She moves around some paperwork on the desk and hands me the envelope. “Sorry I couldn’t get this to her yesterday.”
“It’s okay.” My voice is still hushed. “Is…” I swallow, glancing toward the stairs again. “Is Levi here?”
“No. He hasn’t been in for over a week.”
“What?” I shake my head. “Who’s doing interviews?”
“I am.” Suzie tilts her head to the side. “He needed some time to…process.”
I swallow, hard.
Her voice drops to a whisper. “He really misses Matt. He misses you.”
“He’ll get over me,” I say, too quickly.
Suzie’s expression grows injured at my words. “No, I don’t think he will.” She raises her eyes to the ceiling, almost like she’s saying a silent prayer. “It’s been hard for everyone, without you here.”
I steel myself. I absolutely will not cry. “I’m sorry, Suzie.”
She shakes her head. “We all know what you’re going through. We just miss you.” Here she takes a deep breath, then presses on. “Your mom invited us to the funeral on Saturday, and we said we’d come. I hope you’re all right with that.”
“Of course,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Of course I am. I can’t imagine if you weren’t there.”
Suzie’s eyes light up. “You can talk to him, you know. He understands, he wants to be there for you.”
I close my eyes. “I’m not ready.” But now all I can think about is him kissing me—embracing me until the distance between us is nothing, all of me wrapped up in all of him. “And I…” I press on my nose, hard, to ease the pressure building up. One tear escapes my eye, wetting my cheek in a straight line. “I really should be getting back.”
“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay. Call if you need anything.”
I hold up the envelope, my half-smile crooked and stretching my face in ways it doesn’t want to be stretched. I want to say Tell him I’m sorry and Tell him I love him and Tell him I want him back. But then I close my mouth, shove the envelope in my purse, and hurry outside. In the warm evening air, everything sparkles by the light of sunset.
I’m almost to my car when I see it, parked a block down the road: Levi’s car, freshly washed and glinting dark green. I pause, and it dawns on me what this truly means, that he is inside, right now, that he was probably upstairs when I was talking to Suzie.
My stomach twists painfully. I sit in the driver’s seat and think about everything Suzie said—about him not getting over me, about how everyone misses me, that I should talk to him. But she also said that he wasn’t there. As I slide my key into the ignition and turn into the road, I wonder how much of that was her trying to be nice, and how much of it was a lie to keep him safe.
Chapter 48
On Saturday morning, with lethargic and heavy limbs, I dress for my father’s funeral.
It’s an old black dress that I haven’t worn since Christmas last year, but Papa used to compliment me on the lace sleeves and band around the waist. I took it out of my closet last night to let it air out, and today I pull it over my head and zip up the side and slip into some black shoes. I try not to think too much, try to shut it all out, but I can’t. I just end up thinking about how hard I’m going to cry, how red my face is going to be when I talk to all those people, all the people who knew him and loved him but not as much as we did.
When I’m done with my dress, I help Millie zip up the back of hers, and let Astrid borrow my beige shoes, and fix Tom’s tie. Then I lean against the bathroom counter and smooth out my mom’s makeup, so it looks less like she did it while she was crying.
“Thanks, Bee,” she whispers, and blows her nose again, only to have to reapply her lipstick. Then I hold her to me, resting my chin on her shoulder, and let myself cry.
Ludwig’s baskets and arrangements look lovely beside the closed casket. I have a perfect view from where I’m sitting in the front row of the church, and they match with the funeral sprays Tracy put together early this morning.
I think we are all crying, every single person in this church. The women who cry for my mother, the big burly men who mourn their coworker, the old college friends who knew him longer than I did. The union of everyone he once knew is terribly beautiful, and I understand, now more than ever, what bittersweet feels like.
Tom gives the eulogy, and that’s the worst part of it. I not only hear about my father from the boy who respected him so much, but I also see the man that boy has become. I cry as silently as I can, but it’s not enough just to put my hand over my mouth. And by the time Tom gets close to the end of his speech, he is also crying, his lip jutting out. I see him quiver, his shoulders twitching with the effort it takes to stay composed.
“My father had nothing to give the world but himself,” he finishes, his voice hoarse and his eyes downcast. But then he briefly raises them to the ceiling above, and we all pretend we didn’t hear the single sob on his lips. “To me, to everyone here…we understood that that was enough. He was enough. Thank you.”
When he joins us again, sitting between me and Astrid, he leans forward with his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. I am crying as hard as he is, as hard as my sisters, but we rest against him, arms twining around his waist, faces pressed to his dress coat. I can’t even look at my mom for fear of the agony I will see.
At the end of the service, my family stays seated, letting our friends pass our row as they make their way up to the casket. They hug and kiss us, giving their condolences, making sure we know we are not alone. (I have never felt so alone in my life.) Eventually, I am too weak to stand, so I return to my seat and watch legs and torsos as they pass me, and the odd hand that reaches down to squeeze mine.
Then—Levi. His legs come into view, long and lean, planted firmly in front of me. I don’t look up because I’m afraid to see his face and his pity and his strength. I don’t want to think about how he listened to me talking with his mom and didn’t come downstairs, that he doesn’t want to be with me, that he’s trying to move on (despite Suzie’s claims, despite my hopes).
But then, he does a very Levi thing: He surprises me. His knees bend, and he squats in front of me and takes my hands and bows his head. His lips brush my fingers, my palms, my wrists. Everywhere.
I am undone.
My mouth opens and a tiny sound comes out—not quite a wail, not quite a whimper. I fold into myself, bending, which means I must lean against him, my face in his neck. He wraps himself around me, arms like twine, a lifeline around my waist. My tears fall harder, and it’s only because of his closeness that I know he’s crying as well, his body tensing and releasing with each quiet sob.
When he lets me go, I hardly remember where I am. The room suddenly seems too bright and the people too loud, and he is gone, up the stairs to where the casket lies. Soon, too soon, I lose track of him in the crowd; if he looks back at me, I don’t know it. Instead, I use the strength he’s given me to stand up again and face the last of the line.