Page 113 of To Belong Together
She was grateful for him. Purely grateful. She may have admitted he was only hers on loan, but she wouldn’t survive if the debt were called in any time soon.
She fit her fingers on the side of his elbow, her pinkie resting against the ridge of the cast.
He stopped singing mid-line and looked, first down at her hand, then meeting her gaze.
“I couldn’t do this without you.” Tears welled at the admission.
His eyes softened, and he laid his fingers over hers on his arm. “You’re going to be okay.”
She worked hard to believe him.
Ten minutes later, she and her tremulous hands were at the podium.
She spotted John again, one empty space away from her mother in the pew. His look of concern did nothing for her composure.
She focused instead on Sam and Roy, who sat in the next row back. Their more stoic expressions helped diffuse her emotions.
“I’m Erin Hirsh, and we’re here today to celebrate my dad, Robert Hirsh. I almost never run out of things to say, but I struggled to write this eulogy, and my greatest role model wasn’t here for me to consult.” Her throat constricted. So much for Sam and Roy providing an adequate distraction. She gulped, blinked, and shifted her sweaty fingers down the paper.
She resorted to ignoring her audience as she read. “Though he’s gone, Robert Hirsh will always be my father and the man who gave me not only life, but a sense of belonging I’ve experienced nowhere else. When I wasn’t fitting in at school, he’d listen, hand me a tool, and teach me something new. Things always made sense in the garage with him. As a mechanically-minded woman, I’ve had enough experiences to wonder if God really meant to make me the way I am, but time with Dad always eased my doubts. Without him, I’m not sure I’ll experience that again.”
She lifted her eyes to John, so handsome in his shirt and tie, sympathy lining his features.
He’ll never be enough.
The thought wasn’t hers. She wanted to believe John would take over some of what her father had been to her, a haven of acceptance and love. But the warning rang true. John would never accept her as wholly as Dad had because she wasn’t John’s type. Hadn’t she known that all along?
Still, she couldn’t thank God for the reminder. Couldn’t the Lord have at least allowed her the comfort of blind optimism for one day?
She sniffled and pulled a tissue from the box on the podium in case this got as messy as it felt like it would. After a ten-count, she resumed. “That was one of Dad’s talents. He knew how to meet a person where they were and help them fit into the world, almost the same way he made car parts work correctly by installing them right. The first time, or the follow-up repair is free.”
She managed a smile and a blurry glance up, and guests smiled back.
“Community and family were important to Dad. He made coming home for dinner a priority, but he often ventured back out after to repair cars for those who couldn’t afford to visit the shop. He always worked carefully and diligently. People trusted him. That’s why he still has customers who are loyal enough to him that they now trust his daughter with their cars.” Her voice caught.
After another emergency prayer for help, she dabbed her face and gulped again. “And each one of them is an honor, a reminder of a legacy I’m proud to carry. Thank you all for coming today. This would mean so much to him.” Her voice caught halfway through and faded in the last sentence, but she’d made it. More or less.
She loosened her fingers, swiped up her tissue, and descended the steps. When she made it to the level of the congregation, she ducked her head and walked straight to John.
For a hug.
For a place to belong.
Even if only for a little while.
36
Erin shuddered as she stood at the close of the service. She lifted a hand to her mouth but failed to squelch the tears. John’s hand slid across her shoulder blades, and he folded her into a hug that shored up her composure enough to prevent sobs.
Once she’d pulled herself together, he silently accompanied her downstairs and stood by her side as the volunteers finished the meal preparations. After the pastor prayed for the food, John motioned her to lead the way through the line.
She collected a flour-dusted roll, ham, and a touch of green bean casserole. Her stomach felt empty, but that seemed right. She glanced to see if John would protest that she ought to eat more. He seemed focused on his own choices.
At the table, he allowed others to carry the conversation.
Though quiet, he usually seemed to track with what others said. Not so today, when he didn’t react, save for the times she spoke directly to him.
When he finished eating, he stacked her empty plate on his and rose to take them to the garbage can.
