At the mention of we, she crawled over the blonde’s lap and spilled into the aisle. She dashed up to the pulpit, took a running leap and flung herself into my arms. I gave her a squeeze and set her on my hip. I looked at her and asked “Because what did we call Frank, baby girl?”
“Gampaw Fank!” she exclaimed. The whole church laughed at my excited little girl.
“That’s right, baby girl. We called him Grandpa Frank. Did you love your Grandpa Frank?”
“Yes, mama,” she said timidly, earning oohs and aahs from the crowd. She’d melted my heart every day of my life. These people were lucky to even get a glimpse of what she was capable of.
I turned my attention back to the congregation. “I think we should remember Frank for who he was, not for who he wasn’t. He was as much of a Grandpa to my little girl as she’s ever going to get. He was a friend to me when I needed it most, and he was a father who loved his family enough to let their loss destroy him. He loved his son Jake more than anything.” My heart skipped a beat when I said his name, even after all this time. “And he lived with regret every second of every day, right up until the day he died, for not fixing what they once had. Frank may not be missed by everyone here.” I looked at my little girl and planted a kiss on her forehead. “But my daughter and I will sure miss him. Won’t we, Georgia?”
“Yup!” she shouted and clapped her hands together.
Before I could set Georgia down and walk back to our pew, there was another commotion at the back of the church. Both doors swung wide open and the blinding light of midday invaded the small space of the dimly lit church. I covered my eyes with my free hand to block out the light. My daughter buried her head in the crook of my neck.
I caught a glimpse of the person who made the dramatic exit. An awareness washed over me. I could only see his back because he was already halfway down the front steps. What I did see stopped the very breath in my chest.
The familiar site of blonde hair and black leather was all it took.
The doors slammed shut with a bang so loud. It echoed throughout the church and shook the stained glass windows.
Once again, Jake was leaving.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BY THE TIME THE SERVICE HAD ENDED, Jake was long gone. The sad truth of it all was that, if it hadn’t been for Georgia, I would have run after him, right out of the church. I was glad that I hadn’t. I didn’t need another image of his beautiful face haunting my every move. I had enough to last a lifetime as it was. Even if I had gotten the chance to talk to him, what would I have said? He hated me because I’d let him hate me. Because it was easier to have him hate me than it was to deal with allowing someone in my life who I believed didn’t trust me, or what I thought we’d had.
The empty space in my life Jake once occupied would’ve only been made even bigger if he stayed.
I skipped the customary cake and coffee they were serving in the meeting room after the funeral. Tess, Georgia’s babysitter and my assistant at the garage had to get back to the shop to process a new shipment of parts, and I wasn’t about to expose Georgia to the wicked ton for the rest of the afternoon. I’d told her if she was good at church I would take her over to the new playground at the elementary school.
That’s exactly what we did.
Tess had been a godsend since she moved to town from Gainesville. She happily took Georgia at every chance she got so she could spend time with her, which allowed me more time to work on my photos.
It was nice having a friend around again. Someone I could trust with my daughter, anyway.
I lifted my squirming little girl from her car seat and set her on the grass, her little legs moving at full speed before I even had a chance to put her on the ground. “Be careful, Georgia!” I shouted after her as she made her way to the swings and pulled herself up on the lowest hanging one. She held onto the chains and kicked and kicked her legs, but the swing didn’t move.
She was going nowhere fast.
The playground was crowded with children and their families. I worked my way through a sea of running and screaming little folk. I ducked under a stray soccer ball whizzing by my head. It took me twice as long to reach the swings as it took Georgia.
When I reached her, I stopped dead in my tracks.
Bethany Fletcher, Owen’s mother, was pushing Georgia on her swing. Georgia was squealing with glee. “Higher...higher!” she shouted.
“Not too high,” I said, making my presence known.
Bethany gave me a courteous nod. “Hello, Abby.” Her smile slid into a straight line. Bethany wore a light beige suit jacket with a white blouse and a matching knee length flowing skirt. Her signature bright red lips were no more. Now, they were just glossed over, neutral. Her once-severe bun had been replaced by soft dark waves falling around her face and shoulders.