Page 40 of When I Should’ve Stayed (Red Bridge #2)

Clay

I walk into Bennett’s house, unbuttoning the three buttons on my black suit jacket as I do, and I find Breezy in the kitchen.

Her hip rests against the counter, a half-empty cup of coffee in her hands.

A black dress covers her figure, and her dark bob is perfectly in place.

Her lips are turned down at the corners, and her eyes are so far off in the distance it takes a moment for her to notice my presence.

She sighs. “I wish this day would’ve never come.”

My nod is solemn.

She glances at the shiny gold watch on her wrist and sighs again. “I guess it’s time, huh?”

I nod again. “Where is he?”

“In her room.”

Ninety percent of Bennett’s last eight days have been spent sitting in Summer’s room.

My best friend isn’t the type of person who wants you hovering over him on a good day, and in his grief, that hasn’t changed.

He doesn’t want words of comfort and sorrys for the injustice of it all. He wants silence. He wants space. He wants to navigate his grief in his own way.

I’ve done my best to channel my efforts to be there for him into other avenues, like stocking his fridge and getting takeout and hanging around on the periphery with a beer in hand, ready to listen. But today, he needs something else.

Today, he needs me to do the heavy lifting where he can’t, to guide him through the motions and hold him upright while we lay his daughter to rest.

I walk down the hallway and stop at the open door of Summer’s room.

It’s still filled with all her belongings, organized down to a T.

Her favorite pink clothes hang in the closet.

Her iPad sits on the nightstand. Her little trinkets and books and bracelets are spread along her dresser.

Photos of her and Bennett hang on the walls, and a few pictures she drew are taped above her bed.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she’d be wheeling through the door any second, and it’s that thought that lodges emotion the size of a boulder in my throat.

Bennett sits in the chair beside her now-empty bed, and I walk over to him to place my hand on his shoulder. It’s a difficult reminder of being in here with Josie, when we were both saying our goodbyes, and I have to shut my eyes tight for a long moment to keep the tears at bay.

So many memories of Josie and me are tied up in Summer. So many beautiful moments we shared because of that sweet girl. And now, she’s gone. She’s gone, and we’ll never get to hear her laugh or see her smile. We’ll never get to giggle over her excitement or witness her many pink outfits.

We’ll never get her back. And if that isn’t fucking cruelty personified, I don’t know what is.

I squeeze Bennett’s shoulder, and he lifts his head to glance up at me. I don’t say anything because I don’t need to. He knows what today is. He knows what we have to do.

He swipes his hand across his cheeks, removing remnants of tears, and gets to his feet. And I step back to give him space, but I stay there, with him, until he makes the first move to walk out of Summer’s bedroom.

Only then, when he’s ready, do I follow his lead.

Breezy grabs her purse and keys for her rental when she sees Bennett step into the living room, and she walks over to lock her arm with his. Bennett’s eyes stay forward as they head out the front door, and I make sure his door is locked before I jog down the front porch steps.

Though, before Breezy can get in the front seat, I gently take the keys from her hands. “How about you ride in the back with him?” I whisper toward her, and she nods.

Once we’re all in the car and Breezy is sitting in the back seat with Bennett, her hand grasping his, I start the engine and head down his gravel driveway. Toward the main road. Toward the cemetery. Toward the place we’ll say goodbye to Summer forever.

…

Everyone in town has gathered for Summer’s funeral. So many people have shown up to offer their condolences, to say goodbye to Summer, to silently give Bennett the support he probably doesn’t even realize he needs.

I don’t miss the fact that his parents or his brother Logan aren’t here, but I don’t bother asking Breezy any questions. Ben and Logan aren’t on speaking terms, and his parents are too wrapped up in their own lives to do anything but focus on themselves.

Sadly, they’ve never had a relationship with their granddaughter, but I know Ben doesn’t give a fuck about any of it. His only focus for the past seven years has been his daughter. His whole purpose has been her.

My eyes seek out Josie in the crowd, and I find her standing beside Norah.

Both of them are dressed in black, both of their faces a solemn reminder of why we’re all gathered here.

Josie wraps her arm around Norah’s shoulder and whispers something to her, and I can’t stop myself from wondering how she’s doing. What she’s thinking. How she’s feeling.

I’m grateful for her that she and Norah have managed to rebuild their relationship. I know Grandma Rose would be so happy about that, but I also know how Josie tends to distract herself with everyone else’s feelings and emotions so she doesn’t have to feel. To grieve.

Every muscle inside my body wants to walk straight over to her and pull her into my arms. To hug her just as tight as I hugged her when we were in Summer’s bedroom, but I know now isn’t the time.

Now is the time for me to be there for Bennett. Just like Josie probably feels like now is the time for her to be there for Norah.

Reverend Bob nods toward us, his head bowed in reverence as he clutches the Bible to his chest. “It’s time,” he says, and Bennett inhales a shaky breath before squatting down to grasp the edge of Summer’s casket.

Sheriff Pete and I do the same, standing behind Bennett as we lift the casket and carry Summer over to her final resting place.

Once we place it gently in the metal device that will lower it into the ground, both Pete and I stay beside the casket until Bennett finds the strength to let it go and head toward his seat.

His pain, his devastation, it’s visible in every deep line of his face. It’s evident in the way his shoulders sag forward as he walks over to take a seat beside Breezy in the front row and the feeble nature of his strong body.

Reverend Bob heads to the front, standing beside Summer’s casket, and I don’t hesitate to slide past Norah and Josie into an open space to stand in the front row across from Bennett and Breezy.

Sheriff Pete comes to a stop on my right, and Josie stands beside me on my left, her arm still wrapped around Norah’s shoulders.

I know Norah wants nothing more than to be holding Bennett’s hand—to be there to comfort him—but emotion has made him both stubborn and stupid, and there’s nothing any of us can do about it but wait.

I hope they’ll find their way back to each other. I hope that he doesn’t end up in the same place as I am—standing beside the woman I love without being able to be with her. It’s a fate so much worse than hell, and Bennett’s already there.

Reverend Bob clears his throat as he opens his Bible and begins to address the crowd. “Welcome, everyone. I’ll start by thanking you all for being here on this momentously difficult day. We’re here to pay our respects to sweet Summer Bishop, taken from our earthly world far too soon.”

My gaze settles on Bennett, and I swallow hard against the sadness in my throat when I see his head sink forward and his eyes move to the ground. Fuck, man, I’m so sorry. So fucking sorry.

“We are all suffering, but we must take solace in the fact that Summer is not,” Reverend Bob says.

“Her impact will be felt by all of us for the rest of our lives. And for our time with her, we are thankful. Because in that time, we were privileged to learn the value of seeking and living in joy. Summer took her misfortune and turned it around, finding pleasure in the simplest of gestures. A cookout at the church, a wedding in the square, a day with friends at the town festival,” he continues, and his words are a beautiful but painful reminder of how much Summer meant to all of us.

How much she meant to Bennett and Breezy.

How much she meant to Josie and me.

How much she meant to Norah.

How much she meant to this whole damn town.

I can’t stop myself from reaching out to brush my fingers against Josie’s. I expect her to push my hand away. Ignore me. But I’m surprised when she does the opposite.

Her fingers brush mine until they wrap around my index finger with a tight squeeze. And we stay like that through the rest of Reverend Bob’s speech.

“Over the years, I’ve personally had the occasion to laugh with Summer more than a dozen times—even, I’ll admit, when my own mood was sour,” he says.

“She was a vibrant embodiment of our most innocent happiness, and I will miss her most dearly. But I know heaven will welcome her with an open gate and even warmer arms, and I know that God—my compassionate, loving God—will give her an afterlife free of pain and full of happiness. An existence she more than earned.”

I wish Summer didn’t have to die and that her short life hadn’t been tarnished by an illness full of pain and suffering, and I wish the world wasn’t cruel enough to take away people’s chances to watch their daughters grow up.

I know the world isn’t fair, but this isn’t that. This is fucking bullshit.

Josie’s fingers squeeze mine, and my hands itch to pull her into my arms, but when she releases her hold so that she can comfort Norah, I understand. I want my wife back, but on a day like today, you realize that a lot of people want a lot of things they don’t get.

Reverend Bob places his Bible on the casket and his hand on top of that as he bows his head and prays directly for Summer.

“Your life, we honor, your departure, we accept, your memory, we cherish. Although we are filled with grief today, tomorrow, and the rest of our days, we will be grateful for your life and the privilege of having shared it with you. Rest now, sweet Summer, and live on in both God and the hearts of those who love you. Blessed we are to have known you. In Jesus’s name, Amen. ”

“Amen,” I say with the rest of the congregation, broken by the finality of a single word.

“I invite you now to say your goodbyes to Summer’s corporeal body and to facilitate the passing of her spirit to heaven by placing a pink rose on the top of her casket,” Reverend Bob announces.

“We’ll start with the back row and work our way forward, and Hank here will be passing out flowers as you approach. ”

Pete and I approach first, taking flowers from Hank and saying our goodbyes. Tears stream down my cheeks unchecked as I take my turn. “Goodbye, sweet girl,” I whisper. “Uncie Cay’s gonna miss you.”

And the pink rose serves as a painful reminder of everything I’ve lost, of what could’ve been, and of what’s so desperately missing every single day.

It makes me think about the coloring book page, the one with the Josie bride and Clay groom, and I seal my goodbye with a promise.

“Clay loves Josie.” And he’ll never fucking stop.