Page 18 of Letting Go at 40

It’s time.

“I love you, man.” My throat catches. The words scratch. I don’t say them directly to anyone ever.

And as I press harder on the heart-shaped rock between our palms, I’m certain I’ll never have the strength to say the words again. There won’t be another person worthy enough to give those words meaning in my life.

I squeeze as if I can hold Ben in place while knowing I don’t have the power to cheat death.

And within days, Ben leaves us with broken hearts but fuller lives because he lived his days with us.

He chose us.

Chapter 8

2 Years Ago

July

The Funeral

[Anna]

“Hello?” The click of the front door brings me out of my revery. I’d been standing at the kitchen island, wiping down a platter. Circling, circling, circling, the now dry porcelain. My thoughts have been elsewhere, however, I can’t recall what I was thinking about.

“In here,” I holler back, my voice lighter than I feel as I respond to my younger sister Amelia. She’s here for the funeral.

As Amelia passes from the entryway to the kitchen, she struggles to offer me a smile as her lips quiver and her eyes glisten. After circling the island, I meet her halfway and she pulls me into a tight hug, petting my hair as if I’m the younger sibling. Like I haven’t been taking care of her all our lives but she’s here to comfort me. I melt into the welcome embrace. Guilt and relief are strange bedfellows, and the two collide inside me as I struggle to accept that the longest year of my life is over.

When we pull apart from one another, I skim my hands down her arms and catch her fingers, squeezing tight. Three years younger than me, you’d think we were a decade apart. Amelia has lighter brown hair than my dark tresses, plus she’s thin and fashionable. She looks fantastic. However, my trained eye sees the exhaustion she’s tried to hide with makeup. She lives and works in Chicago, preparing for world domination one day.

I’m so grateful for her presence. I only wish our brother Archer would make an appearance. The wayward son has disappeared from our lives. I’d always believed our father might have known where he was and what he was up to, but Dad never shared Archer’s whereabouts with us.

“You look beautiful,” I tell Amelia.

“You look exhausted. What can I do?” Amelia glances around my kitchen where casserole dishes have collected, and platters await the luncheon after the funeral tomorrow. The days blend together but the more I can keep myself busy planning, planning, planning, the less I fixate on the hole where my heart used to be.

“I’m all set. I have a caterer coming tomorrow and a cleaning service came yesterday.” The hospice service worked quickly to remove all medical equipment. The room Ben was in has been sterilized and restored as a guest room. I keep the door closed, though.

Still holding Amelia’s hands, the sound of bare feet enters the kitchen behind me.

“Mealworm,” Mason cries out, yelling the nickname he’d given Amelia when we were all younger.

“I’m not that little girl anymore,” Amelia warns. My sister has always had a huge crush on Mason and his bad boy ways.

“Hmm,” Mason hums. “I can see that.” I glance over my shoulder, catching him blatantly taking in my sister’s curves. “But you still look good enough to eat.”

I turn back to Amelia, who doesn’t even blush at Mason’s flirting. She holds herself poised and prepared for banter. “You can eat me anytime.”

I’m the one turning five shades of red at the innuendo and the sudden sexual energy in the room.

“Whenever you’re ready to dish, babe.”

Glancing over my shoulder at Mason again, I catch the wink he’s aimed at Amelia.

I hate that wink for some reason.

Mason has picked up a platter, holding it before him, like he’s expecting my sister to jump up on it. She’ll be his feast.

Turning away from Mason, I narrow my eyes at Amelia. “Ignore him.” The command comes out gritty and harsh as I grind my teeth.