“Are you ready for tomorrow?” I ask after handing Gia my Coke that she reached for.
“No, but yes. I’m ready to put her to rest. It’s going to suck having to do it, but knowing she will be where she wanted to be, with Grandpa, makes it a little easier.”
“I’ll be there. All of us will. You won’t be alone.”
“I know,” she mumbles solemnly, and I sigh. I can’t wait until this is all done and behind us. I hate the sadness I see in her eyes, and it kills me there is nothing I can do to make it better for her. Nothing will take the pain she’s feeling away but time.
Dropping my slice of pizza to the top of the box, I wrap my hand around her neck and tip her head back using my thumb, until I get her eyes. “I love you.”
“I know,” she whispers.
“I promise it will get better.”
“I know,” she repeats.
Dropping my mouth to hers, I kiss her quickly, even though I don’t want to. I do it, because her friend’s watching us. Letting her go, I lean against the counter next to her hip and pick my slice of pizza back up. Tomorrow is going to suck, but once it’s over, I know my family and her friend will find a way to help her heal.
~**~
Wrapping my arm around Gia’s shoulders the next morning, we listen to the pastor from one of the local churches as he gives a short sermon. There are a lot of people here to say goodbye. A lot more people than I thought would be here. Mom put an announcement in the paper, since she said people would want to know about the funeral. She was right. It’s obvious, looking around, that Genevria was well known in town, since she had lived here almost all of her life. She was also well liked by the people in town, judging by the look of sadness etched on everyone’s faces. Gathering Gia closer to my side, I watch Nat reach out and wrap her hand around Gia’s and squeeze. Then I feel my parents and family get closer to us. Yes, today sucks, but I know without a doubt that Gia having all of us will help.
As soon as the service is done and the pastor has finished with his sermon, people make their way over to us to offer up condolences to Gia. And my woman, being who she is, stands tall and proud in the face of her pain, shaking hands and accepting words of kindness about her grandmother, when I know it’s the last thing she wants to do. When all that’s left is Tide, Nat, my family, Nina, Ned, Gia, and me, I lead her out of the cemetery with my arm around her shoulders so she doesn’t have to watch them lower her grandmother’s casket into the ground next to her grandfather’s grave.
Stopping at my Suburban, I watch her hug my parents and brothers then do the same with Ned and Nina before they all take off and get in their cars.
“I’m sorry, Gia,” Tide says, giving her a hug she quickly accepts.
“Thanks, Tide.”
Bumping his fist to mine once he’s let her go, he mutters, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” I agree, watching him head toward his pickup that’s parked a few feet away and get in.
“I’m going to go with Carson and hang with Kirk and Rose at their place for a bit to give you two some time alone,” Nat says, and I lift my chin to her in a silent thank you.
“Are you sure?” Gia asks, and Nat nods then wraps her arm around her shoulders, rocking her from side-to-side as they hug.
“I’ll see you later.”
“See you later,” Gia says, watching Nat walk away and get into Carson’s car.
Helping Gia into the passenger side, I buckle her in then wrap my hand around her jaw. “You doing okay?”
Taking off her sunglasses, she looks at me and shakes her head, whispering, “I didn’t cry.”
“Baby.” I rest my forehead to hers.
“I didn’t cry. I should have cried.”
“You’ve cried a lot since she passed, baby.” And she has cried a lot. Countless times I’ve woken up to find her curled into a ball crying in the middle of the night, or out in one of the rocking chairs, looking at the lake with tears streaming down her cheeks. Each of those times, I’ve either gathered her close to me and held her while she cried, or picked her up and carried her back to bed where I did the same.
“People probably think I’m crazy for not crying at my own grandmother’s funeral, when they were all crying.”
“No one thinks you’re crazy. You handled yourself beautifully. Your grandma would be proud of you. I’m so proud of you,” I tell her, and her face crumples right before she covers it with both her hands and sobs. Resting my cheek to hers, I whisper, “See? You’re crying. Are you happy now?” I know it’s a lame joke, but when I hear her laugh and sob at the same time, I smile then kiss the side of her head. “Let’s go home.”