Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Clay and Sheriff Peeler stay with him until he forces his legs to move, to the side and away, only to take a seat in the front row across from me and right beside Breezy. Choosing to stay standing, Josie and I shuffle to the side as Clay and the sheriff squeeze in next to us.
I haven’t seen or spoken to Bennett in a week, but it’s not for a lack of trying. I’ve called and texted, and even showed up at his house one day, but all of my efforts have gone unanswered. I don’t blame him, though, and Breezy has done a beautiful job of keeping in touch with me despite his reluctance. He’s in a dark place, one I can’t even begin to fathom. I only wish he would let me sit in it with him.
A cloud falls across the sun, casting us in shadow as Reverend Bob, the pastor at the only church in town, begins the formal graveside ceremony. “Welcome, everyone. I’ll start by thanking you all for being here on this momentously difficult day. We’re here to pay our respects to sweet Summer Bishop, taken from our earthly world far too soon.”
Bennett looks down at his hands, his head sinking below his shoulders like a cement block tossed into the ocean. I stare—because I can’t do anything else—willing some measure of comfort to teleport across the space to him.
“We are all suffering, but we must take solace in the fact that Summer is not. Her impact will be felt by all of us for the rest of our lives. And for our time with her, we are thankful. Because in that time, we were privileged to learn the value of seeking and living in joy. Summer took her misfortune and turned it around, finding pleasure in the simplest of gestures. A cookout at the church, a wedding in the square, a day with friends at the town festival. Over the years, I’ve personally had the occasion to laugh with Summer more than a dozen times—even, I’ll admit, when my own mood was sour. She was a vibrant embodiment of our most innocent happiness, and I will miss her most dearly. But I know heaven will welcome her with an open gate and even warmer arms, and I know that God—my compassionate, loving God—will give her an afterlife free of pain and full of happiness. An existence she more than earned.”
Bennett’s body shakes, and Josie has to grab me by the elbow to keep me from diving across the damn casket to get to him. Breezy’s eyes find mine while her hand finds his and squeezes. Just as she’s told me every time we’ve spoken, she’s got him. For now, she will bear his burden, she will walk it with him, until he’s ready for me to be there for him again.
Pastor Bob places his Bible on the casket and his hand on top of that as he bows his head and prays directly for Summer. “Your life, we honor, your departure, we accept, your memory, we cherish. Although we are filled with grief today, tomorrow, and the rest of our days, we will be grateful for your life and the privilege of having shared it with you. Rest now, sweet Summer, and live on in both God and the hearts of those who love you. Blessed we are to have known you. In Jesus’s name, Amen.”
“Amen.” The world is a broken collective of a tortured crowd and a hope for everything the pastor said all at once.
I inhale a shaky breath, and Josie rubs at my back. And across the space, Breezy pulls Bennett in for a hug. He goes willingly, and I look on as his body shakes with the overwhelming physicality of his grief.
“I invite you now to say your goodbyes to Summer’s corporeal body and to facilitate the passing of her spirit to heaven by placing a pink rose on the top of her casket. We’ll start with the back row and work our way forward, and Hank here will be passing out flowers as you approach.”
I don’t move or blink as I witness Bennett watch his world disappear. Flower after flower, he stares as his friends and acquaintances and even a couple of his pseudo-enemies help to lay his only daughter to rest. His eyes are icebergs in a tumultuous sea—a vivid difference from their usually warm, inviting blue waters.
It feels like hours pass before Pastor Bob invites our row to step forward, but when he does, Pete and Clay are the first to go. Two heavy-handed, brusque men moving with a gentleness I can hardly fathom. After their roses are placed, they round the casket to the other side, taking Bennett’s hand to shake and then pulling him into a tight hug, one after the other.