Her hand stills. “Yes.”
“And I didn’t know?”
She looks into my eyes, tears filling them. “It was Cord that told me I was pregnant.” She goes back to work on the tie, clearing her throat. “He would’ve been a great husband and a great father someday.”
I force a swallow and look away, blowing out a breath. “Did you read the letter I wrote you?”
She shakes her head. “No. I couldn’t. I mean, I tried. But it started with ‘I guess I didn’t make it’ and I couldn’t read on.” She finishes working my tie, pats my chest and steps back. “There you go, handsome.”
I nod, thankful she didn’t read the letter. Maybe we’ll read it together at some point and maybe we’ll let it sit in a drawer. I don’t know. All I do know is that I’m grateful she didn’t have to read it.
ELIN
I swore I’d never set foot in here again. After the funeral service for my parents, I could barely drive by the little building on Main Street without breaking down. Yet, just a few years later, I stand in the very same place, giving another eulogy for someone I love.
The microphone hisses as I adjust it. I vaguely wonder if I can just shut it off, but that seems more of a hassle than it is worth.
Taking a deep breath, my lungs fill with the scents of a hundred flower arrangements surrounding the casket of my friend. Yesterday was calling hours. Ty, Jiggs, Lindsay and I stood at Cord’s side and watched as mourners lined up down the aisle, out the door, and around the corner. They stood on the sidewalk in the pouring rain until it was their turn to enter to pay their respect to a man that deserved it.
I can’t look over there. My feet are glued behind the podium, stuck in place by the gazes of people filling the seats facing me. The director brought in every chair they had in storage and it still isn’t enough. Through the windows, I can see shadows of people standing on the sidewalk outside, listening to the service through speakers. It’s almost too much to take in.
My hands tremble as I lay a piece of paper on the wooden stand in front of me. I constructed words as beautifully as I could late last night, wanting to say the perfect things as a goodbye to my friend. I can’t see any of it.
Head bowed, lip quivering, I choke back the sob that shakes my chest. Lindsay rushes to my side, a handkerchief clenched in her hand. Her arm stretches across my shoulders and I turn to her.
We cry. Even when I’m sure there aren’t tears to be spilled, they come out in waves. Before I can start to pull myself together, Ty and Jiggs are pulling us into one giant embrace.
We stand, the four of us, our fifth wheel missing, and feel the loss of him more than ever before. Arms entwined, heads touching, tears mixing—we grieve the loss of a person that is simply irreplaceable.
I glance up, wiping the tears from my face. A small gasp escapes my lips. Half the people facing me are standing, the other half on their way to their feet. Chins tucked, hands folded in front of them—it sends chills through me.
Jiggs slips his wife under his arm and guides her back to her seat. Ty presses a soft kiss to my forehead and asks me with his eyes if I’m okay. “I’m fine,” I whisper. He seems unsure as he rubs his fingers down the cuts just starting to heal on his cheeks.
Finally, he takes his seat in the front row and I’m left watching the townspeople take theirs as well.
“I want to thank you all for coming today,” I say, my voice heavy with emotion. “I know none of us want to be here. I’d rather be home, listening to Ty and Jiggs and Cord argue over who is the better mechanic.”
A few chuckles roll through the room. My eyes find Ty’s and he smiles, urging me on.
“Cord left me in charge of his affairs. When the paperwork was handed to me, I wasn’t sure how to take it. Me?” I point to myself. “Why me? Then I saw how messy his house was and I realized it was some form of payback.”
Lindsay’s grin relaxes me and I take a deep breath. “Cord was a complicated guy in some ways and, in others, he was so simple. On one hand, he frustrated me like no one else on the planet. He wouldn’t do what I told him and he called me Pit Bull,” I say, rolling my eyes, “even though I hated it.”
The words end as I choke back the tears. “That’s a lie,” I sniffle. “I didn’t hate it. What I will hate is not hearing it again.”
I glance at the casket. My breathing ragged, my shoulders vibrating with the emotion that threatens to spill out across the parlor. He looks so peaceful, like he might sit up and give us his easy smile at any minute. It’s devastating.
“They say people don’t remember words. They remember how you make them feel. I disagree. I will remember so many things that came out of Cord’s mouth.” A smile tickles my lips as I taste the salty tears streaming down them. “I’ll miss him bossing me around and giving me advice, even when I don’t want it. I’ll miss the way his laugh sounds in the middle of Thoroughbreds on a Saturday night. I’ll miss the way he’d get me to do what he wanted without me realizing it.”