Celia avoided the second visitation that was held before the funeral the next morning. She was released from jail a couple of hours before, and went to Aunt Aggie’s house to shower and change. The sight of the old woman’s things—everything she loved—created a fresh void in her heart. She ached with the pain of it.
David was there with her, and Jill was staying in one of the guest rooms. Already, dozens of friends had brought food over, and the firemen had contributed greatly to the wealth of culinary delights. It seemed that they had appreciated her cooking for them so much, that now in her death, they felt they owed it to her to bring food for them. She wondered if they had realized that she was getting out of jail for the funeral, or if they expected David to eat it all alone, since her parents were staying in a hotel.
She wept in the shower as she got ready for the funeral, then threw up in the toilet as she got out. This grief wasn’t good for the baby, she thought.
She looked in the mirror and saw how pale she was, saw the dark circles under her eyes. People would look at her and think she was certainly a murderer. If only Stan could be there. But that was one of the conditions of her release. She could have no contact with him while she was out. The idea upset her terribly. But there was nothing that could be done. Besides, she’d been told that Stan needed to rest, that he had no strength or energy to come to the funeral, anyway. She remembered how he had come to her cell just yesterday, how weak and breathless he’d been. She hoped he wasn’t taking the death too hard.
She went downstairs and saw David pacing across the living room floor, back and forth, back and forth. It had been a trying time for him, she thought. He’d lost almost a week of work already, no small feat in a job as high-pressured as his, and had stood by her wholeheartedly now for Aggie’s death. He’d had to take care of all the arrangements, all the food being delivered, all the flowers, all the well-wishers. She wondered if it was taking its toll on him.
“David, you look tired,” she said from the staircase.
He turned back to her, stared at her for a moment. “You look like death warmed over. Are you sick again?”
“Just a little. It’ll pass. It always does.”
“You know, this isn’t going to be easy,” he said. “You have enough stress with the funeral and Stan and the murder charges, without all this nausea. Celia, I know you hate it when I bring this up. But be realistic. Think of your health. I checked, and I found out that Newpointe has a Planned Parenthood clinic.”
She was too tired, too depressed, to realize what he was suggesting.
He sighed. “They could see you today, Celia. I could take you there, and at least that part of this ordeal would be behind you. You wouldn’t have to worry about what was going to happen to a baby that might be born in prison…”
She stared at him, stricken, as if he’d just poured alcohol on an open wound. She touched her stomach. “David, this is your niece or nephew. How could you suggest that to me again?”
“Celia, a person can only take so much. You may think you’re Wonder Woman, but you’re not.”
“I’m stronger than you think,” she said. “And I trust God with this baby.” Her mouth quivered with the words, and she turned back to the table to get her purse together. She swallowed a sob, then whispered, “Not another word about that, David. Not one more word.”
He looked as if he didn’t know if he could agree to that. “All right. I just hope you don’t start throwing up at the funeral. It’s going to be very hard, once you get there with the family—”
“I know,” she told him. “I’m gonna get there, and Mom and Dad will either ignore me completely or comment on the gall it took for their killer daughter to show up for their aunt’s funeral.”
“They won’t,” he said. “I’ve already talked to them.”
“Oh, then you expected it to happen, too?”
“Well, the thing about where you were gonna sit at the funeral…all that stuff.”
Her expression crashed. “You mean they didn’t want me to sit with the family at the funeral?”
He hesitated, as if he hadn’t meant to spill the beans. “Look, I nipped it in the bud, okay? I let them know that you had more of a right to be there than they did. You were her favorite.”
“I wasn’t her favorite,” she said. “I was just the one who needed her most.”
“Yeah, Aunt Aggie was real big on need. She liked the way you needed her.”
She didn’t want to think about how adept Aunt Aggie had been at filling those needs.
Jill came down the stairs, dressed in black and wearing makeup for the first time in days. “Ready to go?” she asked.
Celia nodded and opened the door. Immediately, she was assaulted by a reporter and a photographer who stood on the front lawn. Quickly, she pulled back into the house and closed the door. “What are they doing here?”
“They must have heard you were getting out,” David said. “They were at the funeral home last night, snaking around asking everyone questions about their opinions of these murder attempts.”
“You’re kidding! People were talking to them? My friends?”
“Celia, I don’t know if you still have any friends in this town. Not any real ones, anyway. And yeah, a few were talking to them. It’s in the paper today.”
“Oh, no. Where is it?”
“You don’t have time to read it,” Jill told her. “Come on, Celia, we’re just gonna have to walk through them. Just hold your head up and ignore them.”
David opened the door again. She stepped out onto the porch. The camera began to flash again, and she turned her head and started toward the car.
“Celia! Is it true that your aunt died of arsenic poisoning?”
She swung around. “What?”
“Is it true that arsenic killed your aunt?”
She looked at David, then at Jill, as if wondering if the suggestion bore some truth. “No!” Jill said. “She died of a heart attack.”
“That’s what we were all told, but rumor has it that they’re just calling it a heart attack to cover for the arsenic.”
“And of course you’re suggesting that I did it?” Celia asked.
“Did you?”
Amazed, she got into the car, slammed the door behind her, and locked it. David got in on the other side. Jill went to her own car.
“How could they think I could kill my poor dear aunt with arsenic?”
“Well, they think you killed your poor dear first husband with arsenic.”
He was irritable, she could see, and she wrote it off to fatigue and stress. He’d had enough of this, and he hadn’t deserved any of it. In the back of her mind, a niggling thought came. What if David was doubting her, wondering if she was guilty, questioning his support of her?
She wept silently as they drove to the funeral home and parked in the back. Already, the parking lot was full. Jill got out of her car and walked in with them. When Celia stepped into the hallway, she saw the dozens of people standing there. They all turned to look at her when she came in. She saw faces that used to be friendly, but this time they were hostile, and they turned away and began whispering. Jill gave her a hug and joined the crowd. Celia followed David into the family room, but was immediately confronted by her parents sitting on a bench across from the door.
She stopped cold. Their eyes met, and she felt the chill from both of them. “Mom, Dad?”
“Hello, Celia,” her mother said, and her father only nodded.
It was as if they were strangers, she thought, as if her mother had never changed her diaper, patched her skinned knee, sung her a lullaby when she couldn’t sleep. It was as if her father had never taught her to ride her bike or tie her shoes, or helped her with her geometry. As if her mother had never delighted in taking her shopping, or teaching her to put on makeup, or brushing her hair. She turned away, not willing to give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. There were other relatives in the room, relatives she had seen occasionally over the years, and they, too, looked at her as if she were a malignancy in the midst of their family.
She thought of running back out into the hall, but she couldn’t face those people again. She was trapped.
When Nick came in, he shot straight to her. “Celia, how are you?”
Relief flooded over her like a soothing tide. She reached out and hugged him desperately.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered in her ear. “So very sorry.”
She turned her wet face up to him. “The worst part is that she didn’t know Christ,” she whispered. “I didn’t work hard enough to lead her to him. I thought there was plenty of time.”
“So did I,” Nick said. “Believe me, I haven’t slept a wink since I heard about her death. I’ve been beating myself up like you wouldn’t believe. Don’t do that to yourself. The truth is, it was her choice. We both tried.”
She sucked in a sob. “But it’s so tragic.”
“That it is,” he said. “This is gonna be the hardest funeral I’ve ever done.”
He hugged her quickly again, then whispered in her ear. “Stan said to send you his love.”
The words were like an injection of hope and promise, of joy and peace, and even comfort. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s doing well,” he said. “He’s really tired and weak, and the doctor apparently advised him to stay at home. I hear he got out a little too much yesterday and was seen around town a couple of places. It must have taken a lot out of him. The doctor warned him that he was gonna put him back in the hospital if he didn’t start taking it easier.” He looked at her with concerned eyes. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “Just a little tired. And my family…well…they’re not too thrilled to have me here.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve kind of encountered that, already.”
She hated the fact that her own preacher had to know of her family’s indifference toward her. Nick let go of her and stepped toward her parents. “If you’re all ready, the music has begun and all of the congregation are filtering in. If you don’t mind, I’d like to lead us in a prayer.”
Her parents were not praying people, she knew, but in a time like this, she supposed that everyone prayed. She wondered if they ever prayed for her.
They formed a circle, but it was a broken circle. No one was bound by held hands. Even their eyes did not meet. Nick led them in a prayer that was short, but poignant, and Celia found herself crying again, harder. She didn’t know when the tears were ever going to end.
When it was time, they walked into the chapel and took their places in a secluded section of the room where people couldn’t stare at them. She was thankful for that. She sat at the end of the row, next to David, with no one on the other side of her.
She wished for a Kleenex. Had Stan been here, he would have had some in his pocket. He always remembered to bring them to funerals and weddings, because he knew how easily she cried. He would have held her close and reminded her that she was loved. He would have helped unwind the knots in her stomach, and nursed the bruises on her heart. He would have made the pain easier to bear.
But he wasn’t here, and no one had brought Kleenex for her. No one held her hand. No one offered comfort.
So she returned to the silent, strong arms of the Creator who’d comforted her last night in places too deep for human love to reach. And in his arms, she found hope and peace where she’d been certain there was none.