Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
We were the first ones at the church. My sisters divided up the funeral programs while Dad met with Heather’s family in his office.
Mom walked me to the front of the church, third row back.
“Just sit here, Sarah.” She handed me a few tissues. “Heather’s mom asked me if I thought you’d want to say a few words. I know it’s short notice, and you might not be up for it. But—”
“I’ll do it.”
I didn’t want to. Breathing was hard. Speaking? Nearly impossible. Talking about Heather? Unimaginable.
However, when her aunt died of cancer, Heather read a poem and said nice things about her. I asked her how she did it without breaking down. She wasn’t my aunt, yet I couldn’t stop crying during the entire service.
Heather said she felt like it was the last time to say something about her aunt and have it matter. And she said she hoped when she died that the people who loved her the most would find the courage to say it one last time—make it matter.
“Are you sure?” Mom asked.
“I’m sure,” I whispered.
“If you change your mind—”
“I won’t.” I stared at the closed casket and the picture of Heather next to it. She would have laughed at that photo. It was one of her senior pictures, the one she liked the least because the photographer asked her for a “soft smile,” and it looked like a goofy smirk. But her mom loved that shot more than any other.
The church filled beyond capacity over the next hour. I’d been staring at the casket so long that the surrounding people went unnoticed until my mom and sisters filed in on one side of me. I tried to give my mom a reassuring smile that I was okay just as Matt and five other guys took a seat in the front row on the opposite side.
Pallbearers.
Matt gave me a quick glance, but he didn’t try to smile. He looked hurt. I did that to him.
Someone touched my shoulder, drawing my attention in the opposite direction. Violet Cory sat next to me and gave me a big hug.
“I’m so sorry, Sarah. And I’m glad you’re still with us. We were so worried. The whole town was worried.”
I’m an awful human being.
Mr. Cory sat next to her. He gave me a sad smile. And on the other side of him, Isaac took a seat. When he glanced at me, my eyes burned with tears. I needed his arms around me more than anything.
He smoothed his hand down his black tie. I had never seen him in a suit, and after that day, I never wanted to see him in a suit again, just like my black dress. At the end of the week, it was going in the trash.
After Violet released me, I quickly reached for my tissues as Heather's family took their seats in front of us. I cast my gaze to my lap because I couldn’t look at them.
My dad asked everyone to bow their heads in prayer. After a collective, solemn “Amen,” he cited scripture. “Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.”
I lifted my gaze to the area behind my dad, where I’d sat next to Heather in the choir. She’d elbow me and grin. I’d tap my leg against hers and quietly snicker. My dad would shoot us an occasional glance and clear his throat to get our attention. That only made us giggle more as soon as he looked away.
Heather’s mom sobbed as did mine and Violet Cory. I thought of the time Heather and I had to scrape wax from the wood floor below the candelabras as a punishment for putting Monopoly money in the offering plate. We didn’t get in trouble often, but when we did, it was usually together.
We were inseparable.
“My daughter and Heather’s best friend, Sarah, would like to say a few words,” Dad said, bringing me back to a reality I wasn’t ready to accept.
I stood and straightened my dress before sliding out of the pew past my mom and sisters.
Dad offered an encouraging smile as I stepped up to the lectern. I’d gazed at large crowds, especially on Easter and Christmas, but this was bigger. I had never seen so many people standing at the back because there wasn’t enough seating space. I think nearly everyone from our graduating class was there.
I looked to my mom and sisters for reassurance, but they only gave me sniffles and tears. When I laid eyes on Matt, he dropped his gaze to his lap. Then I made the mistake of glancing at Heather’s mom, and it felt like a knife in my chest.
Heather died. I lived.
She was able to speak at her aunt’s funeral because Heather knew life would go on and she would be fine. I was drowning in a lie and suffocating from the guilt. I didn’t know if I would be okay. And that uncertainty paralyzed my thoughts—until I looked at Isaac.