Jill saw the look of apprehension on Celia’s face as she and David waited for the jail door to be unlocked. So far, her performance had been Oscar caliber, she told herself. David had bought into it, and already Celia looked as if she were fighting Armageddon in her heart. Did she think she’d brought her news of the end of the world?
Tears were already welling in Celia’s eyes, and she took a step back.
“Celia, we have something to tell you,” Jill said.
“No,” she said, sucking in a sob. “No, don’t.”
“Celia—”
“It’s Stan, isn’t it?” Celia blurted.
Relieved that the news at least wasn’t as bad as that, depending on one’s perspective, Jill shook her head. “No, honey, of course not. Stan’s doing fine. In fact, they can’t keep him in bed.”
It was as if a black cloud suddenly floated away and the sun shone through again. She let out a huge breath of relief and the tears began to roll down her cheeks. “From the looks on your faces, I thought you were going to tell me he’s dead. I just don’t know what I’d do…”
Jill hated to bring that cloud back, so she focused on the floor, trying to find the words she had rehearsed earlier today. Somehow, they seemed inadequate and cruel.
The shadow passed back over Celia’s face. “What is it?” She turned her eyes from Jill to David. “David, something’s wrong. What?”
David drew in a deep breath. “Celia, I don’t know how to tell you this.”
“Just say it,” she said, almost angrily. “Spit it out. What’s going on?”
“It’s Aunt Aggie,” Jill said.
“Aunt Aggie?” Celia repeated. “What—”
“Aunt Aggie died this morning.”
“NO!” The word came out of her with such power that Jill took a step backward. Celia covered her head with her arms and began to wail as she fell down on her bed.
Tears burst into Jill’s eyes. She had never hated herself so much. She went to the bed and tried to put her arms around Celia, but the small woman was moaning and sobbing and curling up into a ball, as if stretching to her full height was just too painful after such a blow.
“I’m sorry, Celia,” Jill said over the moans. “So sorry.”
Celia unfolded then and threw her arms around Jill, and clung to her as her body racked with pain.
“What happened?” she managed to squeak out.
David came closer to the bed, but looked awkward, inadequate. Jill realized that he, too, was grieving, and that this was probably just as hard for him. “She probably died the best way she could, Celia. She just had a heart attack and was dead instantly.”
Celia let go of Jill and turned on her side, pulling her knees up to her chest as her arms covered her head again. A sound like that of a wounded animal came from her throat, and Jill almost considered backing out of the charade. Could she really go through with this and cause Celia such pain?
Suddenly Celia sprang up and slid off the bed, rushed to the toilet behind the partition in the cell. Jill heard her heaving into the commode. She followed her in and tried to help her.
When Celia had stopped throwing up, she sat on the floor and leaned back against the cold concrete wall. “It’s my fault,” she wept. “It’s just as if I killed her myself.”
Jill got down on her knees next to Celia and put an arm around her. “What do you mean?”
“It was the stress of all this stupid stuff! She couldn’t take it. We thought she could take anything, but all the stress…”
She might have known that Celia would blame herself, but she hadn’t anticipated it. “Celia, you couldn’t do anything about that. None of this is your fault.”
“She just…can’t be gone! She…can’t be!” Jill held her again for a long moment, and finally she got her to her feet and walked her back to the bed. David was leaned back against the wall now, hands in his pockets, looking as dismal as Celia seemed to feel.
“We’ve managed to get you a weekend pass for the funeral,” Jill said finally. “David’s making all the arrangements, but they’re letting you out tomorrow. You can go to the funeral, spend the night at Aunt Aggie’s, then come back the next morning.”
The word funeral seemed to plunge Celia into deeper grief, and she lay back down and hugged her pillow to her face.
“You have to stay with me the whole time,” Jill went on. “I swore to Louis that I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”
Celia’s shoulders shook as the pain rampaged through her.
Finally, she moved the pillow and turned on her back, looked up at the ceiling with wet, red eyes. “How’s Stan taking it?” she whispered.
Jill looked at her vacantly for a moment. “I haven’t told him yet. I wanted to tell you first.”
She nodded. “Just break it to him easy, okay? He loves her, too, and he’s suffered so much…” She broke down again, and finally, David came closer to her cot, as if trying to find a way to comfort her. Celia raised up and met him halfway. The two hugged.
“It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered.
“No, it’s not,” Celia muttered as she wept against his shoulder. “Aunt Aggie wasn’t a Christian.”
David didn’t seem to know what to say to that.
After a moment, David let her go. “I have a funeral to arrange,” he said. “You have any special requests?”
Celia couldn’t answer.
“Maybe some of the firemen could speak about her?” Jill suggested. “They loved her so much.”
“That’s a good idea,” David said. “We’ll do that. Any special music?”
Celia threw up her hands. “I don’t know.”
“We’ll think of something,” Jill said.
“I want Nick to do the funeral,” Celia offered suddenly. “She didn’t have her own minister, and he knew her best.”
“That’s what I was thinking, too,” Jill said.
She gazed at Celia, wishing she could ease some of the pain. But what would she say? She’ll only be dead a couple of days, Celia. It was all ludicrous, yet it had to work.
As they left, Jill looked back over her shoulder through the bars that locked her friend in. Celia was on her side, clutching the pillow and weeping her heart out. Silently, Jill prayed that this cruel deception would somehow turn out for good.
When they had gone, Celia buried her face in the pillow as great sobs tore through her. She tried to pray, but the despair was too great, the grief too intense. She felt as empty and limp as a rag doll with no stuffing as she approached the throne of God. She had nothing to give, and no words to say. What did one say to the Lord about a loved one who didn’t believe? She had failed. She had let Aunt Aggie down.
Why hadn’t she tried harder to lead Aunt Aggie to Christ? Why hadn’t she convinced the old woman of what she needed to do before she died? Why had she believed there was plenty of time left? But at the foot of that cross where her Savior hung for her failings, she found no condemnation, no judgment, no accusation. Instead, she felt the warm arms of God around her, holding her, whispering soothing words in her ear, letting her weep out her heart, offering his comfort. It was a phenomenon she hadn’t experienced many times in her life. Usually when she went to God, she had supplications, petitions. Usually, she had problems and urgent requests. Hardly ever had she come to him speechless, without a word that she could offer, without anything of herself to give, without anything to ask. It was too late; Aunt Aggie was gone. What more was there?
Miraculously, God’s comfort led to sleep, and she dozed on the flat mattress, numbing herself to the pain of Aunt Aggie’s death.