Three Grace
The unmistakable stench of death permeates the air inside the church. I’ll never understand this human ritual. Putting a dead body on display to look and cry at. I’m aware of the whispers building into a crescendo, but I can’t take my eyes off the man in the box at the head of the room.
He looks nothing like the father I last saw eighteen years ago.
Least of all because of the grayish hue and the thick makeup everyone pretends makes him look less corpse-like.
I let myself focus on him and not the chaos happening around me.
These people act like they’ve never seen a dead girl before.
I avoid looking at my sister just yet, though I can feel her. Sense her. That never went away, even being separated for eighteen years. Even with her believing I was dead all this time.
I could feel sadness I knew wasn’t mine. Excitement. Guilt.
I walk past the rows of people and up the steps, right past the stuttering pastor, and stand over my father. I mumble a prayer under my breath. The Lord’s Prayer. The one he taught us to say every night before bed.
The bruise around his neck is still visible from beneath the makeup.
I trace the line of it gently with my fingertips before pulling my hand back and dropping it by my side.
I close my eyes and lean over, kissing him on his cold, waxy forehead.
A series of memories fly through my mind like some kind of movie montage.
Him making us pancakes every Saturday morning, even when we turned into bratty teenagers.
Eating cereal and watching cartoons together before school when we were little.
The time I fractured my ankle at a track meet, and the way he carried me as I sobbed for my lost season.
All the years we lost. A tear rolls down my cheek.
I stand up straight and wipe my face.
This is it. Here goes nothing.
When I turn around, my gaze locks with Geny’s. She is standing up, but frozen in shock. Tears roll down her face. I walk down the steps, and she snaps out of her trance. She lunges toward me and pulls me into her arms.
“How? You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive.” Her voice is strained, words trying to squeeze through a too-small hole.
I push my emotions back to keep myself composed and pull back from her tight grip.
“We’ll talk after, okay?” I slip my hand into hers like I did when we were kids.
She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind and I understand I’ve just exploded her entire life, but there’s still a funeral to be had, and we both owe our dad that much.
I tug her gently to the seats. Wyatt’s eyes follow me, and I can practically hear his heart pounding in rhythm with my own. Because if there’s anyone I know like my own soul, beside my sister, it’s Wyatt Gibbs.