“You ready?” Stephen asked.
“I would rather have my teeth pulled. I can’t believe I let Annie and Sam talk me into a two-hour visitation and at the church!”
“You can do anything for two hours. Besides, you won’t be alone.”
Claire smiled up at him, “Thanks, but you’re fixing to get a lesson on Southern Baptist grieving.”
“Come on, the car is here.” He helped her into her coat and kissed her on the forehead, “ Take a breath, it’s almost over.”
Walking to the church would have been Claire’s preferred mode of transportation, but it was easier following tradition. She hadn’t been to the Baptist church in more than sixteen years, but the minute she walked through the door it was if she’d stepped back in time; nothing had changed, except for the pastor. He introduced himself, offered his condolences and escorted them to a private room. Dorothy’s casket sat on end of the long room. It was customary for the family to have a last, private viewing before the deceased was taken to the main sanctuary for the visitation. Sam, Annie, and John, and Stephen were her family, now. Claire walked to one of the windows and waited while the others paid their last respects.
“Would you like some time alone?” Stephen asked.
“No. As soon as the others are done, please ask them to close the casket and take her into the sanctuary.”
There must have been a hundred different types of flowers. Ribbons and cards of sympathy adorned llilies, carnations, wildflowers, greenery, and ringed wreaths spread out on either side of the viewing area. The smell of carnations made Claire nauseous. She took her place next to Stephen and steadied herself as lines of visitors and mourners made their way down the aisle to Dorthy, then to her. Whispers and sniffles echoed through the room. The number of people here stunned Claire. It seemed as if the whole church and half the town had come to bid Dorothy Randall goodbye.
Two hours later, they took their seats and the pipe organs, loud, beautiful and haunting filled the sanctuary with music, picked by Dorothy herself. Claire’s head ached with the vibration.
The Pastor began, “We’re here today to honor and celebrate the life of our beloved sister in Christ, Dorothy Randall…”
Claire closed her eyes and listened to a string of tributes for a mother she didn’t know. Sorrow, regret, doubt, and anger swirled through her like a tidal wave, but she refused to cry. She wanted this over. Stephen took her hand.
The burial was another rendition of the funeral service changed only by location. Claire asked the Reverend to keep it short and sweet at the cemetery, and he’d kept his word. Dorothy Nelson Randall, per her request, would be laid to rest between her two husbands.
Annie and John had been gracious enough to offer to receive visitorsat the Inn and Claire gladly accepted. It seemed to take a lifetime for the last person to leave. Her legs ached from standing, her hand sore from shaking and her mind mush from all the expressions of sympathy, words of admiration for Dorothy, and exclamations of surprise at the lovely woman she’d become and other accolades. It was enough to make the Reverend drink. She’d found a corner in one of the smaller sitting rooms, removed her shoes and propped them up on a stool in front of the fireplace.
“How you holding up?” Stephen was standing in the doorway.
“I’m okay, exhausted and more than a bit confused.”
He handed her one of the glasses in his hands. “Perhaps this will help.”
“You read my mind, thank you.”
He sat down across from her and began massaging her feet. “Why confused?”
“It must sound crazy to you, but the woman they spoke so highly of today, I didn’t know her. It was as if they were eulogizing a stranger. That was not the mother I remember. This woman, I would have liked.”
Stephen reached for her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m sure it was difficult.”
Claire observed lines in Stephen's face she hadn’t noticed before. “I owe you an apology.”
His brow raised in a questioning surprise. “Yeah?”
She pulled her feet from his lap and leaned forward. “I lied to you about the very foundation of who I am; about bailed when it mattered, and, to make matters worse, treated you like …” she searched for the right words, “horrible; there’s no other word to describe my behavior. I don’t have an adequate explanation or an excuse; I was wrong, and I’m sorry, Stephen. You deserve better.”
“I wish you would help me understand. One minute we were happy, or I thought we were, and the next we’re sitting here and I feel as if we’re miles apart. What happened?”
“Secrets and lies have a way of catching up with you.” Claire laughed, mother used to tell me, You can run but you can’t hide from the truth. Sooner or later, it always comes out. “An ironic statement coming from her.”
“I’m not concerned about your mother; she’s gone. It’s you and me. Where do we go from here, Claire?”
“I don’t know, Stephen. It feels as if Sam’s phone call struck a match and a path of destruction followed me from Boston to Dillard Cove. Things are changed between us, I sense it to my core and if you’re honest, so do you.”
“Claire, I admit, I’m as confused and angry, but I love you. I’m willing to try and figure things out, but I have to believe you want to. I saw you with Donovan, and it’s obvious you have unsettled business with Jamison. Is there room for me, anymore?”
“There is nothing between me and Peter; he’s left early this morning.”
“So no plans to see him again?”
“None. Peter Donovan was a distraction from the stress of the moment, that’s all.”
“Why couldn’t have you turned to me?”
“Because I believed telling you the truth would have destroyed us and as stupid as it sounds, even for me to say it, I thought I might be able to make the trip, deal with whatever, and get back to our lives as if nothing happened.”
“And, how’d that work out for you?” He blew out an exasperated breath. “Claire, I gotta know what happens now. I have to get back to Boston. I have a job.”
“I understand.”
“Are you coming home?”
For the first time, Claire realized she didn’t know where home was anymore. She slipped her shoes on and stood. “Of course, I’ll go back to Boston. What else would I do? I have a few things to settle before I leave, but I don’t think it will take longer.”
“What about work?”
“What about it? I told you, I took a leave.” Claire placed their empty glasses on side table.
“How long ?”
Claire frowned. “My leave?"
“How long do you plan on staying in Dillard Cove?”
“I’m not sure. A week, two weeks?” She bit her lip and waited for him to try to talk her out staying. The fact he didn’t both relieved and disappointed Claire.
Stephen dropped his gaze to the floor and nodded. Claire waited for him to say something. “Stephen,” she walked over to him, “look at me.”
He raised his head. Claire’s heart sunk at the hurt and disappointment reflected in his eyes.
“I want to come home. I want my, our life back, and I hope here’s more waiting for me in Boston than a job. I realize you don’t owe me a thing, and I don’t have the right to ask,” Tears clouded her eyes, “but can you give me a little more time?” Her lip trembled, and her eyes pleaded with him.
Stephen sighed and pulled her into his arms.