Flags were flown at half-staff allowing room for the invisible flag of death. Bagpipes with their mournful wail echoed throughout downtown Shadow Bay. Fire Engines stationed on the bridge had their ladders raised high as firefighters poured rose petals in pink, red and white into the crippling frigid air Citizens young and old lined both sides of the street as the funeral procession made their way to the memorial service for William Daniels.
Davis sat in the front row with Willow wedged against his side. Beth flanked Willow’s other side. Willow had been dangerously quiet throughout the whole ceremony, enduring the speeches and the tributes. The moment they rang the bell three times as was tradition, Davis felt her flinch.
When the Firemen’s Widows association presented her with a quilt made from her father’s uniforms complete with the patches and insignias and medals, he had earned, she clutched the quilt to her midsection.
Willow moved to step away from the podium, and her legs gave out. Davis was out of his seat and in the pulpit. Shaking out the quilt and he wrapped her in it, then stood and turned to the congregation. He walked up the aisle, clutching her to his chest. Ron England and three of his men fell in step around him as he made his way back to his truck.
Throughout the service and the repast, she was so close to him that he had her inside his coat more than once. She did her best to greet as many of the battalion captains as she could, but he could feel the grief winding through her, sapping whatever strength and resolve she had left. He reluctantly handed her off to Beth, who took her to the restroom and then up to his loft.
Eventually the crowds died down until only Hollis remained. Davis sat down and poured the man another shot of whiskey.
“She needs to go home,” Hollis said.
“William isn’t there anymore.”
“He’s all over that place—they both are. From her mamma in her garden to her daddy in his study and… you in one of those upper rooms.”
Davis downed a shot of whiskey and Hollis did the same. He held up the bottle and Hollis put his hand over his cup.
“You think I don’t know, but I do.” Hollis sat back and nodded. Davis filled the shot glass. The older man ran a thumb under his walrus type salt pepper grey mustache before downing the shot and turning his glass upside down.
“How?”
“Saw it that first Will brought you to play Spades. Saw it the night she came home. You love her more now than you did back then.”
“I betrayed her, Ted.” He gripped the bottle to our more whiskey in his glass and hesitated.
“You loved her the best way you knew how. Kept her safe all these years. You have to tell her now. You know that.”
“And risk losing her again?” Davis shook his head. “No.”
“So, you’ll go on lying to her, knowing all long she’s falling for you all over again?”