Page 3 of Never Too Late

“Thank you,” I whispered, barely meeting her eyes, my hand limp in hers, before my eyes went back to stare at the wood. When she didn’t get whatever she expected from me, I sensed her leave. Like everyone did. They all left.

I couldn’t look away from the casket that was in front of me. The wood gleaming in the winter sun.

“Sophie,” a voice I knew whispered.

Mrs. McConnell.

I didn’t look at her. I couldn’t.

She was her best friend. She helped her raise me. And I knew if I looked at Mrs. McConnell even for a second, I wouldn’t be able to stay strong. I would give in. And I would lose myself in grief.

“I’m so sorry, dear.” She repeated the words she said to me over the phone.

When I still didn’t look her way, she grabbed me by my elbow and squeezed, trying to get my attention.

Not looking away from the box that held my last remaining relative in its clutches, I said in a flat tone, “Not to be rude, Mrs. McConnell, but I can’t right now.”

“What can’t you?” She was still holding on to me.

I knew this was painful for her too.

Maybe even more so than it was for me. I just didn’t have it in me to consider the fact. Just hearing her speak was as if someone was clawing at my heart. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault actually, but she was the one who told me. And she was the only other person who knew her. The real her.

“Whatever you want to say, whatever you need of me, or from me, I just can’t.”

“I understand, but I have something to tell you. Something you need to know. Something she told me, you don’t,” she pushed. Still, I ignored her. The only thing I did was cover her hand on my arm and for a second held it before my arm lost the strength and my hand slid away. “Whenever you’re ready, I would like to talk to you,” she said before she walked away.

I stayed quiet.

The words she said over the phone three days ago, on a constant loop in my mind.

“I’m sorry, my dear. It pains me to tell you this, but this morning we lost our Evelyn.”

Evelyn.

My grandmother.

I could still see her in my mind. The way she would look at me while I was telling her about my day at work. Her eyes full of pride she felt because I did what I said I would. The way she held me as if she was afraid I would splinter into pieces when he left. The way she checked up on me for years after, because she knew I still didn’t get over losing him. The way she was careful of not bringing him up other than to tell me he was definitely gone. The way she made me smile whenever she pulled out a piece of candy from her pocket to give to me. The sound of her laughter. The way she sang along while listening to music. The way she would dance around the kitchen while she cooked. I could feel the warmth of her skin when she would cup my cheek, which was usually right before she would tell me I worked too much and needed to start living my life.

She was the kind of woman that found a way to enjoy her life no matter what it dealt her.

Even after my parents’ deaths, when most people would break, she went on. And in the process, showed me it was possible to live through something like that.

She never complained that she had to come to Boston and later Seattle when I refused to come back to visit her in Hopeful. She knew why that was. She knew I gave all my heart to him and he not only broke it, but he destroyed it.

I also knew she didn’t like Nathaniel, but she stayed quiet about it.

Logically, I knew this day would come. I just never thought it would happen this soon.

I wasn’t prepared to be left alone. I wasn’t prepared to become an orphan again.

With an image of her smiling at me dancing before my eyes, I walked to the casket and leaned down to it. With my lips on the cold wood, I whispered, “I love you forever.” Then with one final goodbye to the woman who took me in and raised me, I turned around and walked away.

Alone.

“‘Ello,” I muttered into my phone.

It was two days after the funeral.