Page 12 of What Remains of Grace

“She was one of the good ones,” another murmured.

“It’s so unfair.”

“Your poor parents.”

“Losing two children…”

“Losing both of them.”

“And that sweet girl, losing both her parents.”

“And Jenna, two siblings gone. No one should have to live through that.”

Every phrase, every embrace, every touch of sympathy landed like a stone.

Jenna nodded, smiled gently when expected, and murmured thank you more times than she could count. She didn’t cry, not then. The tears had burned themselves out somewhere between the bakery sink and sunrise.

Emmie cried discreetly beside her, shoulders shaking, and clutching the folded tissue Jenna had pressed into her palm earlier.

When the pastor spoke, his voice was soft and kind. He talked about Grace’s faith, about service, and about love and community. He mentioned The Blue Cypress and the way Grace had “fed people’s bodies and souls.”

People smiled through their tears at that.

* * *

The line of mourners was thinning when the door at the back of the chapel creaked open. Heads turned.

Troy.

He walked in wearing a wrinkled dress shirt and mirrored sunglasses, as if he’d just rolled in from somewhere he shouldn’t have been. His hair was too long, his face unshaven. He looked both out of place and completely indifferent to the eyes on him.

Emmie froze beside Jenna, her jaw tightening.

He gave a stiff nod toward the casket, mumbled something to a cousin on his way down the aisle, and didn’t bother taking off his sunglasses. When he reached the front, he hesitated for only a second—one hand in his pocket, the other brushing against the casket lid like he wanted to look respectful but couldn’t commit to it. Then he turned and walked straight back out.

Jenna hesitated for only a moment before following him.

Outside, the heat hit her like a wall. Troy was already halfway across the parking lot, fishing for keys.

“Troy!” she called.

He stopped, sighed, and turned. “What?”

She caught up to him. “You weren’t going to say anything to Emmie?”

He shrugged, “She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“She’s a kid who just lost her mother.”

“Yeah, well, I lost my wife.” He said it flat, like the words had no weight left.

“No shit. And where have you been? Your wife died days ago. You barely even came inside. You didn’t help with the funeral. There are bills, Troy. And the cars? Did you really sell them? Grace’s car? Emmie’s car?”

He froze, then smirked. “Word travels fast.”

“People talk, and what about the life insurance—you got it, didn’t you? You were supposed to use it for this.”

He popped a piece of gum into his mouth. “It was my wife’s policy. My name’s on it. I can use it how I want.”