Paparazzi surround the cemetery, but are kept out. The funeral is large and Dalton tells me there are famous musicians here, though I don’t recognize any.
We stand near Rochelle, but let her family comfort her. It seems to be what she needs. She’s too young to be widowed. Sadness permeates the air without effort, everyone letting it envelop the service of a man too young to die. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dalton’s hands at his sides, fingers moving quickly, strumming to a song no else can hear. My heart hurts as I watch him trying to cope in the only way he knows how—through music. I’m not even sure if he’s aware he’s doing it. His eyes are steady, staring at the casket before us, his shoulders slumped down. The tempo of his fingers picks up and I wonder if he’s playing a song I would know or if it’s one that will never be heard now that Cory’s dead.
Briefly, I debate if I should take his hand in mine, but I don’t, knowing it’s best to let him play on.
As the mourners walk away, Dalton and I, Rochelle and Neil remain in silence, standing there and watching as the casket is lowered. Neil bends down and grabs a handful of grass and blows. The small breeze sends them into the air, a few blades landing on the dark wood of his father’s casket. Neil smiles, looking pleased.
“He knows Cory’s not in there,” Rochelle says, large sunglasses covering her eyes as she keeps her attention forward. “What he doesn’t know is there are no remains to bury. The crash took care of that, but his parents insisted on tradition.” She turns to us and lifts her glasses, settling them on top of her head.
Neil takes her hand, and tears fill her eyes as she looks up to the sky, attempting to keep the tears at bay. “Daddy lives in here now,” Neil says, patting his chest over his heart.
We stare at the little boy—a little Rochelle, a lot of Cory, just like his baby brother. My heart breaks as I attempt to stop my own tears from falling.
Dalton kneels down, takes Neil’s hand, and says, “Your daddy is always with you. He was so proud to be your daddy too. He showed everyone your picture when he was on the road.”
When Dalton squats like that, Neil is eye-level. The little boy smiles and asks, “Are you, Uncle Johnny?”
Nodding, Dalton gives him an assuring smile. “I’m very proud of you, too.” He hugs him and Neil wraps his arms around Dalton’s neck as he lifts him up.
I take Rochelle’s hand and the four of us walk to the procession of cars, all waiting on us.
Cory and Rochelle’s families and closest friends gather at Tommy’s house. They decided it was best to host it here to keep people from discovering Rochelle’s home for privacy. Dalton shakes hands, gives hugs, receives lots, and thanks almost everyone for coming. The look in their eyes when they see him is a mixture of sympathy and curiosity. They want to know what will become of him almost as much as I do.
Everyone settles into quiet conversations and snacking. I sit next to Rochelle in the living room, wanting to hold the baby. CJ, although not even two weeks old, has grown so much. I rock him in my arms as Rochelle stares out the window. “I’m moving to Boston,” she says.
Surprised, I turn and ask, “You are?”
There’s a vacancy in her eyes when she looks my way, the strong woman I met months ago, now gone. “I don’t think I can do this by myself.”
“You aren’t alone.”
“I can’t rely on friends to replace Cory.”
“Cory traveled, toured a lot. You were already doing this on your own most of the time. You love your home and L.A.”
She gets up and walks into the kitchen. Her mother comes out and offers to hold the baby. I take the opportunity to find Rochelle again. She’s outside on the side of the patio alone. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” I say.
“You didn’t. You reminded me of why I left Boston. Cory grew up here. His family is here, our friends are here.” She tilts her head my way while leaning against the house. “I have a lot to think about, but you’re right. This is my home. I may not be able to stay in the house, every inch reminds me of Cory, but I should probably stay in L.A.”
After taking a sip from a flask, she hands it to me. I take it and sip. Whiskey. Strong like I always knew her to be.
“Don’t ever lose yourself in somebody else, Holli. It’s hard to remember who you used to be if they disappear.”
Sound advice in a genuine moment. “You’re stronger than you remember. That feisty girl who carved her own path in life is still in there. You just need to give her time to reveal herself again.”