My heart in my throat, I took in a deep breath, then let it go, moving toward the funeral home.
Janek stood just inside the open door, his arms around a woman sobbing into his chest. His eyes were closed as he held her convulsing body to his shoulder, allowing her the space and the comfort that she needed in this moment. I froze, watching, not wanting to interfere, but feeling their heartbreak and humbled to be part of their grief.
I hadn’t been to a funeral since Eric’s, and my chest was tight not only with Janek’s grief but with the memories that were surfacing. For a half second I had the urge to flee, to protect myself from the pain—theirs, and the remnants of mine. I stood on the sidewalk, statue-like until they moved further inside, then closed my eyes, pulling in more deep, slow breaths until I found the courage to follow them.
Inside, the elegant stone building featured a central parlor carpeted in a deep burgundy. Bland instrumental music played softly from a built-in speaker system hidden somewhere in the back, chosen for its ability to be unobtrusive. On my right, a sign directed visitors straight ahead to a room further down the hall. Janek, and the woman I assumed to be Zoe’s mother, had moved just outside the room greeting visitors as best they could.
Friends and family stood with the two, speaking in low tones the way people did when there were no appropriate words. I knew I needed to approach them, to offer my condolences, but the moment seemed so raw, so personal, that I hesitated, feeling torn between the intrusion and my own memories of standing where they stood, a moment that would forever be a blur of pain.
“Good morning.” Michael had come in behind me and was now standing at my side. I turned to him, reached out and wrapped my arms around him, knowing that words were virtually useless right now. He was pale and his eyes were flat. The hurt he was feeling for his friend was unmistakable and my heart ached for him. I wanted to hold on for as long as he would let me, to hold on until his pain no longer felt like a cattle prod to the heart, but now wasn’t the time. Janek needed him.
“I should go over and offer my condolences,” I said, nodding toward Janek and the woman. “I assume that’s Zoe’s mother?”
“Yes, her name is Theresa, and she’s a mess.”
I could feel the devastation emanating from the core of her soul. She seemed barely able to stand without support. “How is Janek holding up?”
“He’s focused on his sister, but underneath that, I would describe him as a pissed-off bull, out for blood. Although that’s not how he sees himself. He’s trying to be strong, to pretend he’s got his act together, but this has brought back feelings that he should have been able to get the boyfriend or the dealer or whatever the hell he was off the street. Right now he’s blaming himself and covering it up with anger.”
Michael’s voice was soft, his emotions blunted, and all I could think about was the desire to protect him, to make his pain go away. What did I feel for this man? I’d been pushing him away when he was someone who cared so deeply. Now wasn’t the time to answer the question, but deep, unexpected emotions of my own were bubbling to the surface. Was there any truer indication of love than the desire to save someone else from pain?
“How awful to carry around guilt like that,” I said, not trusting my voice, “particularly when it’s misplaced. I’m sure he knows, at an intellectual level, that if she hadn’t bought her stash from her boyfriend, she would’ve found it from someone else. There is always someone else.”
“It’s easier to be logical when you’re not the one in the middle of it.” He looked at me as if wanting to say more, as if wanting me to say more. Instead he turned back to look at Janek. “It looks like now’s a good time. Do you want to go and say hello?”
I nodded, and the two of us walked over. I extended my hand, introducing myself to Theresa and offering my condolences.
“Thank you,” she said, dabbing at the tears that refused to stop.
I turned to Janek, started to say something, but words failed me. I embraced him instead. “I’m so very sorry,” I mumbled, squeezing his hand. He nodded, his eyes saying everything. I gave Michael a weak smile, and then stepped away, leaving the three of them to continue to greet the mourners.
Knowing no one other than the men, I took a seat near the back, feeling lost and empty myself. The group was small. Primarily young people about Zoe’s age. People I assumed to be friends, or perhaps college acquaintances. From what Michael had told me, the family was small, just Janek and his sister. Their parents had passed away long ago, and Zoe had been the only child. Zoe’s father had never been part of her life. It made her death all that more poignant.
I watched as a pastor entered, speaking with Janek and Theresa before moving off to attend to the preparations. As he left, a couple of cops, clearly friends of Janek’s, stopped to pay their respects. They were followed by a group of five women, friends of Theresa’s, I assumed, who immediately attached themselves to her. I sat quietly, deep in thought, my own past coming to my present. The casket loomed large, and I couldn’t pull my eyes from the plethora of photos of Zoe, which had been placed on the stands nearby. The images of a young, vibrant, happy child and then woman bore no resemblance to the remains I had discovered. It was impossible not to wonder about her life, and her choices, and the agony she must have endured to keep coming back to this demon.
As I sat with my thoughts, a man walked past me and took a seat across the aisle and three rows in front of me.
Startled, I looked at him a second time. It was Dr. Wykell from the addiction treatment center. Why was he here? This had to mean that Zoe had been a patient of his, that she had received treatment at his center.
I turned toward Janek and Theresa, watching for a reaction, but I had no sense that they were aware of him. Then again, in the middle of grief, it was difficult to be aware of much of anything. Dr. Wykell sat quietly, hands clasped in his lap, eyes on the floor as if in prayer. The boxes full of pamphlets for his center immediately flooded my mind. If Zoe had been working for the center, that might explain why the stash of pamphlets was also in the house.
He made no attempt to approach Theresa, to offer his condolences, which was in itself interesting. I could only assume they hadn’t met. But why not acknowledge her? It was certainly obvious who the family members were. And how had the doctor known of Zoe’s death?
The pastor had returned and now stood at the front of the room beside a large photo of Zoe. The room quieted in preparation with visitors taking their seats. I looked for Michael, wondering if I should make him aware of this new visitor, but instinct told me it was better that Dr. Wykell didn’t notice me. I couldn’t identify the ping in my head that told me I was missing something.
As I debated, another attendee came through the side door. Although he had cleaned up considerably—running a comb though his hair and now wearing an ill-fitting but clean sport coat—I recognized the young man as the same individual who had made the outburst at the open house. Dr. Wykell caught his gaze immediately and visibly withdrew at the sight of him. Was he expecting another outburst? Wait. The young man’s words came back to me. What did you give her?
His jaw clenched, and he shot a look of hatred at the psychologist before turning away, but he seemed frozen in the doorway by the reality in front of him. His eyes were now glued to the casket. Visibly shaking, tears ran unapologetically down his face. The boyfriend?
I stood to make my way toward Michael, wanting to tell him more about the details of their interaction before something erupted between the two. I’d only taken three steps when Theresa, now moving toward her seat in the front row, let out a scream. Her tear-streaked face was red with rage. Janek looked at her, then over at the young man, and his fury matched hers. Janek reached out to take her arm, but she pushed him away, charging forward.
“How dare you show your face in here?” she screamed. “This is your fault! This is all your fault. She’s dead because of you! How can you live with yourself?” She lunged toward him, eyes wild, and Janek was right behind her, equally enraged. The room erupted as Theresa came at the young man and those around her struggled to restrain her.
He stood frozen, letting her wail, shaking his head and sobbing. “No, I loved her. I loved her! She was off that shit. She didn’t deserve this.”
“Love? You know nothing about love,” Theresa yelled back. “You poisoned her. Stole her life. You did this to her!” Theresa threw off the arms that held her back and ran at him. All of her grief was directed at this young man, who simply stood waiting for her wrath. She reached him seconds later, hauling her arm back to strike him. But Janek got to her first, pulling her away as she screamed and fought into his chest, releasing pain that refused to be contained.
Janek’s eyes blazed with hatred, but the young man didn’t see him, simply shook his head and continued to sob as the fight left his empty shell of a body. Then with one last look at Zoe’s coffin, he turned and left quietly, the way he had come in. With Michael and Janek occupied consoling Theresa, and the room abuzz, I slipped out after him.