Page 113 of Even After This
Mama Lee points to the hanging porch swing, and we both settle into it, draping the quilt over our legs. She transfers a cupto me, and it warms my chilled fingers. Glancing down, I spot the package of Kleenex she placed between us on the blanket.
When I draw my knees up to my chest, the bench sways. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Holcombe. I ruined a special moment for your family, and—”
“Meredith, we’re all so glad you’re here.” As she gazes out over the fields, she pats my knee.
Shaking my head, I stare at my mug.
“There isn’t one person in the room back there that hasn’t experienced pain.” She pauses, then swallows. “I’m not going to tell you I think our loss is equal with yours, but losing Harlan’s dad so unexpectedly was pretty big in our little world.”
Dropping my feet to the porch, I sit up straighter and turn my face to her. We are now talking as one grieving widow to another.
“We all have our ways of dealing with it. William clears his throat when emotion hits him, and he excuses himself to check on the kids. Gracie sometimes hides in the bathroom. The boys get angry.” She sips from her mug. “Harlan, well, I’m sure he told you his story. He made poor decisions to deal with his grief. The sadness seeps out sideways, but it all represents the same thing that happened back there to you.”
I adjust my grip on the cup. “What about you?”
“I cry in private so as not to worry the others. But I’m not ashamed of my tears. Forty-six years of marriage gives me the right to miss Harold like crazy.” Mama Lee sighs. “I have a dark place I go to every now and then, but I always come out.” She turns her head and her gaze falls on me. “You’re welcome in this house, Meredith Harper. And everything that comes with you.”
My hands shake, and I tighten my grip on the hot chocolate. “What if I’m too much?” With the last word, a tear escapes.
She picks at a spot on the blanket. “You’re going to be faced with that question for the rest of your life. It’ll be yours to carry. But I’m asking you not to use it as an excuse. Part of your journey is about how others receive your story. But the other part of it isabout how you decide to define yourself. Unfortunately, there’ll be people who you are too much for, yes.” Her thumb traces the stitching in the quilt. “But there are others who will be able to come alongside and do life with you.” She nods to the fields. “Harlan can do it.”
Mama Lee nudges the ground with her foot, giving the swing a gentle push, and I watch steam rise from my cup, swirl through the air, and dissipate.
Harlan thinks he wants to do it because he only has part of the story.
And I’m going to have to tell him the rest.
27
“Please tellthemMerry Christmas for me.” My raspy voice carries through the small chapel on the Holcombe property. The quilt pulled over my shoulders soaks up my tears. Maybe another day, I will take time to admire the simplicity of this one-room, eight-pew building. But this Christmas morning is burdened with grief, and I stare at the stained-glass window behind the small stage.
Loss comes in countless forms. The initial deaths were a shotgun blast to my heart. But the pellets from the shell blast out, causing holes in every area of life. Christmas is just one of a thousand casualties from a terminal collision with an eighteen-wheeler.
The door to the chapel opens, and heavy footsteps draw closer to me.
Harlan.
He sits, puts an arm around my shoulders, and gathers me against his side. I cannot control the sobbing, and he kisses the top of my head as he wraps his other arm around me. “I’m so sorry, Meredith.”
Nodding, I grip his shirt and burrow deeper into his strong chest.
While he strokes my back, I concentrate on slowing my shuddering breaths. After a few moments, I pull back and focus on Harlan’s sympathetic eyes.
He cups my cheek and wipes moisture away with his thumb. He grasps my hand, his face full of concern. “You’re freezing. Where are your gloves?”
“I forgot them.” I ball my fist and shove it in my coat pocket. “How’d you know I was out here?”
He stands. “Hank came and got me.”
As I rise, I gather the quilt over one arm, and he takes my hand in his. Walking down the aisle, I glance around. “This is a lovely chapel.”
“My grandparents got married here.” He swipes at settled dust on the arm of the last pew as we pass. “It didn’t see a lot of use for a while, but Mom comes out here more now that Dad is gone.”
As Harlan opens the door and we step out into the cold, I catch sight of Hank standing against the building.
Arms crossed, toothpick in the corner of his mouth, he’s bundled in total ranch getup. Wranglers, shearling coat, leather gloves, jeans, and boots. He tips his hat.
Guardian angels come in many forms.
