But neither had they ever imagined that it would end like this, that Daria would return alone.
“Are you hungry, Daria?” Her mother’s shrill voice jerked her from her reverie. “Should we stop and get something?”
“No, Mom. I ate on the plane.” Never mind that it was half a bag of peanuts and a Diet Coke. It would satisfy her mother to know she had eaten something.
“Did Jason come?” Daria asked, anxious to change the subject. She was eager to see her brother, though she wasn’t sure she could face his sympathy right now.
“No, sweetheart,” her father said gently. “He thought it would be best to wait for you at the house.”
“When…will the Camfields come?”
“They’ll come to Bristol as soon as we let them know we’re home.”
They arrived at the baggage carousel, and Erroll Haydon motioned for his wife and daughter to sit down while he waited for her luggage to come around.
The rest of the day turned into a haze in Daria’s mind. The long drive home, her mother helping her get settled in the room that had been hers as a child. Then a house full of visitors. Her brother and his family, and later the extended family and Nate’s family, all came to see her. The outpouring of sympathy touched her, and yet it overwhelmed her so that when they’d all gone home she could scarcely remember one conversation.
On Saturday, one week after she arrived home, her parents’ church—the old clapboard country church Daria had grown up in—held a memorial service for Nathan. It seemed as if the entire town had turned out. She stood beside her mother and father at the doorway in the vestibule and greeted those who came to pay their respects. After living in a uniform of cotton skirts and tennis shoes for two years, she felt ill at ease wearing stockings and heels and the simple black dress her mother had loaned her. But she smoothed her skirt and tried to smile and be gracious as friends and neighbors—most of whom she hadn’t seen for years—filed by to cry with her and offer their support.
The wide doors to the vestibule opened once more, and a group of her high-school friends came in together. Her heart lightened just seeing them. “Nancy! Melinda!” Daria cried. “Oh, Cathy, it’s been such a long time. Hi, Diane. Oh, thank you for coming, all of you.” The smile she gave them was genuine.
Nancy leaned in close, her glossy red hair a long curtain. The sad smile on her face made Daria feel as if she truly shared her burden. She reached out and hugged her, taking warmth and healing from the embrace.
“How are you holding up, Haymaker?” Nancy asked gently.
“No one’s called me that in almost ten years,” Daria smiled.
Melinda, Cathy, and Diane moved close and formed a circle around her, and the knot of friends moved away from the door.
“Let’s go talk outside,” Daria said. She caught her dad’s eye. “We’re going to step outside for a minute,” she mouthed, motioning toward the door.
Erroll excused himself from the conversation he was involved in and came over to greet Daria’s friends. Then he turned to his daughter, putting a hand on her arm. “You go on,” he reassured her. “We’ll fill in for you here. You need to get reacquainted.”
They found a shady spot away from the front door, and soon Daria was caught up in conversation, accepting their tender empathy, catching up on news of other friends who had moved away, even laughing as they remembered old times together. It felt wonderful to be with these childhood friends who knew her so well. Slowly Daria began to feel more like her old self.
As the conversation turned to high-school memories, Nancy reminded them, “Remember when you mixed up that little potion in sophomore chemistry, Daria?”
“Me? Well, okay,” she laughingly conceded. “I might have done the actual ‘cooking,’ but you were the one who was supposed to be reading the ‘recipe,’ Nan!”
“Oh, man, I remember that!” Diane interjected, her blue eyes flashing. “There were those green fumes boiling out of the beaker and Zindler was waving his arms like a madman, trying to evacuate the room.”
“That stunt just about got us expelled,” Daria said, still smiling.
“Poor Mr. Zindler,” Melinda chimed in. “I’m surprised he didn’t retire that year.”
“What do you mean?” Cathy chided. “He did retire that year.”
“No!”
“That’s right,” Diane confirmed. “Remember, when we were juniors Dr. Unruh was the chemistry teacher.”
“Oh, my goodness! You’re right. I hadn’t even