Page 91 of The Wrong Promise

“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit, my girl. You can do this. Take it month by month. It’s going to hurt, but you don’t want to forget your friend either.”

I nod at Dad and wipe away the tears.

“I agree with your father. While I would prefer you to be in the States, I’m so proud you have traveled abroad and are doing things outside your comfort zone.”

I snort. “It was hard as I was never brave.”

“You are. You need to do this for yourself. Set goals. Book a flight home for Mother’s Day. That way, you have something to look forward to and then you can reassess after that.”

I nod. “Sienna and Hugh’s baby is due next week. I’m going to miss it. So I’ll be able to see their baby in May.”

“You can’t put your life on hold for other people,” Dadoffers gently. “Your friends will be here when you come home.”

Another three hoursuntil we land.

It’s been a long flight, preparing myself for the funeral. I haven’t spoken to Jobe. While I feel bad for ignoring his calls, I sent him a text telling him I’m okay, but I think it’s best not to see each other for now. I need time, and I hope he understands by giving me space. What I didn’t tell him is that I’m devastated he’s incapable of settling down with me, and my heart just doesn’t need any more reason to ache right now.

I’ll make plans to move out after I chat with George and see if he knows of anyone needing someone to share since George seems to know everyone.

I have thought about work and keeping my association with Jobe at a professional level. I don’t need to see him, and hopefully, his visits will remain once a month.

Closing my eyes, I try to get some sleep for the last part of the flight, but all I see is Piper’s beautiful smile and the way she used to play with her long blonde ponytail. I tell myself not to cry but cherish the fact I can still see her in my mind, and I never want to let her memory go.

International flights are crap,and arriving at six in the morning on the day of a funeral is the worst.

Jobe’s penthouse is oddly quiet. Someone has been here to clean the apartment, and the books on my bedside table are in a neat stack. It’s weird to have a stranger in my room, but if Jobe trusts someone, then I have no reason not to.

I just admitted to trusting his judgment. Trusting him. I’m not going to explore those thoughts and head to the shower to try and wake myself up instead of walking around, putting one foot in front of the other like a zombie.

After showering, I dab on some light makeup. Pointless, really, because as soon as I see everyone, I’ll lose it. I’m wearing a black dress to the knee, tight fitting, but I wore it out a couple of times with Piper, so I think it’s right for the day.

After calling an Uber, I head downstairs to wait. Inside the rideshare, I stare out the window, noting the buildings and places where I’ve visited or passed when I was with Piper. Tears pool and I somehow manage to push the emotion away.

We stop outside the church, and I head inside with a crowd of people I have never seen before. The church is full. The music is depressing and not what I believe Piper would choose for her funeral. Halfway along the aisles, I notice some people from work.

Slowly, I make my way along the side of the church, trying not to hear the sobs or notice people wiping their eyes. The coffin comes into view, and I stop walking, too scared to walk closer, knowing it will break my resolve.

In the front row, men and women huddle together. One glance and I can tell it’s Piper’s parents and grandparents and other family members by the wailing.Oh. My. Heart.

“Zara.” A whisper. I turn, and George discreetly waves me over to him. Lydia is on his other side. I slide into the seat beside him, he reaches out, takes my hand, and squeezes it. “I got you, babe.” His swollen red eyes hold mine before he looks to the front of the church, where a priest comes to stand. “She’d fucking hate this music,” he murmurs. “It’s killing me.”

“I thought the same thing.”

He squeezes my hand again.

We listen to relatives speak about Piper’s life and her kind soul. While I didn’t know much about her life before we met, I know everything about her gentle soul. For the next half hour, I listen to prayers and words that cause my endless tears to flow. My throat burns, as do my eyes, and I’m not sure how much more sadness I can endure.

Some people choose to leave after the church service, but George, Lydia, and I are bundled up in our coats, gloves, and thick scarves to go to the cemetery.

It’s beautiful, with memorials lining some paths, some in the garden beds, and others with headstones. We are at a grave site, a gaping hole in the ground. The other graves are covered with grass surrounding the headstones. A rosebush with tiny yellow buds is in a pot at the end of the site.

We all gather around as the coffin is secured over the hole. The priest begins to speak, though I don’t hear a word. I’m forever wiping my eyes, my nose running like a river. I manage to keep the sobs quiet, sucking in each breath though it’s difficult listening to Piper’s mom’s cries over everyone else. George squeezes my gloved hand, and I bow my head. It’s too painful to watch. He squeezes again, a double squeeze, trying to alert me to something. I look at him, and he tips his head to the left. On the other side of the grave, to our left, Jobe is standing a few feet away from everyone else.

My heart stops.

He came.

He is wearing his standard black suit and white shirt with a long, tailored black coat over his suit and a black scarf draped around his neck. Jobe is all class, but as his eyes meet mine, I see the sadness even from here. It takes everything I have not to run into his arms.

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