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Willow
Five days ago,my biggest concerns were passing my exams and avoiding Finn. Today, as I sit in the front row of the church—Evie on my right, holding my mother’s hand, Max on my left—listening to my dad’s best friend, Christopher Graham, giving the eulogy, nothing seems to matter anymore.
My father’s gone.
He’ll never wrap me in a hug again and tell me everything’s going to be okay.
I’ll never hear his voice or listen as he reads theNight Before Christmaswhile we drink hot chocolate and open our stockings.
He won’t be there when I walk down the aisle.
Or have my first child.
Because some idiot decided to drink and drive. A man my father had defended on those same charges less than a year ago. He’d gotten him off, sentenced to community service instead of two years behind bars.
Because the great James Palmer was one of the best defense attorneys around. He never lost. Fought for his clients even when he presumed they were guilty. He believed everyone deserved the opportunity to change and that couldn’t happen if they were behind bars.
If you needed help getting out of trouble, he was the person you called.
He was the person I called. No matter what time it was, no matter how stupid my decisions had been leading up to needing to make the call. He never let me, or anyone else, down.
And ultimately it had cost him his life.
As Mr. Graham steps away from the podium, the room falling silent once again, and I focus on the closed casket sitting only a few feet away from us. That’s what hurts the most. Not being able to see him one last time. Knowing that the damage to his face is so extensive that he’s barely recognizable.
Soft music begins to play as Max releases my hand, stepping up to the casket and placing his hand on top of it. He’s a pallbearer even though my mother tried to talk him out of it. Seeing his face, watching as she attempted to change his mind, I knew this was something he needed to do. For himself. For my father. His hero.
The patriarch of our family. He worked hard to provide for his family but still made sure he was always around when we needed him. There wasn’t a baseball game or soccer tournament he missed. He taught me how to ride a bike. To swim. To drive.
A true family man.
So, what do we do now?
As the casket’s carried away, my mother stands, taking my sister’s hand and reaching for mine. I stare at her, taking in her black dress, stockings, and heels. She’s the picture of a perfect widow. From the emptiness in her eyes to the slump of her shoulders.
My mother is broken.
We all are.
I know she needs to me right now, but I need time alone. Her hand falls to her side as she leads my sister down the center aisle.
Bowing my head and closing my eyes, I listen as our closest family and friends, my father’s coworkers, and half our small community shuffles out of the church. When the room falls silent, I let out a deep breath and lift my head to the sky.
Why?I want to scream.
I’ve kept the tears at bay. Held it all in for the past one hundred twelve hours. I can feel myself breaking, but I’m afraid once I do, I’ll never be able to put the pieces of my heart back together.
A door opens behind me, a small gust of wind blowing a curl in my face. The soft thud when it closes alerts me to his presence, but I don’t bother to open my eyes. Goosebumps pebble my arms as he gets closer.
The pew creaks when he takes the seat next to me, threading his fingers between mine and giving my hand a slight squeeze. A surge of electricity hits my system. Opening my eyes, I tilt my head to look over at him, studying his face.
His hair’s been freshly trimmed, brushing the tops of his ears. The five o’clock shadow that normally graces his strong jaw has been shaved clean, giving me a glimpse of the dimple in his chin. But it’s his eyes that have my hands shaking.
They’re filled with promise.
“I’ve got you,”they say.
“I need you,”mine reply.
