Catch Twenty-Two (Westover Prep 2)

When I’m jolted awake as the plane tires make first contact with the tarmac in Colorado, I smile, determined to let the dreams replace the real memories of what the summer was really like.Chapter 27Zeke

“Appreciate it,” I mumble to the man shaking my hand.

“He was a great guy,” the next guy says.

“Thank you.” I nod my head, urging him on so the next person can mutter some random fact about Dad or offer their condolences.

Mom and I have been at this for the last hour as what seems like the entire town lines up. We still have the graveside service to sit through.

Don’t get me wrong, Dad deserves all of this and more, but I’m raw and bitter, flayed right down my center over the last couple of days. The funeral was all but planned, the details set into motion long before Dad took his last breath, as normally goes with hospice my mom assured me.

So instead of being busy, instead of forcing myself to leave Frankie in the barn, I could’ve stayed, could’ve let the sunrise wake her in my arms. I could’ve told her everything, could’ve whispered my confessions and begged her to feel the same.

But I guess it’s good that I thought I had more to handle at home than I actually did, because two short hours after leaving her, I returned to the ranch to find her gone. An hour after that, Mrs. Jacobson returned from dropping her off at the airport, unsurprised to see me waiting for them on the front porch.

My anger was lost to grief when I had to tell her that Dad had died just twelve hours before. Like the kind, generous woman that she’s always been, she urged me to take time off to help Mom and to grieve, promising that the work would be there waiting for me when I was ready.

Then Rowdy showed up, and even with my dad at a funeral home awaiting burial preparations, I went to the barn and got to work. Rowdy had already replaced my father on the ranch, and I’d be damned to let him do the same to me.

The next two days however, I didn’t show, unable to let the pain of losing Dad and Frankie mingle together. The ranch is a constant reminder of all that I’ve lost. Mom has been quieter than usual, and she’s starting to make me nervous. She has spent several hours on the phone in the last couple of days, whispering too quietly for me to hear, alone in her room. She cries constantly, and she doesn’t seem too interested in eating. All hours of the night I can hear her up and down from the couch as she’s been refusing to sleep in her room, even though the hospital bed has been removed and the room set to rights.

“Gone too soon,” a woman I don’t recognize says as she pats the top of my hand.

“Yes, ma’am,” I tell her. “Thank you for saying so.”

The next twenty minutes is filled with quick nods and weak smiles because I can’t focus on any of these people. I’m tired, literally weary down to my soul with no end in sight. Looking over at Mom, I can tell she feels exactly the same way. Maybe she’ll sleep better tonight.

Even as I have the thought, I reject it. I don’t think either one of us will sleep well again. The house is too quiet without Dad’s boisterous voice. The entire structure seems empty without him there.

“If you guys are ready, you can get into the town car,” the funeral director says as the last person walks out of the chapel.

I take Mom’s hand, leading her to the side door and through the people milling around outside. The sun is shining, hot and bright like the world isn’t laying to rest an amazing man today. People who just shook our hands give us tight-lipped smiles and sad eyes as we walk past them to climb inside of the black car. I’m grateful for the blacked-out tint covering the windows because it not only keeps the cool air from leaking out, but it also keeps prying eyes from peeking in.

“Are you okay, dear?” Mom’s voice is weak and brittle, so I grip her hand tighter.

It’s so hard being strong for her when I just want to crumple to the ground like a child and refuse to do a damn thing until God gives me my dad back.

“I’m okay, Mom,” I assure her.

We haven’t talked much since his passing. I don’t think either one of us know what to say to ease the pain in the other, or maybe we both realize that there’s nothing that can be said to make things better.

“I hate funerals,” she mutters as we make the short drive from the funeral home to the cemetery. Dad had voiced his opinion about having a church service, and even though I could tell Mom wasn’t happy, she respected his wishes. Of course, no one on my mom’s side of the family showed up. I don’t even know if she called them to let them know. Since I’ve never met a single person on her side, I doubt she made that call.