Daniel and Daisy.
The thought of never seeing them again made him feel actual fucking pain in his chest, as if someone had just cut through his sternum.
You knew this wouldn’t work out. You knew it was a bad idea.
He shouldn’t have left the key. Then he would at least have a reason to see her again. He could have waited, then asked if she wanted the key back. But he hadn’t been thinking tactically. He’d been hurt and angry, and so had she.
You came back, but Dan died in that helicopter.
She said she hadn’t meant it the way it had sounded, but Jesse had meant every word he’d said. If he could change places with Dan, be the one who died, trade his life for Dan’s life, he would do it. Dan had left behind two unborn children and a wife who loved him. No one would have missed Jesse.
Restlessness had him on his feet. He emptied his glass, set it down on the coffee table, and walked with the bottle to his front window. He took a drink, watched darkness cover the world outside, the last rays of sunlight fading away.
How was he supposed to go back to the life he’d had before Ellie?
Maybe he was overreacting. She’d said she needed time, not that she didn’t want to see him again. Maybe she would call him or text him, and he could find some way to make it up to her. Maybe he could still make this right. Some part of him wanted to walk down the hill to her house, apologize again, and tell her exactly how he felt about her.
And how do you feel?
Did he love her?
No. Yes. Hell, he didn’t know.
All he knew for certain was that he’d been a better man with Ellie than he could ever be without her.
* * *
On Thursday morning, Ellie dragged herself out of bed, put her heartache over Jesse aside and got ready for heartache of another kind. Today was little Tyler Kirby’s funeral service. She dressed in black, put the kids in their nicest clothes, and met her mother and father at St. Barbara’s. It seemed that everyone in Scarlet Springs had turned out to stand by the Kirby family in their grief, the pews crowded, not even standing room available, the parking lot overflowing.
Eric Hawke passed by in his full fire chief dress uniform.
“You look snappy, young man,” her father said.
“I broke out all the official jewelry today,” Eric said, running his fingers over the golden badge and the pins and medals on his jacket. “Ellie, Mrs. Rouse.”
He seemed to be there in an official capacity. He and his crew took their positions, standing at attention around the tiny casket, which was covered by a white pall and a spray of white roses.
She glanced around and saw Eric’s wife Victoria sitting with Lexi and Lexi’s dad and stepmom. Mrs. Beech was there. So was Joe from Knockers, together with much of his staff, including Rain and her daughter, Lark. Rose, always dramatic, was wearing a black lace veil over her silver hair. Frank from the gas station had come in his finest overalls. Megs sat in the back with most of the Team, no yellow T-shirts this time.
The service started, the guy with the bushy beard who ran the new marijuana dispensary playing hymns on the organ. Ellie wasn’t Catholic, but she did her best to follow along in the program, which included the words they were supposed to say and when to kneel or stand.
The kids had a hard time being quiet, so she and her mom ended up taking turns with them in the nursery area, where they could talk and play without disturbing anyone and where they could hear the service piped in by some kind of microphone system. When communion was finished, Carrie Kirby stood and walked up to the microphone to eulogize her own son.
“All I have of my firstborn son are photographs and happy memories, so please indulge me while I tell you what a wonderful child he was.”
Ellie, who was back in the pew with her father, could not hold back her tears while Carrie, who was remarkably composed, shared stories about Tyler. Ellie wasn’t alone in her tears, audible sobs and sniffs coming from the audience.
“What he wanted most was to be a firefighter. He came home from school to tell me that the fire chief had come to his class and that he’d seen a fire engine. He wore a firefighter costume for that Halloween, and we had a hard time getting him to take it off.”
Quiet laughter.
“Tyler, you are beyond us now. You are beyond pain. But we will always, always love you. God bless you and rest in peace, my sweet darling.” With those words, her knees seemed to go weak, the priest and her husband helping her back to her seat.
Eric and his crew walked up to the little casket and saluted it. The pall was removed and replaced with a small American flag. Then Eric set a firefighter’s helmet next to the flowers. And as the firefighters passed, carrying the casket out to the waiting hearse, Ellie saw tears streaming down Eric’s face.
* * *
Ellie weptas she told Claire about the funeral and the graveside service that had followed and how Carrie had held onto her when she’d paid her respects. “She actually thanked me. I couldn’t save Tyler. None of us could do anything for him, and still, she thanked us—all of us.”