Page 20 of SEAL's Doorstep Baby
I can’t stop the barrage of thoughts and the guilt that follows them.
Funerals are a meeting of regrets, and this one is no different. I see Jacob, looking as strong and unmoved as possible, like he is carved out of stone. I want to offer him some comfort, but I don’t know how well it’ll be taken.
There are several people around us watching as the casket is lowered into the ground, but none of them are watching him like I am. They don’t see his hands close in tight fists as the casket gets lower. Not a single one of them sees the flinch of his eyes or the tremble in his lips when the first shovelful of dirt hits the wood.
I see all of this, and once again, I can see the man behind the mask. The vulnerability behind the stone—and so I step closer to place my hand on his.
Jacob’s fist loosens when he feels my hand, and I slip my hand into his. I want to give him something to hold onto, and at thisvery moment some irrational part of me wishes he’d close his fist back. I know it would hurt, but maybe the pain it would bring would substitute the one tearing me apart in the pit of my stomach.
Maybe the pain would finally make me feel something else. The guilt is almost too much to bear, but if Jacob can stand, despite how he must be feeling, then I can do it, too.
Eventually the casket is all the way down, and we disperse, making our way back to Emily’s. My hand remains clutched in Jacob’s throughout, and I am content to let it stay this way.
* * *
When we arrive at Emily’s place, the mood has shifted from somber to a more communal gathering.
Whether it’s because we postponed the funeral for so long or because we’ve finally started replying to messages, it seems like the whole village is here for the wake. In a way, it’s really nice. In another, it’s a bit suffocating.
I appreciate seeing how many people came out for Emily.
Still, I take the first opportunity to slip out after people start leaving. On the excuse to pick up Maddie from the sitter, I wave goodbye to Jacob and practically run.
Emily’s next door neighbor, Sherry, is holding Maddie in her lap when I make my way to her house after most of the visitors have gone. Jacob is still busy with other guests, so I leave him to handle that while I take care of Maddie. I am supposed to make sure that she is fed and her diaper is changed, but I know all of that will have already been taken care of.
It is Sherry, after all.
Sherry is a force to be reckoned with, and her age is no reason to underestimate her by the meanest fraction. I wasn’t foolish enough to make that mistake.
I make my way into her home after ringing her doorbell and receiving a reply in the form of a yell to get it.
“Hello, Sherry. Good day. How are you doing?”
“Better than most days, I suppose.” she answers, before she performs her trademark stare at me. I am sure she has used that stare to keep unruly students in line for decades. “Although this little one has decided my hair is to be tugged for her amusement.”
“Sorry about that.” I apologize on Maddie’s behalf. “Stop that Maddie. You don’t even have the slightest clue that it can hurt. No one’s tugging your hair, are they?” Rubbing Maddie’s sparse crop of hair, I crouch close to Sherry so I can try extracting her hair from Maddie’s grip, but surprisingly, Sherry is the one to stop me.
“Oh, don’t bother. Leave her. It’s just a little pain, nothing wrong with that. It’s good for the soul, I hear. The gist is, if you don’t experience pain for a long period of time, you begin to lose touch with your true self, because, at the end of the day, we are not made only for light, or good feelings. There’s always a balance to these things—light, and darkness. Too much light isn’t good for the eyes, and neither is too much dark. So no pain makes your life bland.”
I don’t understand what she is talking about, but I am used to metaphysical and psychological lessons from Sherry. A carry-on from her teaching days, I suppose.
Then again, that’s Sherry for you.
But some of it does make sense to me. “I can understand some of that I guess, it’s basically about how strife is responsible for every great thing and invention.”
“Good. You get the idea.”
“I guess so.”
“No. You need to really get it. He is hurting. That’s his dark. He will need a lot of light to balance it out, and I think you can help.”
I have a feeling I know who she is talking about, but I don’t know how I can help.
“Who?”
“Who else, girl? Jacob.”
I raise my brows. “I guess I understand what you mean.”
