“Thank you for gathering here to remember one of the most special people to ever walk this earth.”
His voice is deeper than I remember. Richer. But it still has that same careful precision, like every word is measured before it’s spoken.
“I’m sure everyone thinks that about their mother?—”
Yeah. Not so much. I don’t know if Darlene’s alive or dead. Uncharitably, I like to imagine the latter.
“—but I like to think that everyone who crossed her path felt a little lighter for the encounter. She was generous and loving, and there were times that bad people took advantage of that kindness.”
Is he talking about me?My stomach twists.
“But as some of you who were her friends know, she learned to stand up for herself and fight back. And that strength helped me learn to be strong, too.”
His voice catches. Just slightly. But I hear it.
“It also made me want to take care of her so she never had to face anything else bad in this world. Of course, I couldn’t protect her in the end?—”
He breaks off completely. The silence stretches.
I look up without meaning to, peering through the gap between the people in front of me.
Caleb’s head is bowed. His hand comes up to his face.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice is wrecked. Absolutely wrecked. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to make it through this.”
He clears his throat.
My own chest goes tight, my eyes burning.
This is Caleb Graham. The boy who used to count to calm himself down. Who checked and rechecked and triple-checked everything and held himself together with such rigid control I used to wonder if he’d shatter if he ever let go.
And now he’s standing in front of everyone he knows, struggling for words and vulnerable in a way he never used to let himself be in public.
“I don’t know why bad things happen to good people,” he continues, voice choked. “I’ve never gotten an answer from God about that one.”
He looks toward the young priest in the front row, who returns a compassionate look.
“But I know that her presence, as long as we all had it, was a grace none of us deserved. And that she made us better just?—”
He crumples the paper in his hand, unable to look at the crowd.
“—just for knowing her.”
The last words come out broken.
My face is wet. I’m crying and I didn’t even realize it.
This isn’t the Caleb I knew. That Caleb would have practiced this speech a hundred times, had every word memorized, and would’ve held himself together through sheer force of will even if it killed him.
This Caleb is... different. Changed. Grown-up and a little harder in a way that makes my chest ache.
He walks off the platform, and I watch him disappear into the crowd, his shoulders still shaking.
Ten years. Ten years and he’s a completely different person. Or maybe—maybe he’s finally the person he always should have been.
One by one, Helen’s friends come up to share stories. From the community center where she volunteered. From the BDSM club she and Silas owned together. From the library. Each story is funny or sad or moving. It’s an open mic of love for Helen as people come up one after another.
I should be listening and soaking in these stories about the woman who changed my life.