A Hannah and Beau Flashback . . .

     Hannah wrapped her arms tightly around herself, trying to ward off a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. She almost hadn’t come, but her mom and her sister said that the funeral might help. At the last minute, she’d forced herself out of bed, stood under the stream of the hottest shower she could stand, then put on the closest thing she had to a black dress. If her long, stretchy skirt and baggy, navy sweater were inappropriate, her mother and Kate hadn’t said so. 

     Now, standing in front of Rachel’s casket, Hannah stretched the arms of her sweater over her fists, her throat hot and dry. Rachel’s casket was closed, and Hannah wished she could see her best friend one last time. On the other hand, she was glad she didn’t have to look at the body. The rumors said . . . She shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut tightly. She couldn’t think about that. Not ever.
  
      The surface of the casket was kind of like the white boards at school, only permanent. Markers of assorted colors were in a cup next to the casket, and many of Hannah’s classmates had already signed it, leaving messages to Rachel. Hannah frowned. Some of these people barely knew her best friend! Some of them didn’t even like her when she was alive. Angry tears fell unbidden, and Hannah dashed them away with a sweater-covered fist. The thought of leaning over the casket, touching it, writing something pithy as if it were a yearbook or something, made her feel ill. She walked away from the casket, avoiding the gaze of Rachel’s mother. Was she disappointed that Hannah hadn’t signed it? Guilt suddenly warred with a feeling of nausea, and she clutched her middle tight. 

     Hannah suddenly felt exposed, and there was nothing she wanted more than to hide somewhere. Mourners were still filing past the casket, so Hannah figured she had time before the memorial service began. She exited the chapel doors and into the lobby of the funeral home. There was a parlor to her right filled with flowers, but she didn’t want to go there. A television played a slideshow of photographs chronicling Rachel’s brief life. Hannah was even in a few of the images. Watching it once was enough; she couldn’t bear it again. 

    To her left was a coat closet that was mostly empty. The early fall day was actually pleasant for coastal Massachusetts, so few had brought coats. Hannah slipped inside, shutting the door behind her. She made her way to the very back of the closet and slid to the floor.  A black pea coat swung above her, clanking against empty hangers. She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her forehead against them. She waited for the tears, but they didn’t come. They were trapped in her chest, clogging up her throat and filling her with heat that throbbed at her temples. 

      “Hannah?”

     The voice was deep yet soft, hesitant and concerned. She lifted her gaze, unsurprised to see Beau standing in front of her. Of course he came looking for her. His presence made something in her heart crack open, and sobs suddenly burst from her throat. It was a guttural sound, like a wounded squirrel she had found once under a tree in her yard. She hadn’t slept for days after finding the tiny thing choking in agony. She felt like that squirrel now, in too much pain to think or react, past hope. The tears streamed down her cheeks, and the heat of her tears caused her nose to drip, but she was in such deep grief, she wasn’t embarrassed by it. 

     Beau eased down onto the floor beside her. He reached for her hand, still wrapped tightly in her sweater. Through the wool, he pressed something into her palm. A tissue. 

     She dabbed at her wet nose, but the tissue was quickly useless as another round of sobs shook her body. Beau handed her another. And another. He sat there, wordlessly, as she continued to weep. Sat there and dutifully handed her tissues. 

     Finally, she was spent and hiccuping. She blew her nose on what felt like her millionth tissue, and knew from the heat radiating from her cheeks that she was a red and blotchy mess. She collapsed against Beau’s shoulder, her body sagging in utter exhaustion. In the aftermath of her sobs, she heard music coming from the chapel. 

     “The service started, huh?” she asked. 

     “Yes,” Beau told her simply, “your mom noticed you were gone.”

     “So she sent you?”

     “I offered.”

     She nodded against his shoulder. She now recognized the song that was playing, "One Sweet Day," and her chest ached. Apparently, it had become some sort of theme song for the accident. She understood, in a way. This was a small community, and the loss felt bigger because of it. If a song helped, who was she to judge? 

     “I wish they’d stop it with this song.”

     Her voice sounded bitter, even to her own ears. Beau simply released a sigh and put an arm around her. He didn’t speak. 

     “I feel like some of the kids at school are perversely enjoying all this. Playing that stupid song over the loudspeaker, talking about the accident constantly. Did you see Becca Ridgeway in there?”

     “How she passed out when she got to the casket?”

     Hannah snorted. “Please. She didn’t pass out. She’s trying to get attention. She didn’t even know Rachel!”

      She felt Beau nod against her head. 

     “They don’t really care. They just think it’s fun to be dramatic.”

     Her voice was rising. If anyone came out into the lobby, they would probably hear her. Beau didn’t admonish her to quiet down, though. Kate would have.

     “And that casket was weird, wasn’t it?”

    “You mean signing it?” Beau asked.

     “Yeah. Did you do it?”

     “Nah. I had no idea what to say. It felt weird to me, too.”

     Hannah let out a long, relieved sigh. “Thank God. I thought it was just me.”

     They both let out an awkward laugh. In a way, it felt good to laugh. Then on the heels of that thought, it felt wrong to laugh. She didn’t have a right to laugh. Did she?

     “There’s no wrong way to do it, you know,” Beau finally said. 

     “Do what?”

     “Be sad. That’s what Grandpa said when I came to live with him.”

     She waited, thinking maybe Beau would elaborate. She should have known he wouldn’t. Yet his words, brief as they were, made sense and lifted her shoulders the tiniest bit. Hannah shifted and slipped down a bit so her face was pressed against Beau’s chest and her arms circled his waist. He wrapped her up in his embrace, and she sighed contentedly.
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     “Thank you,” she whispered against his shirt and tie. 

     He responded by holding her tighter. And she knew. He would be there when she needed him. Especially when life got rough.