36

THE NEXT MORNING, I followed Stephen and Maggie into the funeral home, hoping Bev would be pleased with the casket spray of assorted pink and white blooms I’d ordered.

“Pink is my signature color,” Elaine used to say, a line from Steel Magnolias she delivered with a flawless impression of a young Julia Roberts. Blush pink had graced a majority of Elaine’s decor and personal belongings. Never again would I see that color and not think of her.

We spotted Bev speaking in hushed tones with a man in a dark suit near the chapel entrance. Even at a distance, her eyes looked red-rimmed and puffy, and she wore an air of fatigue similar to Stephen’s. With the deaths of my own parents and of Stephen’s father, I’d learned that whether the end came suddenly or you were given time to say what needed to be said, those goodbyes ripped your heart out, each in its own way.

Elegant decor in neutral shades of white and sea salt green created the perfect canvas for the upholstered sofa and chairs cozying the fireplace. Soft instrumental hymns layered the setting like a slow-burning candle.

Bev saw us and waved, indicating she’d be right over.

Beside me, Maggie fidgeted with her purse, her dress, her necklace. I gave her hand a squeeze, and she flashed a nervous smile. I prayed Stephen and I had done a good-enough job as parents. That we’d given her what she would need to see her through this next hurdle in life.

Stephen, who was checking his phone, had been quiet that morning, both of us tiptoeing around each other. When I was putting on my jewelry earlier in the hotel room, specifically my wedding ring, I’d caught him looking at me in the mirror. Wordless, he’d turned away.

There were still moments, like this one, with Maggie standing between us, when the reality of our lives seemed like a bad dream. I had vowed before God “until death do us part,” and I’d meant it. I just hadn’t known then that when it came to marriage, there was more than one way of dying.

Movement drew my attention to a picture window, where out front a young woman exited a white sedan. She paused, dug into her purse, and pulled out a cell phone. In stylish dark pants and jacket, she had a confident, no-nonsense air. She tapped on her phone, then did an about-face and returned to her car.

“It’s so good to see you three!”

Recognizing Bev’s hushed voice, I turned to see my sister-in-law hurrying toward us.

“Hey, sis.” Stephen pulled her into a hug. “It’s good to see you, too. Thanks for everything you’ve done. I-I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to be here when she—”

Bev shook her head. “As Mom would say, ‘We’ll have none of that now.’” She pressed a hand to his chest. “She was so proud of you, Stephen. Proud of all you’ve accomplished, of the man you’ve become. We all are.”

Stephen looked away, obviously struggling to control his emotions—likely both grief and regret.

Bev made a show of looking Maggie up and down. “Come here, you sweet, beautiful girl. I love you, and so did Granby. She was proud of you, too, you know. Talked about her Colorado gal all the time.”

Maggie finally gave way to tears, and they hugged for a long moment, Bev slipping me a discreet look that said, When did she get to be so grown up?

I smiled, wiping away tears.

“Was she in any pain?” Maggie asked softly.

“Oh, honey, no.” Bev gently touched her cheek. “At the end, Granby just peacefully slipped away. Into the arms of Jesus.”

Maggie nodded and bowed her head.

“And last but not least,” Bev whispered, turning to me, “my sweet sister-in-law.”

We exchanged a hug.

“You’ve walked such a difficult road, Bev,” I said. “And as Stephen said, we so appreciate all you’ve done. I know your mom did too, even if she couldn’t say it.”

“I could see it in her eyes,” Bev whispered. “So, tell me, are you still liking your new house?”

“Yes, it’s lovely.” I glanced at Stephen, careful to include him in the comment. “We’re really enjoying it.”

He nodded. “We’re learning there’s a lot about owning an old house that you just have to discover along the way.”

He looked at me, his expression not the least revealing. But I heard what he was saying. At one time I would’ve reciprocated with the same playful subtext, enjoying that only the two of us knew what we were really talking about. Now I just nodded.

“Thanks, too, Claire,” Bev continued, “for all the details you took care of from a distance. The flowers, burial arrangements, the catering for lunch this afternoon at the house. But the cleaning service you sent yesterday—that was pure heaven. And my floors have never looked so good.”

I gave her a quick hug again. “It was our pleasure.”

The same dark-suited man we’d seen earlier approached. “Excuse me, Mrs. Eason . . .”

Bev turned. “Yes?”

“Guests will begin arriving within the half hour for the general viewing,” he said. “And the service will begin promptly at eleven. So if any family members would like to say a private goodbye, now would be the time.”

“I would,” Stephen said quickly.

“I would as well,” I added. “But you and Bev go. I’ll wait.”

As they walked toward the chapel, I noticed the color had drained from Maggie’s face. I put an arm around her. “Oh, sweetie, you don’t have to go in for the viewing if you don’t want to. Truly. No pressure.”

“I’ll just wait over there then, if it’s all right. I—” Her voice broke. “I’ve already said goodbye to her in my heart so many times.”

I pulled her closer, then made my way to the door of the chapel. The space seated about a hundred, plenty for today, but not at all representative of the influence Elaine had on so many. Down front, the casket was surrounded by arrangements of fresh flowers and potted peace lilies. The spray draping the casket was as beautiful as the florist had promised me on the phone.

I waited, wanting to give Stephen and his sister time.

Opening my clutch for a tissue, I noticed Charlotte’s journal. I could hear Charlotte in my mind, imagining the Southern lilt of her voice. She couldn’t have imagined her intimate musings would be read by someone a century and a half after she wrote them. But someone had intentionally placed that journal in the false bottom of a trunk in a hidden room. So the journal’s existence was not happenstance. But why would someone go to such lengths to preserve it? Had they ever intended to come back for it?

At the squeak of door hinges, I turned to see the young woman from the parking lot walk in. She gave me a friendly if cursory nod and removed her jacket to reveal a sleeveless silk shell, the kind I’d given up wearing almost a decade ago. Some said a woman’s neck revealed her true age, but upper arms did their own share of blabbing. This gal was still young enough to pull it off, obviously serious about keeping her lithe body toned in all the right—

A sense of déjà vu skittered through me, catapulting me back to the moment I’d stood outside the elevator in Stephen’s office. My skin went clammy. It couldn’t be. She wouldn’t come here. Would she? Could she be that calculating? How would she even know Stephen’s mother had died? Then again, she’d called the office and talked our home address out of them. That classified as calculating in my book.

But attending the funeral of the man’s mother in front of his entire family? A person would have to be crazy. But how stable was a woman who would follow a married man across the country? Could such a sordid victory embolden her to continue pursuing him even after, Stephen assured me, he had told her unequivocally it was over between them? Call me foolish, but a part of me wanted to believe my husband was telling the truth.

But if she were still pursuing him, his being more vulnerable than ever, could he resist? He hadn’t before. But the real question was, did that matter for us anymore? Was there even an us to salvage?

Twenty-two years of marriage—some rough to be sure, but some good. Some very good. That wasn’t nothing, as Paige would say. But neither was deception. Betrayal. Adultery. Broken trust was one thing. Shattered trust was another. How did a marriage survive that? No matter how I looked at it, I couldn’t—

“Claire?”

Bev approached, fresh tears on her cheeks. Stephen was nowhere to be seen. “Stephen said he needed a few minutes. I think he’s going over the eulogy in the family gathering room.”

I nodded. “He was up early working on it. I got the impression he was struggling a little.”

“Have you read it?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“He’s more emotional today than I thought he would be.”

She didn’t know the half of it.

I looked back to the lobby. The young woman was gone, and my gaze flew to Maggie. She shot me an I’m fine look and returned to her phone. I told myself to quit jumping to conclusions, which is what I’d told myself all those times Stephen said he was working late.

“I really appreciate him speaking today,” Bev said, dabbing her eyes. “No way I could do that in the state I’m in.”

I struggled to focus. “As you probably remember, I didn’t speak at either of my parents’ funerals either.”

Bev patted my hand. “Mom was as proud of you, Claire, as she was of Stephen. I lost track of the times she would say, ‘My son could not have found anyone better for him than Claire Lindon.’ She loved you dearly; you know that.”

“I loved her too,” I whispered. “Very much.”

Trembling, I walked down the aisle, Paige’s counsel in my head: One step at a time, Claire. No future-tripping. You can deal only with what’s before you, not what you think might be coming.

I hadn’t seen Elaine in over two months, and a sob rose in my throat. The body before me was a mere shadow of the woman Elaine had been. Despite all the things I wanted to say in this final moment, all I could think about was Stephen—with her.

I loathed what he had done to us, to me. How suspicious and cynical and hard I’d become. And what this was sure to do to our daughter. I fought to keep it together.

I reached into my clutch and withdrew the sparkly pink brooch I’d purchased in an antique shop last week. Wishing I could pray with Bernice’s eloquence—Lord of Heaven’s Armies, a name for God I’d never heard—I offered a prayer with no words, only the ache in my heart, then gently pinned the brooch to Elaine’s blush pink sweater. Gratitude filled me that she was finally free from all disease and sickness. I pressed a kiss to my fingers and lightly touched her hand. Until we meet again.

Hearing voices behind me and not up to greeting strangers yet, I hurried to the family room and opened the door—to find the young woman in Stephen’s embrace.