Chapter 4

4

MERRITT

I wasn’t sure why seeing him startled me so much. Ten years was a long time, but it wasn’t like Kannon had fallen off the face of the Earth. When I still called home from Miami, I kept tabs on him through my dad. But once Dad’s mind started slipping, those updates had turned into memories Dad recycled from the past.

The fun times Kannon and I shared as kids. The summer nights when Kannon would park his beat-up truck at the end of the road, waiting for me to sneak out and join him.

It was funny because we thought we were being so sneaky, but my father knew. He just trusted Kannon with me. It made me smile thinking about it.

The stories blurred together in Dad’s mind. And, if I was being honest, maybe in mine too. But I never let go of the small things. Like the note Kannon gave me in elementary school. Do you like me or not? Circle yes or no. I still had that note tucked away in a box of keepsakes.

I had spotted him when he arrived at the chapel but I had been caught up talking to some well-wishers. I watched him as he made his way across the parking lot. Same swagger. Same smirk that was halfway between confidence and trouble. His black leather jacket hugged him in a way that screamed he hadn’t changed much, at least on the outside. But then his eyes caught mine, and I saw it. The weight of ten years. Of life. Of loss. The boy had become a man.

“Kannon,” I said, breaking the awkward silence.

“Merritt,” he said. His lips quirked into a semblance of a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. The man looked like he had aged a hundred years. Not physically, but I saw it in his eyes.

“It’s good to see you,” I offered. It wasn’t a lie. Just complicated.

He shrugged, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Would be better if it wasn’t under these circumstances.”

“Agreed,” I said softly.

I detected a note of bitterness in his voice. It stung, though I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like I’d expected anything different. I wasn’t even sure he would be here. It wasn’t like this was something you sent out invitations to.

His body language was clear. I don’t want to do this right now. I didn’t have the energy for more than the bare minimum either. Today wasn’t about us. It was about Dad. About sending him off and getting through the day without crumpling under the strain.

I was barely keeping my shit together. Opening up old wounds and rehashing hurts from broken teenage hearts was just not in the cards. I didn’t have the energy to revisit a past I said goodbye to a decade ago.

“I’ll see you around,” I said finally when the silence got uncomfortable. “Maybe? I’m in town for?—”

“Yeah, sure,” he interrupted, already turning his back on me. He walked to a seat at the back of the chapel, leaving me standing there mid-sentence.

I let out a breath, shaking off the surprise. What a warm and fuzzy reunion.

And that was exactly why I couldn’t deal with him today. For the last week, I told myself I just had to get through the funeral. I knew it was going to be difficult. It was one thing dealing with my own grief, but now I was going to mourn with other people that knew my father and wanted to share their stories.

I needed those stories, as painful as they might be. They kept my father alive, in a way. Everyone had a different piece of him, a different memory that highlighted another facet of his character. I had been gone for ten years. I kind of regretted the lost years, but I had to push on and live my life.

I spent the next half hour greeting mourners as they trickled in. Old friends of my dad’s and neighbors I hadn’t seen since I left for college all wanted a chance to say something to me. Each person stirred up memories. A handful of aunts and cousins that I hadn’t spoken to in a long time were also in attendance, which almost got the tears going again. I was generally holding it together, but every so often, the urge came without warning.

By the time the service started, I felt like I’d run a marathon. The sheer effort of holding myself together had drained me dry. I knew it was okay to bawl like a baby. It was my father’s funeral after all. But I couldn’t do it. That wasn’t who I was.

Lucia and Dominque sandwiched me between them. Between Dominque’s perfume and Lucia’s mint gum, I was somewhat overwhelmed but comforted by their presence. They were my rocks.

Dominque handed me a pack of tissues. “You’ll need this.”

“I’m fine,” I whispered.

“You don’t have to be.”

I took the pack and focused on the photo of my father that was displayed on the screen behind the podium. It was an older picture, but I loved it. I remembered the day it was taken.

He was grinning, his eyes squinted against the sun, standing by the lake with a fishing rod in hand. I remember thinking how carefree he looked, how perfectly the moment encapsulated his spirit—a man who loved the simple joys.

The pastor began speaking in his monotone voice, which I was grateful for. I preferred to be bored than sad. Then came the time for others to share their memories. I listened, but instead of crying, I was smiling. I knew the whole church thing wasn’t really his style, but this wasn’t so bad. I was pretty sure he would like this. Maybe he’d prefer different music. And he would have preferred we hold the service at a bar. But he would have enjoyed saying goodbye to all the people in his life one last time.

I stole a glance at Kannon once during the service. He sat rigid, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on the floor. He didn’t cry. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen Kannon cry. But there was something in the way he was holding himself that was like a rumbling volcano before it erupted. I turned back around when he looked up and directly at me, like he felt me staring at him.

His eyes looked sad. I believed he felt the loss as deeply as I did. That was odd to me. I knew they talked, but how often? I wanted to ask him, but I wasn’t sure he was interested in talking to me. He seemed pretty eager to get the hell away from me and I felt awkward enough to agree.

Lucia patted my knee, offering comfort. I was doing okay. Maybe too okay. Why wasn’t I crying? I started an internal dialogue, scolding myself for not being a blubbering mess. He was my dad. I should be falling apart.

A song started to play, snapping me back to attention. I had chosen the song. It was an old Conway Twitty song, That’s my Job . I chose it for him. Pictures of my father as a child flashed across the screen.

This was it. I was finally going to lose it. I felt the tears burning the backs of my eyes. My heart was skipping and jumping, making it difficult to breathe steadily. The lump in my throat was painful, making it impossible to swallow. I reached out and grabbed my best friends’ hands. Lucia and Dominique squeezed back, offering me support.

And then it hit me. I almost gagged. I turned to scowl at Lucia. “That’s not very ladylike,” I hissed. “This is a funeral.”

She rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t me.”

I turned to look at Dominique, who had a tissue in her other hand daintily covering her nose. To the average person, it looked like she was a Georgia Peach trying to hide her sniffling nose. I knew better.

“Don’t you dare accuse me of such a horrific act,” Dominique whispered.

“Whoever smelt it dealt it,” Lucia said in a low voice.

My eyes were watering but it had nothing to do with crying. I scanned the aisle, looking for the perpetrator of the worst crop dusting in church I had ever been exposed to. They didn’t just need a scolding. They might actually need medical help.

As the song continued to play and the images of my father’s life scrolled by, I tried to focus on those instead of the unfortunate smell infiltrating the church. But it seemed my body had other plans. A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me, a laugh that felt strange and out of place given the solemnity of the occasion.

Lucia looked at me, her expression a mixture of confusion and amusement. “Are you okay?” she mouthed.

I nodded, squeezing her hand tighter, trying not to burst out laughing at the absurdity of grieving and trying to suppress giggles because of a rogue fart assailant in the middle of a very somber moment.

A silent squeaking noise broke through a lull in the music. My eyes widened as I whipped my head around and looked at Dominique. She had her nose covered but I could see the laughter in her eyes.

That was when I saw the perpetrator. An old man sitting behind us at the end. He looked like he drank his breakfast and now his ass was screaming about it. The expected smell drifted over. Dominique broke first. Her shoulders shook as she fought back her giggles.

Lucia couldn’t hold it in any longer either. “Stop it,” I hissed, barely holding myself together.

Their giggles were contagious, and soon enough, a quiet chuckle escaped from me too. I looked around, half mortified, half relieved to see that others were too engrossed in their own memories or the images on the screen to notice our little disruption.

Trying to regain some composure, I wiped the tears of laughter from my eyes just as the song drew to a close and another speaker took to the podium. They began to speak fondly of days spent with my father fishing on the lake.

The rest of the service flew by. There were no tears. I was sad, but surprisingly enough, someone nearly shitting their pants in church made the funeral easier to tolerate.

After the service, everyone moved outside for a blast of fresh air. My heart pounded in my chest. This was it. This was going to be his final resting place. I focused on the sound of the wind rustling through the bare trees, trying to block out the lump in my throat. I could hear the many different hushed conversations happening around me. Dominique and Lucia were my sentries, keeping people away from me. I loved that they understood I needed some space. I wasn’t ready for condolences. I just needed a minute to breathe and keep my shit together.

“Miss Jacobs.”

I turned at the sound of my name and found myself face to face with Mr. Duncan, the funeral director. His expression was pinched, his lips pressed into a tight line. The guy was starting to look like a corpse himself. His skin was gray and the eyes sank in.

“Yes?” I asked, bracing myself.

“There’s still the matter of the outstanding balance,” he said.

I blinked, caught off guard. “I thought that fee was waived. Nobody explained what the charge was for.”

He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me. “Three thousand dollars. Extraneous reasons, as per the invoice.”

“Extraneous reasons?” I repeated, my voice rising slightly. “That’s not an explanation.”

“Be that as it may, we cannot proceed without payment,” he said, his tone sharp. “I’ve been more than accommodating, but if this isn’t resolved?—”

“Are you seriously threatening me right now?” I asked, my voice shaking with a mix of anger and disbelief. “This can’t wait an hour?”

“I’m simply stating the facts,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “If the balance isn’t settled, I have half a mind to put your father back in the cooler.”

My mouth fell open, stunned by his crassness. Before I could respond, I heard boots stomping across the cement patio.

“I suggest you print another invoice,” a low voice said, laced with menace.

Mr. Duncan’s face went pale as he looked up at Kannon, who was standing so close his presence practically radiated danger. Even I was a little scared. He looked like an avenging angel.

Kannon’s smile had a cold edge to it. “Or we could talk somewhere more private.”

“N-no need for that,” Mr. Duncan stammered, taking a step back. “I’ll look into the charges.”

“Good idea,” Kannon said, his tone calm. “I’d hate for this to get messy.”

Mr. Duncan practically ran away, leaving me staring at Kannon in disbelief.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said once I found my voice.

He shrugged, his hands sliding back into his pockets. “Seemed like he needed a reminder not to be an ass.”

I huffed a laugh, despite myself. “You haven’t changed.”

“Neither have you,” he said, his gaze softening slightly. “Still struggle to speak up for yourself when someone’s trying to screw you over.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He smirked. “Take it however you want.”

For a moment, we just stood there, the silence between us stretching out.

“We should go,” Lucia said.

“Thanks, Kannon,” I said quietly.

“Anytime, Merritt.”