As the priest took his position and opened his Bible, I saw Jonas hurrying up the side of the hill. I felt a strange sensation in my chest as his eyes caught on mine – like some kind of knot inside me was starting to unwind itself. I expected him to hover on the edge of the small group but instead, he came up right next to me and took my hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. He didn’t have to say anything because I got the message in the way he touched me, in the way his gaze held mine.
I’m here.
It was the same thing he’d given me when he’d hugged me in his studio last week. It was like he’d known I was broken and he was trying to help me hold together the pieces.
Jonas’s hand went lax in mine as he made a move to step away and while I released his hand, I couldn’t stop myself from grabbing his arm and holding him there next to me. It made no sense to me since I’d known him the least amount of time but I couldn’t let him go. And even though I had to physically release my hold on him so it wouldn’t look strange to everyone else, Jonas didn’t move after that.
Although I had asked the priest to keep the service quick, since I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to keep my father in check for, it still seemed to drag on. I didn’t really hear the actual words that were said but hadn’t really realized I’d tuned out completely until I felt Jonas’s hand at my back. I glanced at him and he motioned to the nearly empty container of red roses near the casket. The casket was draped in a handful of roses and most of the funeral goers were already picking their way down the hill towards their cars. I reached for my father’s arm and felt him sway as he stepped forward with me. To any other onlooker, he would have appeared overcome with grief. But I knew better.
I handed one of the roses to my father but he struggled to figure out what he was supposed to do with it so I took it from him and placed it on Carrie’s casket. Mine followed and then I was turning my father away from the site that would be his daughter’s final resting place. I saw Jonas look at me with concern, but I forced my eyes from his so I could focus on getting my father to the waiting car. Yet I couldn’t stop myself from looking over my shoulder to watch Jonas place his rose. His hand lingered on the casket and then I saw him place a folded piece of paper on it. I couldn’t dwell on it though because my father chose that moment to come out of his stupor.
“Need a drink,” he grumbled as more of his weight pressed against me.
“We’ll be home soon,” I managed to say as we neared the car.
“I want a fucking drink!” he shouted as he wrenched away from me and then stumbled to his knees. My father was not a small man by any means so it took me a moment to get him righted and as I was in the process of pulling him to his feet, I saw Mace watching me from where he stood near what I presumed was his van.
“My little girl,” my dad suddenly whispered brokenly and I felt a rush of pain go through me. I hated my father’s drunken jags, but I hated his lucid moments even more because they teased me with glimpses of the man I’d lost. It was a painful reminder that the man who’d raised me, who’d made me into the man I was, was buried under the stench of alcohol…close enough to see but not enough to reach.
I wrestled my father into the back of the Town Car I’d rented for the occasion and just as I was getting into the car, I glimpsed Jonas reaching Mace’s side. I felt a pang of envy go through me when I saw Mace’s hand reach out to settle on Jonas’s upper arm. I felt my own skin tingle in the same place Jonas and Mace were connected, and it took everything I had left to force myself to tear my eyes from them and climb into the car next to my father.
By the time I got home, our neighbor, Mrs. Pellano, had already started greeting the mourners who’d arrived ahead of us. I’d been reluctant to give her the key to the house so she could start preparing all the food she’d spent most of the morning dropping off in various crockery dishes, but I hadn’t really had much of a choice since she’d insisted on handling the entire affair. In truth, I hadn’t wanted any of it – period - but I’d learned from an early age not to question my elders, and as my mother’s best friend, Mrs. Pellano was high on that list.