Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“We just ran into each other. That’s all. Pure coincidence. It’s not fate or anything like that. No worries. It’s not a big deal.” He stops, so I do, too. “Would you rather not do this?” No lopsided grins, no playful eyes. I see confusion and doubt instead.
“No, no. I want to. I want to do this.” I wave between us. Knowing I’m giving all the wrong signals or too many different signals, I close my eyes and take a sharp breath before reopening them. With a loud exhale, instant relief washes over me. “I’m nervous about the funeral I’m going to. That’s all.”
“No need to be.” He takes my hand, pulling me closer, and hooks it back around his arm. When we start walking again, he looks over and smiles. “Why be nervous? You have a perfect stranger here to comfort you.” His words warm me over, making me smile again, too.
“This will be nothing if not interesting,” I say as we approach the church.
When we walk into St. Bartholomew’s Cathedral, I’m surprised at the beauty of the setting. For a funeral, this is the way to go. The church is full of people, and there seems to be an even amount of tears to joy. I think it’s the glass-half-full mentality winning, though. Charlie leans down and whispers, “This is my great-aunt Grace’s funeral. She was ninety-four.”
“Ninety-four? Wow! She lived a long life.”
“She did, but I’m glad she’s moved on. The last few years were difficult on her in that home.” He straightens, standing to his full height, his body tensing under my hand. I don’t say anything even though I’m filled with questions. Gripping his arm a little harder, I try to comfort him.
A rigid-looking woman approaches us with a smile that’s neither comforting nor cold but detached. She leans in and kisses him on the cheek. He doesn’t reciprocate but touches her arm for a moment.
“Pleased to see you here, Charles. I didn’t know if you’d come.”
“I loved Grace. You know we were close,” he says, justifying his attendance.
She doesn’t acknowledge me, not even with a glance, until it goes quiet between them. She looks me over, her eyes judging, calculating. I remember receiving this type of glare from Jim’s family and friends.
She returns her full attention to Charlie. “Would you like to introduce me, or should I do it myself?”
Her tone is sharp, but he obliges her. “Mother, this is Charlie. Charlie, this is Emeline Adams, my mother.”
I’m taken by surprise at their close relation because they don’t seem close at all. They don’t even seem to like each other and are bordering on incivility. I put my hand forward in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” she responds. Her dislike for me is as obvious as her distaste for my name. “Charlie is an interesting name for a woman.”
“It’s Charlotte, actually. You may call me that if you prefer.” I feel like a small child in her presence, begging for her acceptance. She has an air about her that feels familiar in the worst of ways. I won’t be good enough. I already know this, but the people-pleaser in me demands I try.
“If you prefer Charlie, then Charlie it is.” She turns and smiles, though it holds no warmth, as she scans the room. “The Nelsons just arrived. I should greet them.” She focuses back on him. “I hope you’ll be civil today, Charles,” she says with obvious intention to control her son, then walks away before he can react.
His discomfort with the situation is apparent. His body was rigid during the entire interaction. He sighs, and I can feel the tension trail her.
I lean over and whisper, “Your mother’s great.”
He bursts out laughing, and the surrounding people look at us. “You think?” The sarcasm isn’t lost on him, and I like that he can find humor in the moment. “Do you want to sit back here? I think the service is going to start.”
“I can stay back here, but you can sit with your family up front if you like. I’ll be fine.”
“No. I’d rather sit with you. Aunt Grace will understand. If she were alive, she’d be back here, too. We were sort of the black sheep of the family.”
“Your strength in the situation would make her proud.”
He rubs my hand still holding his elbow like it’s meant to be there. I leave it, though, knowing he needs it, that he needs me. He needs someone on his side right now.
We stay in the back, sitting through poignant recollections and speeches describing Grace’s vibrancy. Charlie stands and says, “Excuse me. I’m going to say a few words.” I nod and scoot back to let him pass.
As he starts talking into the microphone, the large audience doesn’t seem to faze him. He’s a natural speaker. He talks about their special relationship and what he’ll miss the most. He speaks of her as more of a mother figure than a great-aunt. His words are touching and bring my emotions to the surface, making me realize that today will be harder than I initially thought.