July 21st, 2021

    Hannah’s mother Gretchen handed her a bowl of macaroni salad, and Hannah wrapped it up in cellophane with quick efficiency, then handed it off to her sister who found a spot for it in the fridge. They had fallen into an assembly line of sorts as they put away all the food that their church family had brought over. 
    “I feel like I’m playing a weird game of Tetris.” Kate attempted a hesitant laugh along with her weak joke. 
    People were always hesitant to laugh when death hung over everything. At least that’s what Hannah had noticed over the last few days: at the hospital, at the funeral, even here at the house afterwards. People spoke in hushed tones and grimaced with guilt whenever merriment even hinted at making an appearance.
    “It’s not the biggest fridge in the world,” Hannah told her sister with a sigh, “but it’s normally fine with just the two of us. Maybe you and Mom can take some food home with you?”
    “Already done that,” her mother said as she finished piling slices of cake onto three paper plates. “Do you know that we have four bundt cakes - four!” 
    “Why do people always make bundt cakes when people . . .” Kate trailed off, and Hannah knew exactly what she was about to say.
    When people die . . . 
    “I don’t know,” their mother shrugged, “I guess they figure it keeps well?”
    “I think they also figure you have a houseful of out of town family,” Hannah muttered somewhat bitterly, “but Beau and Cliff only had each other.”
    Tears welled in her eyes as she sagged against the kitchen counter. She bit her lip as she tried to rein them in. Her mother looked at her sympathetically as she rubbed her back gently. 
    “Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”
    Even as Hannah bit her lip to control her emotions, she turned and collapsed into her mothers arms. She didn’t sob, just let the sadness seep out of her in sighs and a track of silent tears. Once she felt spent, she pulled back and rubbed at her wet cheeks. 
    “Speaking of Beau, I need to go check on him. He slipped out at some point. I think he was overwhelmed with all the people.”
    Her mother nodded and then glanced over at Kate. “We’ll let ourselves out. Call if you need anything?”
    Hannah nodded and accepted one more hug from her mother and then from Kate. She had thought it had been quiet in the house all day, but the absolute silence that followed the closing of the kitchen door was almost oppressive. She pushed herself up from the edge of the countertop and headed down the short hallway of their modest home. She hugged her middle, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. She stopped and checked the thermostat, but it wasn’t the temperature that was chilling her to the bone. 
    “Beau?” she spoke softly as she entered their bedroom. 
   He lay on the bed, on top of the comforter, still in his suit. He’d only discarded his jacket, tie, and shoes. He was slightly curled in on himself, but he hadn’t bothered to cover up with the blanket that still lay across the foot of the bed. The throw pillows he always grumbled about had been shoved slightly aside. One that said “Bless This Home” had fallen over against his head. He stared at the wall, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable. 
   Hannah crossed the room as silently as possible and eased onto the edge of the bed. She licked her lips before words spilled out.
   “Are you hungry? Cause our fridge is bursting with food. I mean, I think every single member of the church brought enough to feed an army. Mom and Kate both took some, but it’s still crazy how much food we have. We have cake. Do you want cake? We got four bundt cakes Mom said, can you believe it? And Kate wanted to know why is it always bundt cakes?”
   She laughed uneasily, then took a breath. She knew she was doing it again - babbling just to fill the silence - but she couldn’t seem to make herself stop.
   “I don’t want to make you eat, though. In movies the people are always trying to make the sad person eat, and then they get mad, and I get that, you know? I mean, who wants to eat when you’re super sad? So I could just leave you alone -”
   “Don’t,” Beau said, reaching out to grasp her hand. 
   “Oh, okay. So . . . you don’t want food then?”
   “I just want you,” he whispered. “Come here?”
   He tugged her gently, scooting back so she could curl up next to him. She lay down, a bit awkwardly, her chin tucked up under his and one leg thrown over his knees. The other she tucked between his thighs. 
   “The thermostat is fine, but I can’t get warm,” she muttered against his chest. 
   Wordlessly, he flung his arm around her. Normally, it would cause Hannah to sigh in contentment as a smile teased her lips, but today, she was too wound up by his strange behavior. She knew he was grieving, but sharing feelings had never been Beau’s strong suit. She had no idea how to help him or what to say. Words practically tickled her throat, begging for release, but she had a feeling that silence would be best, so with every ounce of her willpower, she made herself stay quiet. 
   It felt like they stayed that way forever, the only sound the heat kicking on and the buzzing of the refrigerator down the hall. Then she felt Beau start to shake slightly. Then he gripped her a bit tighter. Then she thought she heard him weeping, something she hadn’t heard from him since they were little kids. Then tears began to wet her hair, and she knew she wasn’t imagining it. Her big, stoic husband was crying. 
   For once in her life, words escaped her. All she knew to do was wrap her arms around him and hold him tight. He curled his large frame around her tiny one, his body continuing to shudder with weeping. 
   Finally, the tears subsided, and then he said to her, in a choked voice, “All I ever wanted was for him to tell me he loved me.”
   Then the tears came again, this time in an ugly torrent. As Beau clung to her like she was a lifeline, Hannah thought  of a dozen things to say. 
   He was an old man, and he just didn’t know how to raise a little boy.
   Maybe he thought men didn’t share their feelings.
   Maybe he was bitter from losing both your grandma and your dad.
   I know he loved you, though. 
    He showed you he loved you, didn’t he?
    She said none of those things. They were empty anyway, and would do nothing to give Beau the one thing he never had; the one thing he longed for. Hannah could say the words, show him her love, but it would never replace the words and actions his grandpa never gave. That was a wound only Jesus could heal. 
    So Hannah Rockport let her husband cry against her, and for once in her life, had no words to speak.