CHAPTER
ten
From my very first day at William McKinley Memorial High School in LaFontaine until the very last, Norm walked the quarter mile with me. He’d tuck my books under his arm and grin whenever I told him he didn’t have to do that, which I said every single morning.
In the afternoons he would find me, insisting on taking my books then too.
Each day it was the very same thing. There wasn’t much I could depend on in those days, but I always knew that I wouldn’t have to walk alone. Norman was constant, and I didn’t mind that in the least.
After a while, we’d taken to walking arm-in-arm. About a year later, he’d given me a little peck on the cheek before going into the bakery to work. Then, just a week after I’d graduated from high school, we were married.
That was the story of how we fell in love. It was nothing to write a book about and wasn’t the thing of a romantic film. But it was our story, and I had loved living it.
Slipping the buttons of my dress through their corresponding holes, I thought of how good it had felt to be at Norm’s side for most of my life. It was going to take some getting used to, having him gone.
It was Sunday and I’d promised myself that I would, finally, get myself to church. I sighed, thinking of how I had to go by myself.
“Be strong and have courage,” I whispered to myself.
Flannery lifted her head from where she lazed in a sun spot on my bedroom floor, blinking at me slowly.
“What? Can’t an old lady talk to herself?” I crooned at the cat, bending at the knees to rub the belly she’d exposed to me.
As if I’d offended her mother and all of her better sensibilities, Flannery bolted out of the room. She certainly was an odd creature.
I’d planned to be a few minutes late to the worship service. I wanted all of the church people in their pews by the time I arrived so I could slip in undetected. And I entertained the possibility of sneaking out during the last song after the sermon so as to avoid the meet-and-greet that would inevitably ensue.
Never in my recollection had I ever been late to anything, especially not on purpose. It surprised me that I didn’t feel the least bit guilty about it.
I sidled into the very last row, not wanting to flounce down the aisle to the front where my family sat. No one ever occupied that back pew, and I counted it as a mercy. I, of course, had never sat there before, so I hadn’t known that it was more than a little creaky until I sat down. As soon as my bumper rested on the wood of the seat, that pew let out an unholy shriek that caught the attention of every single congregant in the LaFontaine Free Methodist Church. They turned their heads, as if on cue, and looked right at me.
So much for making a quiet entrance and exit.
“Let us . . .” Reverend Crawford began before clearing his throat. “Let us pray.”
At the sound of his voice, most of the congregation turned to face front. Knowing that my cheeks were a blazing red and feeling the tears gathering in the corners of my eyes, I bowed my head and clamped my lids tight.
Good heavens. I was teetering on the verge of sobbing. Not just because of the noisy pew or unintentionally collecting the attention of the whole church. It was because I knew how tickled Norman would have been by the whole situation.
He would have loved it. Oh, how I wished he was with me.
Everything seemed more endurable with him around.
“Lord, God and Father of us all,” the reverend began, his voice smooth, deep, and soft. “We offer our thanks, praise, and reverence for daily mercies . . .”
Reverend Crawford was notorious for his long prayers and—for perhaps the very first time—I was grateful for it. If nothing else, I’d have time to dab under my eyes with the hanky I’d tucked into my church gloves and compose myself.
Just as I managed to steady my breath and swallow back my emotion, I felt a warm, moist hand on my ankle.
I might have jumped and yelped if I hadn’t been afraid of drawing even more attention to myself.
Opening my left eye, I looked down to see that one of my nephews had crawled under the pews and between the legs of praying church members like an Army man from where the rest of the family sat. He grinned at me with a sparkle in his eye.
“Hi, Aunt Betty,” he whispered, more loudly than necessary.
I put a finger to my lips so he’d know to be quiet and then offered my hand to help him up.
From all the dust collected on the front of his white button-up shirt, I could see that no one had swept the church in a good long time.
“Now, which one are you?” I whispered even though I suspected I knew already.
“Dick,” he answered.
“Are you sure?”
The boy shrugged his shoulders and grinned, giving me what I called his stinker look.
“I didn’t think so,” I said. “Hello, Nick.”
“You got any mints?” he asked, still in that loud whisper.
Reaching into my purse, I pulled out one mint for him and one for me.
“But only if you promise to be quiet for the rest of the service,” I said, whispering close to his ear.
He nodded and climbed up onto the pew, which, gratefully, didn’t complain under his minimal weight. When I handed him the mint, he stuck it in his cheek and gave me his most winning smile.
It was the kind of smile that could melt my heart in ten seconds flat.
As Reverend Crawford finished his prayer and moved along into his sermon, Nick swung his legs and held his hands in his lap as if needing the reminder to keep from fidgeting too much. After a few minutes, he leaned his head against my arm. His warm, boy head was heavy, and I knew that my arm would grow tired, holding up its weight. But I didn’t move. Not even an inch.
It was a rare joy, having this boy sitting still long enough for a little bit of a snuggle. I wasn’t going to ruin it by calling too much attention to it.
“You’re soft,” he whispered, and I knew he meant it as the best kind of compliment.
A tiny edge of my grief melted away.