Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
I’ll bury Billy on Friday. I’ll give up his broken body to the ground where it’ll decompose and rot to nothing. But, really, Billy started to decay two years ago.
“Lo, what are you doing?” Luke rushes across the road toward me, his arm bent over his head in a poor attempt to shield himself from the pounding rain. “I’ve been honking my horn at you.”
“I didn’t hear you.” I catch sight of his car across the street. It’s in exactly the same place as it was when he dropped me here over an hour ago. “Have you been waiting this whole time?”
He drops his arm, his green eyes framed with lashes that are weighed down with raindrops. “Always,” he murmurs. There’s more meaning to his words than just simply waiting for me today. I know that. And yet, I have no room in my mind to process it.
I quickly look away from him. “The funeral is on Friday. Leaving from my house at eleven.” I go to my phone and start texting Linda. “I need to let Billy’s mum know. And our friends.”
“Okay, darling, but shall we do that in the car?”
I look up blankly, now not feeling the rain at all. Luke, however, must be, because his shoulders are high, his face soaking and twisted. I let him guide me across the road and help me into his BMW. The warmth sinks into my wet clothes, condensation spreading across the windows. “I want you to come to the funeral,” I say to my phone as I click Send on the message to Linda before composing a generic one for our friends. Did I even message them and tell them he was gone?
I look at Luke when he doesn’t respond, finding an expressionless face. “I want you to come,” I repeat. I don’t care what Linda says. I don’t care what people think. The thought of facing it alone is enough to make me not want to go to my own husband’s funeral.
“Then I will.” His words are strong and resolute.
I nod and return forward. “Good.”
I don’t know how I get to Friday. I don’t recall much of the past few days. I’ve slept for most of it, ate little, and privately agonized over my decision to ask Luke to be here. I’m standing on the grave’s edge, staring into the black hole at Billy’s coffin. It’s a perfect day for a funeral—bleak, gray, and cold. The priest’s words are distant and undistinguishable through the fog of my mind. I slowly cast my eyes around me, to all the people with their heads bowed. I haven’t seen many of them for years. It’s sickening how death encourages people out from wherever they’ve been hiding, their need to be here more selfish than supportive. They’ll go home and resume their lives like nothing ever happened. They’ll get back on the merry-go-round of life, and I’ll be floundering on the side, wondering why their lives haven’t been ripped apart like mine.
Billy’s mother catches my eye opposite, her glassy stare nailed to me. She’s not happy. I drop my gaze back to the black hole, unable to face her disapproval. We stood quietly in my house, waiting for the funeral cars to arrive this morning. She didn’t speak to me, and I didn’t speak to her. The journey to the church was deathly quiet. It was only when she saw Luke in one of the aisles that she spoke to me. “Have you no shame?” she asked. I didn’t answer. Shame was definitely lingering somewhere inside of me, somewhere deep—has been since I met Luke—but, as always, his mere presence blanketed that shame with comfort that I’m too desperate for. He’s kept a respectful distance. Until now.
As I step forward to drop some earth onto Billy’s coffin, I stagger. I’m not sure if it’s the uneven ground that causes my stumble, or my weak legs. Regardless, Luke’s by my side in a heartbeat, his arm wrapped around my waist to steady me. I look up at him, but he doesn’t acknowledge me. He simply walks me toward the edge of Billy’s grave and holds me steady while I release the pile of dirt in my hand. And then he constricts his hold minutely.
“Earth to Earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” the priest solemnly mumbles.
I remain by the graveside with Luke long after everyone has filtered away to make their way to the wake. I’m dreading the wake. At the wake, I’ll be forced to interact. I don’t want to stand in a room of people I barely know anymore and listen to them tell me what a good man Billy was. I already know that. I don’t want to force smiles and let them embrace me. I don’t want to do it. My throat clogs up with anxiety. I think it might finish me off. I’ve said my goodbye. I’ve prayed for him. Socializing with all the previously absent mourners isn’t appealing to me at all. In fact, it’s making me panic.