment, reviewing the events of the day, I can feel the beginnings of anger churning in my gut.