As he climbed back into his truck, Reva felt a flicker of excitement, a stirring of hope. Perhaps this chance encounter was the beginning of something new, one more chapter in her life she hadn’t dared to anticipate. Watching the truck drive away, she felt Lucan’s weight in her arms and smiled down at him, filled with a renewed sense of optimism.
Life had a way of surprising her—just when she thought she understood how things stood, everything shifted, upending her expectations. Yet, in the quiet aftermath of the day’s unexpected turns, Reva realized that change, with all its uncertainties, was also the bearer of new beginnings.
17
“Thank you, Ernie.” Reva balanced Lucan on her hip as she stood in the center of her office. “Your help with assembling the crib is so appreciated.”
Ernie tucked his screwdriver into his back pocket, his smile broad. “It was no trouble at all. I already had the tools I needed at the shop. I’m glad to lend a hand.”
Verna Billingsley struck a hands-on-hips pose. “I don’t see how you expect to get anything done with a toddler in your office,” she remarked, shaking her head with skepticism. “And just so you’re aware, babysitting isn't my forte.”
Reva offered her a calm smile. “Duly noted. But I’m planning to work half-days for now, until we find our rhythm.” She gently kissed the little boy’s forehead. “Right, Lucan?”
Verna remained unconvinced. “And don't count on me for any of thoseZoomercalls. I keep my distance from all that tech nonsense,” she declared.
This brought a chuckle from Ernie.
Verna scowled back at him. “What? You don’t know any more than I do about those things.”
Reva chose not to engage with Verna’s reluctance, understanding that her assistant's aversion often stemmed from fear of the unknown. She understood. The challenges of adapting to new circumstances could be daunting, as she was now learning.
“Let’s see how this goes,” Reva murmured, gently placing Lucan into the crib. It was then she noticed a milk stain marring the lapel of her black suit jacket.
Without missing a beat, Verna produced a handkerchief from her bra, quickly moistening it with water from a glass on Reva’s desk, and began dabbing at the stain. “When does the memorial start?” she asked.
Casting a quick glance at the wall clock, Reva replied, “We have less than an hour. I’d better hurry.” She expressed her gratitude to Verna, silently reminding herself to dispose of the water to avoid accidentally drinking it later.
Verna, always one step ahead, picked up the glass and gestured for Ernie to follow her towards the door.
Ernie paused. “It was incredibly kind of you to organize this memorial for the little one’s parents.” He shook his head solemnly. “It’s a truly heartbreaking situation.”
Reva offered a somber nod. “It was something I had to do. They didn’t have anyone else.”
She had wrestled with the decision of whether to bring Lucan to the cemetery. Ultimately, she concluded that, although he was too young to retain any memory of it, there would come a day when he would find comfort in knowing he had been there. Moreover, she felt confident that his parents would have cherished the thought of their little boy attending their farewell service.
As they stepped from the car later that morning into the bright sunny day, Reva reflected on the fragile thread by which life hangs, marveling at how swiftly everything can shift—for both good and bad. Sometimes at the same time. That young mother’s loss had become the possibility of her unspoken dream being fulfilled. It was a humbling thought, the realization that joy and sorrow can often be two sides of the same coin.
The cemetery, a tranquil haven nestled in the heart of towering pines, exuded a serene beauty. The air was filled with the crisp scent of pine, mingling with the earthy fragrance of the surrounding forest. The lawn, a sprawling expanse of lush green, was meticulously manicured, evidencing the community’s reverence for this sacred place.
The graves, each marked by tombstones that ranged from simple, weathered stones to more elaborate memorials, were carefully lined up throughout the cemetery. These stones, etched with the names and dates of those who had passed, stood as silent testimonials to lives intertwined with the fabric of the town. Reva, as she moved among them, felt a profound connection to almost every name. These were not just markers of those who had gone before; they were reminders of stories, of laughter shared, and of hardships endured together. Each one represented a thread in the tapestry of the community’s shared history, from pioneers who had settled the area to recent friends lost too soon.
Reva made her way toward the blue canvas canopy. She was taken aback by the unexpectedly large turnout, especially considering that none of the people assembled around the two elegantly crafted wooden caskets, adorned with a cascade of white roses had ever known the Dorseys personally.
Albie Barton and Fleet Southcott stood solemnly near Clancy Rivers, who was seated in his wheelchair, each of them donned formal suits that mirrored the gravity of the occasion. Wooster and Nicola Cavendish marked their presence as well, adding to the collective show of respect. The entire Knit Wits group had also turned out in full force.
As Reva made her way into the gathering, she was warmly welcomed by Capri, Charlie Grace, and Lila. Their familiar faces and comforting hugs enveloped her, symbolizing the unspoken support that thrived among them.
“How are you managing, honey?” Charlie Grace inquired, her voice laced with concern.
“I’m fine.” Reva backed up her assertion with a firm smile.
Her friends were worried about her—a worry she wanted them to know was completely unfounded. What mattered most was Lucan.
Reva’s mind was a tempest of emotions as she thought about the orphaned little boy, a tender soul left to navigate the world without the guiding hands of his parents. She couldn’t help but reflect on the profound love they had for him, a love that was tragically cut short, leaving behind a silence where laughter and warmth had once resided.
The unfairness of their premature departure from this life weighed heavily on her heart, a poignant reminder of the fragility of existence. In the quiet moments of the night, she pondered the dreams and aspirations they must have harbored for their son, dreams now entrusted to her care—hopefully long-term.
It was a responsibility she felt deeply, a commitment to honor their memory by ensuring that their love continued to envelop him, even in their absence. The thought of this little boy, orphaned yet surrounded by a community willing to embrace him, sparked a determination in Reva to provide him with all the love, security, and opportunities his parents would have wished for him.
