Part 9 (1/2)

Danica remained professional and direct. ”Blake, you can do this. You are more than just a bar guy. Look in the mirror and tell me what you see. Right now. Go ahead.”

Blake tilted the rearview mirror and looked at his face. What did he see? He felt stupid looking at himself and trying to describe what he saw. A handsome guy? A mourning friend? Nothing seemed right.

”Blake? Top of your head, stream of consciousness. Tell me what you see.”

”I can't. I don't know what I see. A guy. A confused, sleazy guy.” He turned the mirror away.

Danica sighed. ”I thought you might see that. I know you just looked away from the mirror. Look again.” She waited.

How the h.e.l.l? He moved the mirror.

”I bet if you look deeply enough, you'll see the funny guy Dave saw. The confident, exciting, capable skier, the businessman and friend. He's in there. Do you see him?”

Blake felt himself smile. ”Maybe.” He was being snarky and he knew it. He got his feelings in check and said, ”Okay, yeah, I can find that guy in there.”

”Good. Now remove the thoughts about being sleazy. Confused is okay, but sleazy has no place at a funeral. Find that guy Dave loved and take him inside. Sit down midway, not up front, not in the back. Up front is a.s.sumptive, and back rows are for people who want to hide.”

”Invisible would be good.”

”No, it wouldn't. You respected Dave, and he respected you. Sit down, listen to the words, and let yourself feel what is said about your friend. Honor him with your attention-and your emotions. If you cry, it's okay. If you laugh, it's okay. If you feel something, then you've done a good job. That's all that's really important. This is about Dave's family, not about what you look like in there. Okay?”

The way she said, Okay, filled with compa.s.sion, made Blake's stomach lurch.

”Okay. I can try.”

”I have faith in you, and I'll see you Monday.”

Blake hit the End b.u.t.ton on his phone and looked in the mirror again, searching his dark eyes for that person Danica seemed sure existed. Do this for Sally and Rusty. He climbed from the car and went into the building, searching for the appropriate middle row and settling in next to a painfully thin, gray-haired woman with skin that was almost translucent. She turned to him and smiled, though her greenish-gray, murky eyes were already tear-filled.

Blake nodded in acknowledgment. He looked around her and noticed that there was an empty s.p.a.ce on her other side. It appeared that she was alone, too. Blake took comfort in that, then realized that taking comfort in her discomfort was probably not the right thing to do. His confidence faltered, and he reminded himself again of why he was there. Sally and Rusty.

The service moved swiftly and sadly through forty-five minutes of memories and meaningful pa.s.sages from family members. The woman sitting next to him cried throughout. Blake tried his hardest to listen to every word, but in his mind danced images of Dave and their last day on the slopes. He should have seen his angst; he should have stopped him, demanded that they ski together. But that wasn't who Blake was. He'd been too wrapped up in his own thoughts to reach out, and now he'd lost him. This is not about you, he reminded himself. Sally and Rusty lost him.

After the service, Blake stepped from his seat and offered his hand to the older woman to help her up.

”Thank you,” she said in a trembling voice. ”I hate these services, and at my age, I'm going to them every week.”

”Did you know Dave well?” Blake asked.

”Not really. I saw him coming and going from his car each week, but he was close with my neighbor, so I wanted to pay my respects.” They headed toward the door.

”Is your neighbor here?” Blake asked.

”Yes, back row.” She nodded toward a small, blond woman. ”Poor dear. She's had a tough time of it. I don't know what she'll do now.”

Blake didn't recognize the woman, though he wouldn't, he realized. Outside of a few ski buddies, he had no idea who Dave spent time with. According to Dave, not many people besides his family. But wouldn't she have sat with the family if she were close to them? He watched the woman pull on her heavy, wool coat and rush out of the building alone.

After the cemetery service, Blake approached Sally. He was glad he had the umbrella to hold on to. He needed something to focus on besides the fact that his best friend was being put into the ground. He wished Sally had waited until spring, giving them all time to accept Dave's pa.s.sing. She'd been adamant about his immediate burial, and though he understood her need for closure, it didn't help alleviate the sick feeling in his stomach.

He hugged Sally. ”I'm really sorry.” He wondered if Sally blamed him, but dared not ask. He didn't really want to know the answer.

Sally nodded, unable to speak beyond her tears. She clung to him and cried. Blake held her, while Rusty watched him out of the corner of his eye. Blake knew Rusty worried that he'd tell Sally about him skipping practice. Even Blake knew this was not the time or place for such discussions. He winked at Rusty to ease his mind and watched the boy's worry slip into a relieved nod.

Sally pulled back from Blake, wiping her eyes.

”Dave would be glad you're here,” she said.

Blake noticed that she didn't say she was glad he was there. This is about his family, not you. ”He was a good man, Sally. I wish I could have stopped-”

Sally shook her head, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. ”Don't. You couldn't have stopped him. This was probably a long time coming.”

”What do you...”

She leaned in close, out of Rusty's earshot. ”There were problems between me and Dave.” She searched his eyes, and Blake wondered if she saw his disbelief; then she continued. ”We really need to talk.”

Blake's voice failed him. Sally pursed her lips the way women do when they're holding back violent sobs. Her chest hitched. Blake shot a look at Rusty, who was now standing far away from them with his head bowed, facing the parking lot. Dave, what was going on?

”Sally...I didn't know,” Blake began.

Sally shook her head, then looked at Rusty. ”Don't. Sunday? Rusty is going to a friend's house for the afternoon. Can you come by around one?”

Blake felt like he was standing on the edge of the slopes, and one step in the wrong direction would send him tumbling over the cliff. This is about Sally and Rusty, not me. ”Of course. Sure.”

Chapter Eighteen.

Mich.e.l.le answered the door with teary eyes and a red nose Sunday morning. Danica's therapist senses perked up. ”What's wrong?” She walked into the foyer.

”Grandma's sick,” Mich.e.l.le explained through tears.

”How sick? Is she here?” Danica looked around the small room, then glanced in the kitchen.

”She's in her bedroom.” Mich.e.l.le led Danica into the living room, where she sat on the sofa. Family photographs hung above a small fireplace. The carpet beneath their feet was golden and worn, the dingy color of mustard powder. A piano sat off to the side, with photographs of Mich.e.l.le at all ages and ones of her mother as a younger woman.

”Mich.e.l.le, is she okay? Should I take her to the hospital?” Danica waited for an explanation as Mich.e.l.le sniffled and wiped her eyes.

She shook her head. ”No, she doesn't have a fever or anything. She's just tired and has a sore throat.”

Danica breathed a sigh of relief. ”Thank goodness. You scared me. But why the tears? Is there something else going on?” She watched Mich.e.l.le's face for signs of trouble, and beneath the tears, her cheeks trembled. ”Mich.e.l.le, what is it? You can tell me.”

”It's just...” She swiped at her eyes. ”It's stupid, I know, but...I can't help thinking...what if Grandma dies? Who will take care of me?”

Danica had worried about that herself. The truth was, Mich.e.l.le had no other family members to turn to. She'd likely go into the foster system until she was eighteen...unless her mother could pull her s.h.i.+t together.

”You can't think like that. Your grandmother is not old, by any means, and a cold is hardly something to worry about.”