The softhearted expression on her face tells me she didn’t doubt for a second I’d be able to pull it off—spondyloarthritis be damned.
I hug my father and my two brothers, Samuel and Jerome. Kim steps forward, carrying Sidney in her arms, and I squeal. My niece is not only the daughter of one of my closest friends from childhood, she’s just a few months younger than Peony.
I hug Kim, the award-winning photographer responsible for Garrett’sGolden Girlnickname, then I kiss my niece on the cheek. “I’ve missed both of you.”
After we catch up for the next few minutes, they leave to take Sidney to a table that has just opened up by the windows.
A few tables over, a young couple is walking away from where Emily is sitting. I recognize the bride-to-be glow on the woman’s face. The couple is newly engaged.
“How’s it going?” I ask Emily and sit in the empty seat across from her. She isn’t a full-time wedding coordinator, but her business has been growing steadily for the past two years. She’s also busy as Kellan’s full-time office assistant. The assistant he cannot survive without. She occasionally meets with potential clients here.
“It’s going really well.” Emily’s glow is brighter than the one the bride-to-be who just left had. “I’ve just signed another new client. Their wedding is planned for during the holiday season.”
“That’s great. I’m so excited for you.” I’m practically buzzing with excitement for her.
“Thanks, but what’s that saying? Always a bridesmaid, never the bride?” She lets out a self-deprecating laugh and rolls her eyes. “I’m always the wedding coordinator, never the bride.”
She picks up one of her photo albums and shoves it into her oversized bag. “Maybe I should just ask Kellan to help me find a boyfriend…since he doesn’t see me as anything other than a friend and office assistant.”
My gaze flickers briefly to the counter and the large bouquet from Garrett. “Or you could just tell him how you feel about him?”
She lifts her eyebrow in a silent question. She’s clearly asking me when am I planning on telling Garrett I’m in love with him.
“You never know,” I say, sidestepping the deep crevice of the question. “Kellan might get jealous of all the men he’s helping to set you up with, and he’ll finally realize he’s madly in love with you.”
“Or you could do the same with Garrett. And before you know it, I’ll be arrangingyourwedding.” She rubs her hands together, as if she’s eagerly anticipating that fictitious day.
I pick up one of the glossy pamphlets from the table without really seeing what’s on it. “You mean with another man or with Garrett?”
“Definitely Garrett.” She taps the pamphlet in my hand.
More specifically, she taps the photo on the front page. The photo Jess took last year of me in a white gown, my hair in an elegant upsweep. My hand cups Garrett’s face and our noses are kissing. It’s a gorgeous photo, capturing the joy of our make-believe wedding day, our fairy-tale love.
Capturing the happiness we felt in that moment, even if the love in Garrett’s expression was faked.
Too bad the same can’t be said for me.
“You really should tell Garrett how you feel about him,” Em insists. “Before it’s too late.”
47
GARRETT
Zaraand I sit in the pew near the middle of the church and wait for the funeral service to begin. I’m vaguely aware I’m tightening my hold on her hand. She’s the lifeline keeping me tethered to the spot. So much loss. So many families missing those they loved. Not just Kenda’s daughter and Tyson’s family. But all the families who have lost a loved one to gun violence or while protecting the most vulnerable.
Shit, I miss Tyson. And I miss Clarke and Cooper. They were my friends, my family.
A movement in my periphery has me turning my head. An officer in Marine dress uniform walks down the aisle. I can only see the back of him, but it’s as if all the air in my lungs has been sucked out.
Clarke.
But that’s impossible. Joshua Clarke is dead and buried. I might not have been at his funeral, but I do know that much.
Driven by the haunting failure of my past, I release Zara’s hand and stand. Only one thing has my attention, and it isn’t the man in the coffin waiting to be laid to rest.
I stalk down the aisle, following after Clarke, ignoring the puzzled glances sent my way.
He walks to the main doorway and pulls open the door. The brightsunlight spills in, creating an ethereal glow that outlines the man. Like he’s a spirit sent from heaven.
