Page 101 of Back in the Saddle

He admired her for that.

On the day of the funeral, Hunter woke up with a headache. He cursed under his breath. He didn’t drink yesterday to precisely avoid this scenario. Annoyed, he dragged himself out of bed and trudged into the kitchen. He made himself a cup of strong, pressed black coffee and settled into the armchair.

The sun was barely above the horizon. Cold, December misty air enveloped Purcell. He swallowed two acetaminophen and washed them down with coffee. His phone vibrated with an incoming message.

CAROLINE:How are you holding up?

HUNTER:Hanging in there. It feels like today’s going to make it real. I know he’s been dead for a week but watching the coffin with his body lowered into the ground and buried … That’s final, isn’t it.

CAROLINE:I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry you’re going through this. Are you sure you want me there today?

HUNTER:I know you didn’t know him, so please don’t feel like you must come. But I want you to be there. I probably won’t be able to spare a lot of time during the actual ceremony as Meg’s a mess and Morgan still doesn’t understand why she can’t see Grandpa again. Knowing that you’re close, being able to steal a glance at your face … It’ll help.

CAROLINE:I’ll be there. I won’t get in the way but if you need anything, a chat, a hug, you’ll be able to find me.

HUNTER:Thank you.

There are these well-known phrases people say to describe a funeral. It was well attended. It was a lovely ceremony. The readings were emotional. The stories shared by the family made people laugh and cry at the same time.

Hunter had only been to two funerals prior to today. But even if he’d been to forty, it wouldn’t have made today any less painful. Nothing could.

He fidgeted, trying to release his arm from Meg’s hold. His tie was too tight.

She looked up at him with puffy, glassy eyes.

The pastor was in the middle of talking about Alan’s contribution to Purcell’s community. How well regarded and well liked he was.

Hunter grabbed the knot on his tie and loosened it, feeling like he couldn’t breathe. His eyes searched the crowd with a mild panic. All these people, all dressed in black … He didn’t stop until he found Caroline.

She was standing at the back, a bit out of the way next to Dr Kennedy. They both looked fully focused on the sermon.

Hunter’s breathing and heart rate slowed down, his eyes remaining fixed on her. She must’ve sensed his gaze as she tilted her head. Their eyes met, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

Buck subtly elbowed him in the side. The pastor was finishing up, and it was Hunter’s turn to say a few words. They’d had an argument about it the night before. Buck hatedpublic speaking. He used to stutter at school and kids had bullied him for it. Hunter thought it wasn’t fair he was the one who had to come up with some eloquent words in these circumstances. He’d even tried pulling the age card, which didn’t go down well. In the end they settled it like men: rock, paper, scissors. Hunter lost.

‘Now Hunter, Alan’s younger son, is going to say a few words.’ The pastor stepped to the side, letting Hunter past to stand next to the microphone.

He took a deep breath, looking at his family. ‘Thank you, Pastor. I thought about what I could say here today and drew blank for hours. After all, how could I possibly condense my father’s life into a few sentences?’ He flexed his trembling fingers. ‘But … then I remembered what he always taught me: speak from the heart. That’s why I didn’t write anything. So please bear with me, I might ramble a bit.’

Mary gave him an encouraging smile, tears glistening on her cheeks.

‘My father was the greatest man I’ve ever met. I know this is a cliché, but he was my hero. He taught me so much, yet at times it feels like it wasn’t enough. He didn’t teach me how to live after he’s gone. I know that he wouldn’t want us to be sad – well, at least not for very long. He loved his life, and he loved his family. He was grateful for what he had, and he accepted the fate that he was dealt. He cared more about other people than himself.’

Hunter stopped, his eyes wet. ‘He wanted everyone to be happy. He was there for me in the darkest time of my life. He showed me patience, and kindness, and told me that better days would come. Eventually.’

He bent down, reaching for a bottle of whisky. He poured it into two glasses, putting one on the grass. He raised the other one. ‘Dad … A million words wouldn’t bring you back. I know because I’ve tried. Neither would a million tears. I know because I’ve cried. We love you and we’ll see you again.’ He downed the shot of whisky and heard Buck’s disapproving laugh.

‘Now, this is just the perfect example of the weird sense of humour my Dad had: he specifically requested Alan Jackson’s “Remember When” at this point. He said to tell you all that although it was by the lesser Jackson, the lyrics are what he’d want to say to our mother, Mary. And that if love was enough, he’d still be here with us.’ He looked at his mother with aching affection.

She shook her head, overwhelmed, as the music started playing from the speakers. Lorna touched her arm and enveloped her in a big hug.

Buck had his arm round Meg. He caught Hunter’s eye and gave him an understanding nod.

Hunter picked up the full glass of eighteen-year-old Bowmore from the ground. He peered into the hole, looking at the chestnut wooden coffin on top of which rested Alan’s favourite black Stetson.

A big stone lodged in his throat when he realised someone had put Alan’s glasses on the coffin, too – the ones he always misplaced.

He stood there for a moment, looking down.

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