Emma woke to find Andrew standing over her bed. She
struggled to bring his face into focus. “What is it, Andrew?”
“Mom! Get up. I think I smell pancakes downstairs.”
She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and then
sat on the edge of her bed, lacing her fingers and stretching her arms out in
front of her. She looked across at Joe, still sleeping peacefully. The digital
clock read 8:17.
“Come on! Are you getting up?”
She yawned. “Good morning, Andrew.”
“Good morning…. Well?”
“Just give me a minute. Can’t you go down by yourself?
Grandma’s obviously up.”
“I don’t want to go down without you. What would I say to
her?”
“I don’t know. Good morning, maybe?”
“Just come on!”
Emma’s stomach rumbled audibly when she caught a whiff of
the pancakes herself. “Oh, alright. It’s time to get moving anyway.” She
grinned slyly. “Why don’t you wake your dad?”
The table was set when the three of them walked into the
dining room. A platter of steaming skillet-sized pancakes, warm maple syrup,
scrambled eggs, and crisp bacon beckoned them. Emma wondered how her mom always
managed to have breakfast ready exactly when they came down.
“You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble, Mom,” she
scolded halfheartedly.
“Nonsense. I never get to spoil you guys. And we’ve got
to eat, right? Say, Emma, I know you used to like oatmeal for breakfast. I’ve
got some water boiling on the stove if you’d rather have that.”
Emma deliberated for several seconds before she settled on the pancakes. She knew they weren’t the healthy kind that she made at home,
but she couldn’t ignore the way her mouth was watering. She compromised by
taking only half a pancake, but she knew from the beginning that she’d be
grabbing that second half.
Joe and Andrew each put away two of the giant pancakes,
but Ellen didn’t eat any, only nibbled on some cantaloupe.
Over dishes, Ellen shared her plans for the family supper that evening. “It would’ve been nice for all of us to get together, but Evan’s
parents are hosting his family at their house in Middlebury,” she explained.
Good thing, Emma thought as she dried the last plate and
stacked it in the cabinet, because there’s no way all those people are fitting
inside this house. We’ll be lucky to get just our family in here. She thought
it would be a lot more convenient to meet at a restaurant, but she knew her
mother couldn’t afford that, and she knew better than to offer to help with the
cost. Ellen never let her pay for anything when she was in town despite her
meager salary at the dry cleaners.
After Ellen left to get her hair done at the little
beauty parlor uptown, Emma wandered through the house, seeking comfort in the
sameness. Her mother’s bedroom, almost devoid of decorations, was perfectly neat as always. The master bathroom that her father
had converted from a closet so many years ago still felt rather claustrophobic
with its tiny fiberglass shower stall tucked into one corner, and the wallpapered ceiling
slanting low over the toilet in the other.
That shower was really claustrophobic, but she remembered
how excited they’d all been when Uncle Robert installed it. Prior to that, all
of them had used the claw-foot tub in the upstairs bathroom, leading to
bitter arguments on countless mornings. She smiled at the memory of Rachel’s
complaints that she always took far more than her allotted time. All these
years later, she could finally admit the truth of those accusations.
The only thing in the entire house that had changed since
she’d lived here was the sewing room next to her old bedroom. It now housed a
desk with an old computer, a castoff from Rachel and Evan. Based on her
mother’s unresponsiveness to e-mails, she doubted that she turned it on very
often, but it was good to know that she was at least trying to get with the
times.
The sound of the doorbell interrupted her musings. She walked across to her room to look out the window at the driveway. Her
father’s sister Karen had driven in from Ohio, and Joe was lifting her suitcase
out of the back of her SUV. The faint murmur of their
voices rose through the open window.
She quickly made her bed, and Joe’s too, before she
dutifully went downstairs to help Joe entertain her aunt.
***
She submitted to Aunt Karen’s tight embrace and silently received her
words of sympathy, punctuated by racking sobs. Though she didn’t doubt her
aunt’s sincerity, Emma had never felt comfortable with her lavish displays of
affection, especially since she’d seen her so rarely after her father’s death.
And her unabashed grief today was even harder to tolerate.
When she’d released Emma, Karen planted a wet kiss on
Andrew’s cheek. “My how you’ve grown, young man!”
“Uh huh,” Andrew muttered, ducking his head and swiping a
hand across his cheek. Emma’s mouth twitched with suppressed laughter at how
quickly he vacated the armchair where he’d been curled up with his Gameboy ever
since breakfast.
She itched to follow his example, but she wouldn’t do
that to Joe, even though he’d probably understand.
Karen sank into the empty armchair and rotated her stiff
ankles. While Joe made polite inquiries about her drive, Emma sat
stiffly on the edge of the couch next to him, nodding and smiling politely at the correct intervals.
When Ellen returned half an hour later, with her short
gray hair arranged in soft waves around her face, Emma nearly let out an
audible sigh of relief. “I'd better start getting ready.”
She fled to the stairs as Karen clasped her mother in a prolonged, swaying hug. “Mom, you
look beautiful!” she called over her shoulder.
***
After an even longer bath than the one the night before, Emma slipped into a simple, straight black dress that
ended just above her knees. She’d agonized over the choice, wondering whether
wearing black to a funeral was old fashioned, but she hadn’t had time to
research it online, let alone go shopping. The dress was sleeveless, but the
straps were wide enough to cover most of her shoulders, so hopefully her mother
would deem it appropriate.
On her way out of the room, she paused beside the mirror,
appreciating the way the dress accentuated her tall, slim form. Her sleek, expertly highlighted strawberry-blonde hair had plenty of volume, though it
would likely wilt fast in this stifling humidity.
Joe walked through the door just in time to catch her
admiring herself, and she flushed. Obviously agreeing with her assessment, he
stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her loosely, gazing at their
reflection. He nuzzled her ear and murmured, “You look sensational.”
“We’re going to a
funeral, not a party.” She smiled at him in the mirror. “But thank you.”
***
Emma avoided the eyes of the other mourners as she filed
down the center aisle with her family, burdened by the weight of their curiosity and
sympathy. Settling into the second
row between Andrew and Joe, she sank thankfully onto the teal padded pew and
stole a glance around the crowded auditorium. Nearly every row was full, and
she guessed there might be almost 500 people here. She recognized only a few
cousins and former classmates. The rest of the attendees were probably members
of Rachel’s and Evan’s church.
She tried not to look at the two caskets that stood at
the front of the room, decked in flowers. Instead, she focused on the dancing
flames of the candles on either side of the podium, where the minister stood
silently with clasped hands, either gathering his thoughts or deliberately
conveying a sense of decorum. Muted coughs and whispers were barely audible
over the soft music issuing from a grand piano on the stage.
Emma fought the urge to cough at the strong fragrance of
calla lilies mixed with someone’s cloying perfume. She breathed shallowly and
tried to ignore the burning in her nostrils.
As the ushers led the last guests to their seats, a slide
show began on two massive screens. Scenes from Rachel’s and
Evan’s childhoods filled the room. Emma was startled by the pain that pierced
her at the first picture of herself with Rachel, taken when she was four years
old and Rachel was three. Wearing faded nightgowns and radiant smiles, they sat
in a pile of crumpled wrapping paper in front of the Christmas tree, Emma’s arm
draped over Rachel’s shoulders.
Andrew squeezed Emma’s forearm. “That’s you, right Mom?”
he whispered.
“Yes,” she breathed, her eyes never leaving the screen.
She watched Rachel grow up before her eyes. There were
family vacations and first days of school, Halloween costumes and Easter egg
hunts. There were prom pictures—the two sisters side by side in form-fitting,
iridescent gowns—and then graduation pictures. Next came the wedding pictures.
After that, it was only the Christmas pictures that Emma recognized. She had no
memories of Rachel’s and Evan’s adult friends, their dog, or their house. They
looked so happy, full of life and love, and she wished there
were a way to learn all of the stories behind these pictures.
When she saw Rachel’s growing belly in the most recent
pictures, she could hear Joe’s sniffles and her mother’s soft sobs on the
other side of him. But despite the burning in her nose and the hard knot in her
throat, her own eyes were dry. She sat straight and tall, her back not touching
the seat. Her hand lay atop Joe’s, which rested lightly on her knee;
occasionally he gave a gentle squeeze.
The last photo, a shot of a grinning Evan painting what
looked like a nursery, dissolved into a display of the couple’s birth and death
dates. As the piano music faded out, Emma became aware of seats creaking
throughout the auditorium. She could sense the collective anticipation; what
could the minister possibly say to make sense of this tragedy?
The minister cleared his throat and took a sip of bottled
water. He gave an almost imperceptible nod and then introduced himself. “I’m
Pastor Tony Daniels. I’d like to welcome you today on behalf of Rachel’s and
Evan’s families.”
He took a deep breath and released it with a sigh. “Of course, funerals are never easy, but in a case like this—two young people who
were so loved and who had such a bright future—it’s even harder to find words
of comfort and healing.
“But I knew both of them well, and I can say with
confidence that they would not want this memorial service to be sorrowful and
heavy. No, they both loved the Lord and they looked forward to heaven, and I’m
sure they would want us to rejoice… rejoice because they are in heaven now,
holding their beautiful baby girl and basking in the Father’s love.
“No, we don’t need to grieve for their sake, and
especially not for their little daughter, who will never know pain or illness
or sorrow. It’s only for ourselves that we must grieve. I know this may feel like an insurmountable loss, but I’d like to offer some comfort if I may. You see, there
are two things I know. One is that we do not grieve alone. Psalm 34:18 assures
us that the Lord is close to the brokenhearted. Jesus knows our pain, and he
grieves along with us.
“The second thing I know is that this is not the end. In
First Thessalonians 4, the Apostle Paul admonishes us not to grieve as those
who have no hope. Just as Jesus died and rose again, those who are asleep in
Christ will be raised up to be with the Lord forever. We can all share that
hope, and have the assurance that we will be with Evan and Rachel again at the
end of this life, which fades so quickly like a flower in the grass.
“It’s hard to understand God’s timing, but we can
trust His plan. If you’ve spent much time with Rachel, you know her favorite
verse was Romans 8:28, which tells us that in all things—all things—God works
for the good of those who love him. That is why, like Job, we can say, ‘The
LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD.’”
Emma stiffened, and her lips pressed into a hard line.
She thought about losing her father to cancer when she was only seven. The Lord
has sure done a lot of taking away, she thought bitterly. Seized by unexpected
anger, she stopped listening to Pastor Daniels’ empty words.
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