Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Her face shows the sadness I feel inside. “Are you sure you want to go?” she asks.
“I do. For Charlie, I will.”
She smiles, but it’s soft, sympathetic. “Do you want me to go with you?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ll be fine. Thank you, though.”
“Call me later?”
“Okay.”
I take a cab to the church, not wanting to be later than I already am. When I walk into the cathedral, I see a sign with the name Lackey and a guest book. I don’t stop. I need to be there for Charlie, so I walk through the doors and see row after row of empty pews except for one.
Charlie.
My breath catches as I realize no one else is here. No one came to say goodbye to Veronica except for us. I expected to see family but didn’t know her well enough to know if she had any. I expected to see friends, people who knew her, but maybe she didn’t have any of those either. All her neighbors are no-shows except for the kindest man I know.
I take a deep breath and walk up the aisle. His head is bowed when I scoot onto the pew and sit beside him. He looks up, and our eyes meet. No words are exchanged as I slip my hand into his and weave our fingers together just like old times. I’m relieved when he doesn’t move his hand away and instead gives it a very light squeeze.
The minister steps up to the podium and clears his throat before he starts the eulogy. Charlie has his head down most of the time but looks up at the minister every few minutes. He glances at me once as if he doesn’t believe I’m really here. At least that’s how it feels to me.
He holds my hand tighter, and during the short service, I realize I don’t want him to ever let it go. The feelings he’s always stirred inside me flicker and spark back to life. I have my friend again, and I think I want to hold on to him forever.
Not near enough is said about a woman who had such a vibrant attitude in life during the short and sweet service. It’s clear the minister didn’t know her, so I’m sure this ended up being a standard presentation.
We remain seated for a while after the minister leaves, taking in the loss of our friend, a friend I didn’t have enough time with. I close my eyes, drop my head, and say a prayer for her, knowing in my heart that she’s with her Johnny again.
As the minutes tick by, I wonder if Charlie might want some more time alone, so I stand. He does, too, following me into the lobby. I stop near the front doors of the church and glance around before looking back at him.
“I’m sorry,” I say for lack of anything better coming to mind. He puts his hands in his pockets and just looks at me. “Veronica was a lovely lady.”
“Yes, she was. Too bad more people didn’t know her.” He pauses and looks out the window at the traffic when a cab honks its horn, cutting off a Porsche as it drives past.
I touch his arm because ever since our hands fell away from each other just moments ago, I miss it. “No one but us?”
He shakes his head. “She had no family in the city, and I couldn’t find any distant relative information when the landlord let me into her apartment.” His eyes take in my hand on his arm, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he covers my hand with his own. “I’m glad you’re here. Thank you for coming.”
“Justin told Rachel, but I wish you would have told me instead.”
He drops his hand and walks to the basket full of programs, taking one. His back is to me. “I hope you understand why I couldn’t.” Turning around, he says, “I couldn’t, Charlie. I’m sorry.”
“No, no apologies necessary. I understand.”
As he looks at me, I see a glint of determination in his gray eyes. Gray eyes equal sad, confused, or mad. I want to see the blue like when he smiles back at me. I want to hear him laugh again. I’ve missed his views on life, his sarcastic side, and his humor. I’ve missed his face and his arms wrapped around me, the way his breath hits the back of my head when we nap, and him. I just miss all of him.
Our eyes meet again, and the urge to run into his arms and hug away the pain I’ve caused overwhelms me. I step forward just as he turns away.
“I should go,” he says, bending to pick up a messenger’s bag from the floor. “I have a few things I need to settle with the arrangements and the cemetery.”