Page 15 of When Sparks Fly

I shake my head. “I’ll stay out here a bit longer. You two go ahead.” Truthfully, being inside is stifling, like the weight of finality pressing heavily on my chest.

Liv squeezes my hand sweetly and Randi pats my shoulder as they pass me to enter. I’m amazed at how many others follow them. Many—too many—offer condolences and well wishes, prayers and heartfelt memories, hugs and pats on the arm. My cheeks and jaw hurt from forcing a grateful smile for so long. I’m well past overstimulated.

Leah arrives shortly before the service and wraps me in her arms, holding tight without saying a word. Her familiar loving arms threaten to bring down the dam I’ve built and I desperately bury all the emotion deep within, squeezing Leah tightly in return.

“Thank you,” I whisper into my best friend’s mahogany hair. It’s wrapped into a gorgeous braid instead of her usual wild and free style. Herlight makeup and rosy cheeks give her a demure look. It’s both captivating and wholly out of character. “You look gorgeous.”

She brushes my cheek with a gentle kiss as she pulls back, all the thanks she can muster for my genuine compliment. “The end of the world couldn’t have kept me away today.” Her hands grasp my own with a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll see you inside.”

I give her a half-smile. “Find Liv. She’ll be up front.” She nods as she passes through the grand doors.

The arrival of guests begins to slow. Heading inside, I contemplate situating myself between Randi and Stephanie, but I determine we all need to be big girls and push between my cousin and best friend instead. I wouldn’t wish for Izzy to be here instead of Hawaii, but I miss her immensely.

Liv has written a beautiful obituary for the program, which the minister reads, including the list of loved ones Nana has left behind. I’m thankful that the list is short. It doesn’t change how hard I have to work to keep myself together when Liv and I are mentioned.

When the minister invites me up, I remove my notes and a travel-sized pack of tissues from my dress pocket, setting both on the podium. The silence is deafening.

Bull Creek boasts a population under ten thousand, but the turnout today is awe-inspiring. Nana’s reach was wide. Pride fills me at the product of my grandmother’s life, at the number of lives she touched.

“Queen Elizabeth II said ‘Grief is the price we pay for love.’ Our grief today is proof of the love we knew for Olivia Ruth Wagner. Many of you knew her as Ruthie. I called her Nana.” Liv catches my eyes, silent tears streaming down her face at the loss and mention of her namesake. Leah wraps an arm around her from one side, Randi’s arm snaking in from the other side.

“To you she was a friend, a colleague, a damn good cook.” My mother inhales sharply, while many in the crowd nod. “She madethe bestchicken noodle soup when I was sick. She mastered Bridge and Rummy, the art of a pick-me-up when you needed comfort, and coincidentally a stern talking-to when you needed to get your ass in gear.” A few soft chuckles fill the space, drowning out Stephanie’s huff.

“But to me…to me, she was home. Summers filled with endless sleepovers, lessons in cooking, and countless hours watching trashy TV. Her doing, not mine.” Liv and Randi laugh knowingly from the front and Leah is grinning, sharing in my memories of sleepovers in the past.

“She was the teller of so many amazing stories. I always thought she had the most fascinating childhood...I wish I could hear her tell just one more.” My breaths are labored. I look around the room, filled with people who knew and loved my grandmother. The pews are full and many are standing along the back wall. A few dab their eyes with tissues and my focus lands on my pack on the podium.

Inhaling deeply, I draw my eyes up, preparing to go on, when I lock eyes with Sutton. He’s positioned toward the back of the room, a chocolate felt Stetson in hand and his sandy hair in gentle disarray. There’s something kind in his eyes, supportive.

“And she was the reader of bedtime stories, too. Her voice was the perfect instrument for sharing a myriad of tales. I’d like to share an excerpt from one of our favorites now.” The excerpt from Nana’s favorite story,Winnie the Pooh, rolls easily off my tongue, having heard it so many times as a child. The sentiment that she will always be in my heart, though not near, causes a fat tear to escape as I reach the final line. I bat it away.

I step down from the podium, blowing a kiss at Nana’s photo perched nearby. Liv and Leah make room for me to sit again and Randi reaches aroundLiv to squeeze my knee. It reminds me of Nana and I can’t hold back the tears anymore. I lean my head onto Leah’s shoulder as she wraps an arm around me. Liv leans into me from the other side.

The minister offers a few more heartfelt words and closes the service with an invitation to the graveside, then to Nana’s house for a farewell lunch. I blow out a huge breath trying to compose myself.

Following the graveside service, I send Leah home. I’m secretly hopeful that the less people who join us for lunch, the less time we’ll have to spend with those that do. Maybe they’ll be bored of our faces and leave quickly. My internal levee is crumbling bit by bit.

Having foregone the graveside service to meet the catering team, Alan is the only one at the house when we arrive. Everything is executed flawlessly, and though the mood is somber, the setup is beautiful and inviting.

Somewhat cloudy skies and a moderate temperature leave us without the need for jackets and give us a reprieve from sweating. The expansive front lawn is interrupted by tables covered in the palest yellow tablecloths, surrounded by metal folding chairs. Stephanie somehow manages not to have a complete nuclear reaction to them. The breeze lifts the skirts of the tables periodically and the leaves whisper in response.

Despite the gourmet food present, I can’t bring myself to eat. Any hunger I may experience is overshadowed by the feeling of being in a fish bowl. There isn’t a moment when someone doesn’t want to talk to me, anyway. I’m ecstatic when I can slip away to the restroom alone.

After washing my hands, I soak in a few silent moments, splashing water on my tired face. My blank reflection stares at me from the mirror.

Someone tries the handle of the door. “One moment.”

I take one more steadying breath, dry my hands, and open the bathroom door. Andi stands on the other side, her sandy hair falling past her shoulders. Her eyes brighten when she sees me. “Maci.” Everything about her is warm.

“Hi.” My pleased greeting comes naturally thanks to her welcomed presence. I maneuver into the hallway to allow her to pass, but she doesn’t move toward the bathroom. I resist heading toward the chatter in the living room.

“How are you?” Her words are genuine, infused with care. She’s not asking because it’s the right thing to do, but because she wants to know. At least, that’s how she makes me feel. For once, I’m tempted to answer truthfully.

“It’s been hard. But that’s expected.” I don’t force a smile like I have with everyone else. There’s no pressure to be okay.

“You two were close.” Her observation hits close and I bite my lip. I summed up our relationship as best as I could today. I can’t afford to go into more detail.

Andi gives me a moment of quiet. As if thinking of something, her eyes trace along the photos hanging on the wall. “I think it’s been about fifteen years or more. Ruthie brought you over to my house once or twice to play Bunco. You may have even played with my little girl.”

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