Until Harry(40)

A friend of my mother’s passed a single red rose to each of my family members and Kale, for us to throw down on top of my uncle’s coffin. I was the last person to throw my rose, but before I let it fall, I kissed the petals and whispered, “I’ll miss you forever.”

The rose seemed to fall in slow motion and landed on the nameplate of the coffin, where my uncle’s name was engraved as clear as day. The priest spoke some more about what a well-loved man my uncle had been and how many lives he had touched.

Not long later, “Time to Say Goodbye” by Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman began to play once the priest had said his final prayers. I managed to hold it together for the first minute of the song, but as soon as the chorus began to play, and the words “time to say goodbye” were sung, I broke down.

Arms came around me from behind, and a face rested against the side of mine.

“He’ll always be with you,” Kale’s gruff voice whispered.

I sobbed and turned into his body, holding onto him as I cried through the heartbreak that was surging through me. I didn’t know how long I cried, but I was soon in my parents’ arms as we wept for my uncle. People began to leave then, once the song drew to a close, signalling the end of the funeral.

I looked through the crowd of people that was dispersing, and my eyes landed on Kale. He was standing in front of Kaden’s grave, which was only thirty or so plots down from my aunt and uncle’s grave. He was staring at the headstone with his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his slacks. I was about to walk over to him, simply to be there for him, like he had been for me, but I froze to the spot when, out of nowhere, I saw Drew making her way over to Kale.

I took the time to take her in, noticing that while she still very much looked the same, her face showed signs of her loss. It wasn’t as vibrant as I remembered. I didn’t know if she spoke to Kale when she reached his side, but he glanced down to her and, taking his left hand from his pocket, put his arm around her shoulder, hugging her to him before they both turned their focus to the headstone of their son.

Jealousy swirled around in my stomach, and I wanted to beat myself into a pulp because of it. Why did I still have to feel envious at the sight of them together when it was so obvious that the only connection between them now was the memory of their lost son?

I looked away from them so they could share their moment with their son in private instead of having my roaming eyes lingering on them. My focus quickly landed on my grandmother, who was hugging Kale’s parents. I hadn’t seen them in years, but they were just how I remembered them; they just had a few extra lines around their eyes and less of a spring to their step.

Losing their grandson, and watching their son go through his struggle, was the cause of that, no doubt.

When I approached them, Mrs Hunt spotted me first.

“Lane,” she gushed. “Oh, my girl, it’s so good to see you.”

I smiled wide when she rushed at me and wrapped her arms around me, hugging me so tightly I was afraid she would break me.

“Let the poor lass go, Helen – you’ll crush her,” said Mr Hunt, his Geordie accent as thick as ever.

I was always surprised that Kale had never picked up even a hint of his father’s accent. The Newcastle accent was strong, but it just went to show that he was a Yorkshire lad through and through.

I chuckled when Mrs Hunt let me go only to hug me again. When she finally separated from me, Mr Hunt cut in fast before she got another chance to enfold me in her arms.

“It’s brilliant to see you, love,” he said, smiling down at me, and then kissed my forehead like he had done so many times before, when I was younger.

“And you, sir, you’re looking well.”

He was; he had lost a lot of weight and looked great.

He winked. “Kale and your brothers have taken over my diet and have me eatin’ healthy. Trust me, I’d rather be with your da down the pub and chippy a few nights a week than countin’ how many calories I’m eatin’.”

I joyfully laughed. “It seems my dad has been eating and drinking enough for both of you.”

Mr Hunt laughed, and it brought a genuine smile to my face.

“So,” he said after he settled down, “how is living in the Big Apple?”

I lost my smile.

“It’s . . . okay.”

Mr Hunt’s lip twitched, but he said nothing further.

I looked in the direction of a couple that called out my name. They were my parents’ friends, so I excused myself from Mr and Mrs Hunt and greeted the couple, as well as many other people who stopped me and gave me their condolences. I didn’t know how I managed to keep it together, but I did, and I was mildly happy about it. I knew tears would lead to sympathy, and sympathy would lead to more tears. And by God, I didn’t want to cry any more.