That was a lie.
Then Gina called.
“Mom,” she said, her voice tight. “It was a heart attack. They said it happened fast.”
Advertisement
I didn’t cry. I just sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the silence on the other end of the line.
“They’re having a service,” she added. “I thought you’d want to know.”
“Where?”
“The old church, Mom,” she said, hesitating as she spoke. “It’s on Saturday morning. I’m going, and so is Alex.”
“It was a heart attack.”
I said yes without thinking. I wasn’t sure why — maybe because I needed to prove to myself that I had moved on. Maybe because some part of me hadn’t.
**
The church hadn’t changed at all. There were the same stained-glass windows, same creaking pews.
Gina sat near the front with her husband and kids. Alex lingered in the aisle, talking to someone from the family.
I kept my distance, and I didn’t wear black either.
I said yes without thinking.
That’s when I saw her — in the back row, wearing a gray dress.
She was alone and still, not fidgeting, not glancing at her phone. She just sat there like she was waiting for something… or someone.
After the final prayer and a few murmured goodbyes, I moved toward her.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” I said.
“No. We haven’t,” she said, turning toward me.
She just sat there like she was waiting for something… or someone.
“You knew my… You knew Richard?”
“Yes. I’m Charlotte.”
“From where?”
“I was with him at the end, Julia,” she said softly. “Hospice. And you need to know what your husband did for you.”
“Hospice? What are you talking about?”
