43

Death packed a mighty punch. Even when one saw it coming. There was no ducking, no running. No escape.

Grandma’s blankets rose and fell with every raspy, shallow breath. Despite the aggressive antibiotics, her lungs were continuing to fill with bacterial fluid. Grandma had refused to cooperate with breathing exercises, and had given up.

The hospital room offered no comfort with its muted walls, flashing medical equipment, and stiff furniture.

Dad sat in the corner chair and stared at his mother asleep in the bed. The knowledge that he was a new dad at fifty-three had crash-landed him into reality after his stint in mid-life crisis land. Over the last few days, they’d discussed it all at length, vented, cried, forgave, repented, and hugged.

Neither liked the curves their lives had travelled, many of which were caused by poor decision making. But here they stood, and all they could do was move forward. Dad with his new family, Olivia without Blake. And in less than twenty-four hours, as the doctor predicted, without Grandma, too.

Loss was a natural part of life. It was hard, and it hurt. Death packed a mighty punch, even when one saw it coming.

~*~

Blake sat at the reception table covered in fancy white linen, sipping punch that surprisingly held the perfect amount of sweetness.

Lucas and Madison swayed on the dance floor, their first dance as husband and wife coming to a close. The white dress, the love radiating from both their faces made Blake’s chest squeeze.

He wanted this with Olivia. The right to hold her, kiss her whenever he wanted to. He loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life proving it. He tugged at his tight collar. The catered meal of lemon chicken breast, asparagus, roasted red potatoes, and yeast rolls was delicious, but it was mediocre compared to his favorite cook’s dishes. Especially when Olivia’s apron strings bounced along her hips as she strode around the kitchen. The memory had him guzzling more of the cool punch.

He checked his phone. Still no response.

Blake had texted her that morning, in the quiet of the church after some soul-searching and a long, arduous prayer.

Can we meet? Talk?

She was probably busy with the bakery. Or wanted nothing more to do with him after he’d reacted so terribly. Or maybe all that forgiveness talk was one-sided.

Lucas had joined him in the silent sanctuary and encouraged Blake not to give up. Then they’d prayed together. Man, it felt good to have his brother back.

“You look a little lonely over here all by yourself. Would you care to dance?” The soft-spoken redhead shifted her punch glass to her other hand. She was attractive in her slinky black dress, but he wasn’t interested.

“I’m not much of a dancer, but you’re welcome to join me.” Blake pulled out the chair next to him, not wanting to be rude.

She hesitated, then set down her punch and smoothed her dress as she accepted his offer. “I’m Stacey.”

“Blake.”

Awkward silence.

Her gaze drifted around the room. “You seem as distant to the festivities as I am. I thought I’d come over.”

He twirled his empty punch glass in his hand. “Great celebration. My mind’s just elsewhere.”

Her attention once again focused on the other side of the room.

Ah. Blake smiled. “Which one is he?”

Stacey turned back to him, mouth slightly open. “Am I that obvious?”

“Just a little.”

She blushed. “Jefferson. He’s in the blue shirt and tie. He works with the groom. I work with the bride. Anyway, they set us up once. Things were great for a while. Then I did something stupid and lost the best thing I’d ever had.”

Blake would toast her if he had anything left in his cup. “Join the club. I’m king of stupid right now.”

Stacey tucked her hair behind her ear. “You lost someone, too?”

He nodded.

She leaned back in her seat. “Good to know I’m not the only idiot on the planet.” Her eyes widened. “I mean…”

“It’s OK.” Blake chuckled. “No offense taken.”

They talked through the next three songs while Blake sneaked glances at the dark screen on his phone. “I changed my mind. I think I’d like to dance after all.”

She took his offered hand, and he led her out on the dance floor. “Can we manage to dance in Jefferson’s general direction?”

He swept her into his arms. “Absolutely.”

~*~

Olivia’s eyes refused to stay open. The strain of tears, of saying goodbye to her last living grandparent, of signing paperwork, and carrying out Grandma’s last wishes had beaten her like an amateur in a professional boxing ring.

Dad drove, his stony features highlighted by the glowing dash lights. He hadn’t said much after asking for time alone with Grandma that afternoon.

Olivia didn’t feel up to talking anyway. All she could do was hurt right now. Her eyes slid closed again, and her head bobbed to the side. She jerked upright, blinked her eyes against the pull of sleep, and sucked in a breath. Deep, restful sleep wouldn’t elude her tonight.

Dad reached over and patted her knee.

She should let Mom know Grandma had passed away. After all, they’d been in-laws for thirty-one years. Besides, Mom had asked for updates on Grandma’s prognosis. She bent and grabbed her purse off the floorboard. She retrieved her cell tucked in the front pocket. She’d missed a text from Blake. Her heart rate kicked. Her attention sharpened. It was probably nothing more than his condolences. Except no one knew.

Can we meet? Talk?

After ten long weeks of silence, he finally wanted to talk? It was like deja vu all over again. Why did it take men so long to get their thoughts together?

Yes, she wanted to meet. To talk. But first, she had to get through the memorial service on Tuesday. What they had to say could wait a few more days.