Bared Souls - Ellie Wade Page 0,108

message from anyone but Amos in four days.

“Phone and purse. Anything else?”

“No.”

He extends a hand toward me, and I place my hand in his palm. He leads me out to his car and gets me buckled up in the passenger seat before closing my door and walking around the front of the car to his door.

As he pulls out of my drive, I can’t help thinking that I have no idea how I’m going to get through this day. I still can’t believe any of this is real. Yet my shattered heart reminds me that it is. I can fall apart when I get home, but somehow, I have to make it through today. For Leo, I must.

FIFTY-ONE

Alma

Pulling into the Hardings’ estate brings a whole new wave of nausea. I hate this place—this glamorous, majestic, lonely, tortured place. In the five years I knew Leo, we were here the same amount. Even once a year was too much. Leo’s nightmares following a visit would last for weeks.

It was important to him though to try to mend the severed bonds between him and his family. Despite everything they had or hadn’t done for him, he wanted to make it better. He wanted to move forward. He wanted to heal. His heart was always too gentle and pure to be attached to the Harding name.

He saw his mother, brother, and Cat more than once a year but always on safe ground—a restaurant or our home—not here.

“He would hate this,” I say as Amos continues down the long driveway.

There are at least a hundred cars parked in the front lawn. Enormous flower displays line the drive. The front yard alone tells me that the Hardings spared no expense for this gathering, and yet I know that the effort is meaningless. This is all their fault.

“He hated extravagant parties. He hated this estate. I can’t believe I agreed to this.” Disappointment in myself cripples me and adds to the suffocating agony that is my existence.

“It doesn’t matter. Leo would be glad that you were spared the heartache of planning his funeral. Who cares what these people do? You can celebrate his life and mourn his loss and honor him in your own way. All he cared about was you anyway,” Amos says.

“I should’ve planned it.” My voice is heavy with tears.

“You’re doing the best you can, Alma. Leo wouldn’t blame you for a second.”

I simply nod because that much is true. I could do no wrong by my husband, but it doesn’t mean that I didn’t want more for his soul’s send-off. I don’t want this circus. He deserves something real. Amos is right; all Leo cared about was me. I’ll find a way to make this better. I’ll say good-bye to him in my own way.

Amos parks in the front circle drive. I close my eyes and pull in a deep breath, willing strength to permeate my every cell as the air fills my lungs.

My door opens, and my friend extends a hand. “You ready?”

“No,” I sigh, but I exit the car anyway.

We walk through the house until we’re in the back of the estate. The lush lawn is so ornately decorated with lovely flowers that it looks like a wedding. There are rows of white metal chairs facing the front altar, where Leo’s titanium-colored casket rests. The casket is draped with a spray of white lilies. Next to Leo’s casket is a huge canvas painting of him. Admittedly, the painting is beautiful and captures his smile and the light in his bright blue eyes.

“Alma.” Cat dabs her eyes with a tissue before wrapping her arms around me.

I return her hug, my tears falling onto her black dress.

She leads me down the aisle between the rows of chairs. People I’ve never met whisper their condolences as I pass. Ethan and his family, Ollie, and Quinn sit in the second row, and their presence brings me a semblance of comfort. They knew and loved Leo at least. Leo’s parents and brother sit in the front row, and on the other side of the aisle are my parents. Their presence throws me off. The Webers don’t participate in something as traditional as funerals. My mom’s teary face smiles sadly toward me, and I have to look behind me to Amos to center myself. He nods in reassurance.

This whole march down the aisle is surreal, and it makes my skin crawl. I swallow the nausea in my throat. The dry burrito threatens to surface. Amos takes