the moment.
The light chatter flows effortlessly between us until we notice our mothers chatting in the corner, looking at us as we look at them. “I guess a distraction is easier to focus on right now,” Melody says.
“Yeah, our moms seem to have a hidden agenda for the two of us, but—”
“The timing is ah—” Melody says with a blush of pink staining her cheeks.
“It sucks,” I say, finishing her sentence. We’ve already determined the timing thing, and it isn’t about to change. “I wish I could make this easier for you but—”
“No one can,” she says. “I wish someone could because I’m honestly scared out of mind. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to make it through this.”
I place my hand on her shoulder and sweep my thumb back and forth to comfort the evident pain. “It might not mean anything to hear this, but most people don’t realize their strength until they have to find it inside themselves at the most difficult moment.”
“I need a hug,” she says, choking on her words. Without thought, I wrap my arms around her and squeeze tightly, running my hand across her back. Her cheek is against my neck, flaming hot, and I can’t imagine the agony she must be going through for her body to react so intensely. I wish I could ease her discomfort. “Thank you.” Melody whispers into my ear.
“I’m here. I’ll be here. No matter what,” I respond.
19
I wish I had more time. Which is worse? To know or not to know.
Harold passed away in the middle of the night on Thursday. Something inside him knew that the time was near and he wanted his family and friends to be there with him for one last party and to say goodbye, on his last day on this earth. When my phone rang at six in the morning, I knew. Pops was on the phone, silent. The lack of words was like a familiar siren. “I’ll be over as soon as I get Parker up and dressed,” I tell him.
“Okay,” he utters before hanging up.
I scratch my hands over my face and pull in a deep breath before searching for Melody’s last text message.
* * *
Me: I’m so sorry. I know the words hold no meaning, but like I said last night, I’m here—no need to respond.
* * *
I lean my head back against my pillow as I drop the phone to my lap.
Being silent but present is what I’ve always been good at. I’m at the end of a row in the church, waiting for the family to follow the pallbearers carrying the coffin. Everyone stands when the doors open. A weakness floats through me as I watch the coffin being carried to the pulpit.
I blink, and the casket is no longer black, but one covered with the American flag.
Relatives and close friends of Harold’s, including Pops, are replaced with Marines in their dress blues. Tears from swollen eyes become frozen, still faces.
Abby had no family aside from Parker and me.
Harold’s influence has filled up an entire church, and I’m grateful to see love rather than loneliness. However, what cannot change is the look on Melody’s face as she and Journey clutch Mrs. Quinn’s arms. Her eyes are glossy, and her cheeks look raw. Her hair is up in a neat ponytail, covered with a piece of black lace. I place my hand over my heart because it hurts for her—for all of them. Melody glances in my direction as she walks by, and I mouth the word, “hi,” knowing it’s all she can afford to hear or see on top of everything sprawled out before her.
She mouths “hi” back before her lips quiver and then returns her gaze toward the front of the church.
The service is kept short, each daughter saying a few words. The congregation is released to a receiving line where we offer condolences before moving on with our lives, as the Quinn family takes their last few moments inside the church, guarding the man that they loved more than anything.
I offer Mrs. Quinn and Journey a hug, and my apologies for their loss. As I reach Melody, I wrap my arms around her, and she clutches her hands against the back of my shirt, holding onto me as if she needs me to be here for her. Her body shudders against mine as tears trickle between our cheeks. “Take time. Sit and let it all sink in before you move forward. Let your