Page 3 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
Maybe I’d feel differently if they had only been like brother and sister their entire lives. They haven’t though. They’d dated in high school. They were each other’s first relationship, first kiss, first everything. Millie has emphasized that to me frequently. First everything.
Eric Greene’s photo sits on an easel next to his closed casket. He grins at the congregation from inside a silver frame, fishing rod in one hand and what I assume is a prize catch in the other. I only met him a handful of times since Adam and I moved to Mount Pella two months ago, but he always had a joke ready, always made me feel welcome.
The pastor drones on about Eric’s contributions to the community, his dedication as a teacher and coach, his love for his family. I tune in and out, my eyes fixed on Adam’s broad shoulders. He’s hunched forward now, protective, the way he gets when he feels responsible for someone. I’ve been on the receiving end of that posture. Just not lately.
Millie lets out a sob that echoes against the vaulted ceiling, and Adam pulls her closer. Millie’s mother, Rhonda, seated on Millie’s other side, reaches over with a tissue. The three of them make a unit, connected by grief and history that predates me by decades. I’m the outsider. The interloper.
“Eric would want us to celebrate his life rather than mourn his passing,” the pastor says, and I swallow hard. I don’t know what Eric would want. I’m not sure I belong here, in this church, among these people who’ve known each other since birth. My mind drifts to my own family, my Uncle Peter and Aunt Charlene in Oregon, their daughter Rachel. My mom, who could be anywhere. My dad, who wouldn’t recognize me if he walkedpast me on the street. My grandmother, who raised me after Mom took off.
The service shifts to Communion. Rows of mourners file forward to receive the body and blood. I stay seated. I’m not Lutheran; I’m not really anything. My grandmother Louise never went to church. If asked, she would say she didn’t need to sit in a church and have God’s word shouted at her; she could hear it just fine in the singing of the birds.
Adam glances toward me as he guides Millie back to her seat. Our eyes meet for a brief moment before Millie stumbles slightly, and his attention snaps back to her.
The piano plays a somber hymn as people shuffle back to their seats. Adam doesn’t look at me again.
After communion, people share memories of Eric. The high school principal talks about his dedication to students. A former football player recalls Coach Greene’s tough love. Rhonda can barely get through her tribute to her husband of thirty years. Millie doesn’t speak, just clings to Adam like he’s a life raft in a storm.
When it’s time to head to the cemetery, I hover uncertainly near the church doors. Adam and his parents are helping Millie and Rhonda into a black limousine. They don’t look my way.
“Want to ride with me and Jake?” Adam’s sister Lauren asks, coming up behind me and taking hold of my arm. I like Lauren, and she’s one of the few in Adam’s family who seems to truly like me.
“Thank you,” I say, relief washing over me. At least I’m not completely forgotten.
“Of course.” She looks over at the black vehicle holding Adam and Millie. “Poor Millie’s just devastated.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
Her gaze snaps back to me, and she gives my arm a soft squeeze. “This can’t be easy on you either. If some woman were hanging off Jake the way Millie is Adam, I’d be throwing hands.”
I choke back a laugh because I can’t deny that I’ve been tempted.
“For what it’s worth, I truly don’t believe he has any romantic feelings for her. It’s just… she had so many health problems as a child and then leukemia when she was thirteen. Adam’s just always taken care of her. He’s always been protective of her. She’s like a little sister to him.”
A little sister he used to date is what I want to say. But I don’t. Nothing good will come from acting like a jealous shrew at her father’s funeral.
The cemetery is on a hill overlooking the town. The July sun blazes down on us as we gather around the grave. Adam stands with the Greenes, an honorary family member. Adam’s parents stand stoically beside them. I find myself between Lauren and Adam’s other sister, Hailey.
“Half the town is here,” Lauren murmurs.
“Eric was beloved,” Hailey agrees. She gives me a sidelong glance. “He was like a second father to us growing up. Especially to Adam.”
The graveside service is mercifully brief. The pastor says a prayer, and Rhonda places a rose on the casket. Millie tries to do the same but collapses in tears. Adam catches her, of course. Apparently, he’s been catching her throughout their whole lives.
And here I am, standing on the sidelines. Watching.
Back at the church, we gather in the basement social hall, where church ladies in sensible shoes heap plates with food for mourners. I hide a smirk at the spread of Midwest “salads.” Potato salad, jello salad, pasta salad, salad with candy bars, salads with every possible combination of ingredients except … lettuce. Or any other vegetables. Never change, Iowa.
I help myself to coffee that tastes like it’s been sitting on a warmer since sunrise.
“Caitlin!” A woman with a helmet of gray hair approaches. I recognize her as one of Paula’s bridge club friends. “Such a tragedy, isn’t it? You’re from the West Coast originally, right? Oregon?”
“Yes,” I say, grateful for the conversation. “Near Portland.”
“How nice. My sister lived in Seattle for a time. Too rainy for me.” She peers over my shoulder. “It’s good of you to support Adam through this. His family and the Greenes have always been thick as thieves. Why, I remember when little Millie was so sick with cancer, Adam would go to the hospital every day after school.”
“I didn’t know that,” I say, though I did. It’s a story I’ve heard from just about everyone since arriving in Iowa, how Millie fought leukemia, how everyone but especially Adam, rallied around her.
“Oh yes, they dated in high school, you know. Homecoming king and queen. Everyone thought they’d get married someday.” She gives me a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “But then Adam went off to college, and things change, don’t they?”
