“Let me know if you need anything.” He squeezed my shoulder. I looked into his eyes and realized that he was fighting back tears of his own.
“I really appreciate you coming out and helping today.” I looked down at the ground. “It’s not an easy thing to ask.”
“I would have been offended if you hadn’t asked me.” He smiled at me. “It’s my honor.”
I leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “I’ve got to go inside.”
“I’ll be in there in a minute. Just need a little more fresh air.” He took a deep breath.
“I understand.” I hugged him again and picked up Marty’s hand.
“Mom?” Marty’s voice was quiet.
“Yes, baby?”
“I don’t want to see Great Granddad.” His chin trembled. I dropped to my knees, blocking the door for everyone else, and wrapped my arms around my son.
“That’s okay.” I squeezed him tightly.
“I just want to remember him fishing, you know? Fishing.”
“I understand.” I looked at him and wiped a tear from his cheek. “That’s perfectly fine.”
“Can I sit next to you?” Max knelt down next to us.
Marty looked from Max to me.
“We’d like that.” I looked at Max. “It’ll be nice for Marty to have someone to sit with while I sing.”
Marty looked at Max and nodded his head.
“Okay, then.” Max stood up and held his hand out to Marty.
Marty accepted it before turning and holding his other hand out to me. I took it and looked at Max. Did he realize that we looked like a family? A complete unit? Did he understand that Marty had opened himself up to him?
Marty and I were both so vulnerable and Max had stepped in and become our shield during the storm. It was frightening and amazing how quickly it had happened. How quickly he had become part of our lives.
Max nodded his head once and his bright green eyes locked on mine.
“Ready?”
“Ready,” I whispered.
Together we walked through the church. It was full of people in black or gray. Some of the women wore hats, while others had chosen not to. They all had one thing in common, though. They turned to watch our little group make its way down the aisle.
Purposefully, I let my eyes sweep the room, never landing on the casket at the end of the walkway. I was scared to see if it had been left open or not. So I focused on other things.
I could see my father’s head in the first pew, where the family would sit. His gray hair was neatly combed and he was wearing a suit. Our butler, Gerard, sat a few rows behind him.
When we neared the front row, my father looked over his shoulder and stood up. Despite his sour expression, I was relieved. His eyes were clear, which meant he was sober. Or at least at a level where he could function normally.
“Hello,” I said. Marty’s fingers tightened on mine.
“Hello.” My father nodded his head at Max and then sat back down.
If he was anyone else’s father, they might have been bothered by the distant greeting. For me, it was a small victory. He hadn’t yelled at me, hadn’t threatened me, hadn’t caused a big scene. He had even spoken to me, when I had thought I’d be lucky to have him ignore us.
I took the seat next to my father, careful to keep a good distance between us. Marty sat next to me and Max sat on the other side of Marty. Samantha, Cathy, and Alex sat next to Max. Alex turned in his seat and greeted some of the people behind us. Shaking hands and being polite as people tried to get in a word with the heir to the throne.
When the minister stepped up to the podium, everyone began to quiet. I’d pushed to keep the ceremony simple. I didn’t want to have people sitting there for hours, listening to endless droning on about my grandfather. Most of the people in this room had never met the man. And while I’m sure their intentions had been good in coming, it still felt invasive. I should have insisted that we keep the funeral small and personal, but Rachel had felt that it would send the wrong message to the town that had accepted us back. Understanding her point, I’d relinquished my stance and agreed to having a “proper” royal burial. Complete with flowers, music, and a real minister.
A Bible verse was read, which would have made Granddad cringe. And for some reason, that made me smile. Just imagining his reaction made me feel closer to him. I could practically hear him saying, “Oy vey” and rolling his eyes. My dad shifted in his seat and I dared to look at him. That’s when I realized I hadn’t imagined my grandfather saying his favorite phrase, it had been my father. With a look of amusement, he shot me a small smile, and I realized that in that moment we were thinking the same thing. Oddly enough, that made the whole situation feel a little lighter. This little connection with my father. I didn’t forgive him for the way he’d been acting, the way he handled himself. But in a way, my grandfather linked us together.
A choir sang a hymn, the voices twining together through the rafters of the old church. Then the minister talked about Granddad, telling them about his life as a workingman, his love for his family and friends. He talked about how Granddad had fished with Marty, which made my son bury his face against my arm.
When it was almost time to sing, I took a deep breath and tried to gain my composure. It was like trying to grab silk line with oil-slathered hands. Feeling eyes on me, I looked to where Max was watching me. The light streaming through the stained-glass windows of the church splashed along his face, but it was his emerald gaze that held my attention.