Unstable (9 page)

“Um, not at all, it sounds awful. You want me to walk in alone
and
cut and weave through everyone lined up?”

I slam the truck into park and rest my forehead on the steering wheel, balancing precariously between holding back on vomiting and maintaining actual oxygen intake.

“There’s…so many…” I take another deep breath, “people here. No one will even notice if I don’t go in.”

Except my mom. And everyone else I love looking down from Heaven.

And Donna.

And
I’ll
know. That I let them win,
again
. Hurting greatly my efforts to stop putting new things in the “reason to hate yourself” column.

“Henley,” he drawls, gearing up for a pep talk…that I no longer need.

“Save it, you’re right.” I throw open my door. “I can do this. And thanks…for parking. I’ll see you in there.”

I
DON’T
SEE HIM
in there. In fact, gun to temple, I couldn’t be sure
who
I see. It’s all a buzzing blur of suffocating hugs, condoling words that sound like underwater babble, and so many bodies crammed in the room where my mother’s casket lies, closed, because as Donna explained, “it’d be more respectful that way, even though they did all they could,” I’m surprised the Fire Marshall—oh, he’s in here somewhere—hasn’t written out a ticket.

“Do you need anything, honey?” Donna asks, finding me backed into a corner, using the Ficus tree as a shield…not well enough apparently, since she spotted me.

“Are we almost done? It’s been hours, the food’s gone, it’s so hot,” I use the back of my hand to wipe my forehead. “Donna,
please
, I—”

“Say no more. You slip through that side door over there, and I’ll start seeing people out. I’ll just tell them you must be visiting with others or in the ladies’ room if anyone asks. Now go.” She kisses my cheek. “You did real good, precious girl. Your mama,” she chokes down her choked up, “she’d have been real proud, and appreciated you honoring town traditions.”

“Thank you for everything. Really.” I turn and scan the area, plotting my escape, when she touches my shoulder.

“Henley?”

“Yes?” I turn back to her.

“Don’t forget tomorrow. Funeral service at the church, one o’clock.”

“I’ll be there.”

And wouldn’t you know it, the side exit is ready for me when I get there, being held open by an awaiting Gatlin Holt.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I stop, make sure, and add my certainty. “Yeah, I am. I think maybe this brought me one step closer to her forgiveness.”

“Henley, you already had that. Always. A mother’s love is unconditional.”

“How do you know I was talking about my mom?”

THE NEXT DAY I’M
smarter, in my seat in the first pew, end closest to the aisle, forty minutes early.

I hear them all start to file in behind me, but not once do I turn around. And when Brother Thomas steps to the pulpit and clears his throat, bringing the room to silent attention, I’m still the only one in my entire row.

Because that’s another hometown tradition—only the family sits in the front pew. And, I don’t have any family left to join me.

But no one dares intrude, no matter how small and alone I may appear, or how sorry they may feel for me, because that simply isn’t how it’s done around here.

The sermon is lovely, moving…but I don’t cry. Countless people get up to speak, and I’m still dry; my eyes don’t make contact with theirs although I can feel their gazes upon me. And then they play “Dust In The Wind” by Kansas as people shuffle out.

Guess she told someone she liked that song? That, or they just picked the saddest one they could possibly find.

I keep my head down and my feet fast, sprinting to my truck.

Almost over, only the graveside service left.

“If you’re riding with me, hurry up,” I yell across the parking lot at Gatlin when I spot him in the crowd, not caring who hears or turns to look.

My truck, surprisingly, is easy to find and he runs and jumps in before I leave him.

“You want me to drive?” he asks.

“Nope,” I pop the “p” and turn up the radio. “By the time this song’s over, we’ll be there. I can make it.”

I do, even before the closing croons of…whatever the hell song is playing.

I’m slow to get out, and walk toward the tent with measured, hesitant steps, watching as the hearse backs up and the pallbearers, chosen by Donna, carry the casket to its place. Yes, it’s staying closed here as well, but I know who’s in there. I picture her beautiful face the way I remember it rather than letting the somber scene play with my mind and ruin the images I’ll need to hold onto in order to survive.

Donna approaches us and Gatlin steps back and slightly off to the side, but makes sure to stay within my peripheral vision, to give us some polite privacy as well as continued support.

“I’ve put out chairs, some of the older folks can’t stand the whole time. You pick any of them you’d like, of course. Or stand. Whatever you’re comfortable with, honey.”

“I’ll, uh, stand. But thank you.”

“I want to make sure you know what to expect. Brother Thomas will say a few words here as well and a closing prayer, then people will be allowed to walk by the casket. Some may lay gifts or tributes on it,” she stares at the ground and murmurs, “and it’s very possible many of them will approach you again, Henley, to offer their final condolences. I’m not sure there’s anything I can do to stop that, I’m afraid.”

“It’s okay.” I square my shoulders and insert a phony strength in my voice. “I can handle it. I’ll be fine.”

She takes me by complete surprise, pulling me into a tight hug and kissing my cheek. “I know you will be. You’re a strong, wonderful young woman Henley. You always have been, and you’re doing great.”

Just as she releases me, the sound of car doors shutting in the distance vamps up my heart rate and has every nerve ending in my body shooting off nervous sparks. I dare a quick glance in that direction and gulp, hard and loud, my knees jellifying and beads of sweat popping up on my forehead.

This is it, the last thing. It’s almost over, forever. Final.
Real.

I turn and look at Gatlin, still in the corner having not moved an inch, and he offers me a warmhearted, consoling smile. “You can do this,” he mouths.

I tell him he’s right with a brisk bob of my head and take my place near the front, so close I could reach out and touch her coffin.

So I do, gliding a trembling, clammy hand over the glossy mahogany surface. And talk to her, for the first time in years. “I’m sorry, Mom, for…everything. Please forgive me. I love you. I always have and always will. Please, hear me. And find her, tell her I love her too.” I whisper, then take a long, deep breath and plaster on a stoic face. The only face I’m willing to let them all see.

This part is short, but still very respectful, just as Donna promised. And she’d been right about everyone coming up to me to tell me how sorry they were for my loss. It all feels sickeningly familiar, but I won’t break. Merrick hugs me, which I stiffen against, and asks me to call him in a few days, which I put out of my mind before he’s even done talking.

And then I see Keaton, doubtless he’s been to each of the services, just lost in the crowds, and give him a small tip of my chin in acknowledgement before I can stop myself. Even his parents are here, meaning they flew in from their early retirement condo in Florida, which was very nice of them. I’m glad to see Mr. Cash looking so healthy,
and tan
, after having a heart attack at such a young age…but farming is hard work and often breaks a man down before his time. Seems leaving it in Keaton’s hands and heading to Florida was a smart call.

And then there are many older faces, not all of which I can put a name too, as well as several people I went to school with, each with something kind to say about my mom, always ending with “I’m sorry.”

Yeah, me too
. Sorry that it was again, not me.

But I still don’t break down or scream at the sky, asking
why
it’s always everyone else. Is it me? Something I did wrong? The punishable? If so, why not leave them be and
just take me?

Because all the while, I can sense Gatlin behind me, looking on, sending strength my way.

And now, it’s over, almost everyone gone.

“Are you ready?” Gatlin quietly asks.

I thought I was about to say yes, but that’s far from what leaves my mouth. “Actually, no. I’m gonna stay, until she’s, you know…really gone. You take my truck and go ahead, I could use a walk after.”

“You sure you don’t want me to stay? I don’t mind a bit.”

“No, I, want to be alone. I’m sorry.” I bite my lip and peer up at him apprehensively.

“Don’t apologize to me. Whatever you feel best about is what’s best, Henley. And you’re sure?” I nod. “Alright, I’ll go, but I’m not taking your truck. You use it, I’ll catch a ride.”

“Thank you Gatlin, for everything.”

“Anything Henley, anytime. And you never have to thank me. You’re
sure
about this? Doesn’t feel right leaving you here.” He waivers again, worry and perhaps a touch of guilt creasing his brow.

“Yes,” I shallowly laugh. “Now go, before there’s no one left to give you a ride.”

He walks away, backward, waiting for me to change my mind and stop him, but I don’t. Instead, I give him my back to eliminate the possibility altogether.

Then I watch as a crew moves in and turns on the platform thing that slowly lowers her into the ground. They throw dirt over her while other men start to disassemble the tent. They sure don’t waste any time.

And when they’ve packed up and gone, leaving me alone with a fresh mound of dirt and a few smaller flower arrangements, I notice what hadn’t even occurred to me…and white spots dance in my vision right before it all goes black.

“IT’S FINE, HENLEY. YOU’RE
gonna spook him. He can sense your nerves, chill out.”

See, I’d checked everything, apparently too much. But I’d checked it!

“Just let me-”

“No,” she laughs, patting Whiskey’s neck. “My boy and I are a perfect team. He’s never let me down, and I know him, better than you. Don’t get him rattled. Now go on, get a good seat.”