Rejoice (31 page)

But first, he had a memorial service to attend, and that meant one phone call he could make tonight.

A phone call to the airlines.

Chapter Thirty-One

Very few people remembered Irvel at her service on Sunday.

The memorial was held at a small downtown church, a place Irvel had never attended, since she hadn’t lived in Bloomington except for her time at Sunset Hills.

Ashley had given the pastor a brief sketch of Irvel’s life, the fact that she’d loved Jesus and Hank, not always in that order. And the truth that even after Alzheimer’s had taken her mind, she remembered to be kind and compassionate, a Christian woman with grace and manners.

Three of Irvel’s grandchildren and two nieces made the service and sat in the front row. Her grandson would take over her affairs, since he lived the closest.

Ashley’s parents and Cole sat with her also, near the front of the church. Maria and a few other workers from Sunset Hills sat in the row behind them. Ashley had thought about coming by herself, without Cole, but she wanted her son to see this, the closed casket and the parting words for someone who no longer lived on earth, but had crossed over to heaven.

Beside her, Cole tucked his hand in hers as the organist began to play. Ashley had picked the music, too, and she felt her heart lurch as the first refrains of “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” filled the small church.

Ashley could see her still, Irvel, sipping her tea and humming the words to the old hymn: “Great is thy faithfulness, O God my father. . . . ”

The song played on and Ashley stared at the coffin. It was simple, inexpensive, a plan Irvel’s family had paid for long ago. A spray of red roses covered the top, and at the center stood a picture of Irvel and Hank. Already the caretaker had placed the other photograph—the one Irvel had died holding—inside the coffin.

Next the organist played “How Great Thou Art,” another of Irvel’s favorites. Ashley remembered watching the old woman and marveling at the brain’s ability to remember. Irvel hadn’t been sure of her whereabouts or the people at her breakfast table each day, but she could remember every word and note of her special hymns.

Amazing.

Ashley caught her father looking at her. She smiled in his direction, and he mouthed the words, “I love you.”

She returned the feeling, holding up the thumb, pointer finger, and baby finger on one hand—“I love you” in sign language. Her mother leaned forward and gave her a sad smile, which Ashley also returned.

The pastor was talking now, saying something about how Irvel had lived a good life, a long life. “But most of all, she lived a life of love.” The pastor glanced at the few faces in the crowd. “At the end of our days on earth, it should be the goal of each of us here to say we did as Jesus asked. We loved and were loved. The message is the crux of First John, that we might love because he first loved us.”

The man smiled at them. “Irvel understood that, and so today we celebrate her life.”

Minutes before the memorial ended, Cole slid his little body closer to Ashley and pointed to the casket. “Mommy.” He whispered her name near her ear. “Is Ms. Irvel in the box?”

Ashley started to answer him, but her throat closed in and made it impossible. How many times had she sat at the Sunset Hills dining-room table, enchanted by Irvel’s genteel demeanor, amused by her steadfast determination that Helen mind her manners, by her insistence that their time together was simply a wonderful afternoon of tea with the girls?

Now she was gone, and Ashley felt buried beneath the sadness. She thought about Cole’s question and the answer was obvious. She made a quiet clearing of her throat. “No, Cole . . . Ms. Irvel’s not there.” Ashley closed her eyes for a moment and hesitated. In her mind she could see Irvel, large as life, smiling at her from across the table, holding a cup of tea to her lips.
“Why, dear, what beautiful hair you have? Has anyone ever told you that?”

“But Mommy . . .” Cole’s whisper was louder than before. “If she’s not there, where is she?”

Ashley placed her hand on the far side of his small face and drew him closer. “She’s fishing with Jesus, buddy. Sitting near the prettiest lake in all of heaven.”

The graveside service was held right after the memorial. Ashley’s parents took Cole home, since it was Sunday afternoon, and he always took a nap on Sundays. Ashley’s way of helping him get ready for the busy week ahead.

Only two rows of chairs were set up on the grass near the place where the casket stood, ready to be lowered into the ground. Again the service was short, and when it was over, Irvel’s family invited Ashley to a small lunch at her grandson’s house.

Ashley declined. “I think I’ll sit here for a while.” Her eyes stung, ready to tear up at any moment, though so far she hadn’t cried. “Irvel was very special to me.”

They took turns hugging Ashley, and Irvel’s grandson was last to say good-bye. “My grandma lived her last few years a happy woman.” His eyes glistened. “That’s because of you.” His chin quivered and he pursed his lips, trying to maintain his composure. “You allowed her to live with Grandpa this past year, every day as if he were right there, just down at the lake or around the corner cleaning fish with the boys.” He shrugged and a sound that was part laugh, part cry came from him. “She talked about him all the time, and—” he looked at the other family members gathered behind him—“all of us saw it. She was at peace, happy with God and Grandpa and herself.”

He dragged his fist across his cheek and held Ashley’s eyes for a moment longer. “Thank you. We . . .” His gaze fell to the ground for a moment and he shook his head. Then he handed Ashley the photograph of Irvel and Hank, the one that had been on top of the casket back at the church. “This is for you.”

Each of them repeated the same sentiment, thanking Ashley and letting her know how wonderful Irvel’s last year had been. Then, very quietly, they left, and Ashley was alone with Irvel’s casket. As often as Ashley told herself that Irvel wasn’t there, that she was fishing in heaven with Hank and Jesus, the moment at hand was still the saddest of all.

Because it was Ashley’s last chance to say good-bye.

She eased herself from the chair and went to the casket, still covered in red roses. Ashley had taken care of the floral arrangements, and she’d chosen red on purpose. The color Hank would’ve given her for such a grand occasion, the passing from life to life ever after.

Ashley placed her hand on the polished wood and closed her eyes. “Irvel . . . I miss you. I miss you so much.” Her voice was quiet, and the sound of it mixed with the crisp February air and faded through the still-barren tree branches across the cemetery.

How much had she learned since coming to Sunset Hills?

She tried to remember how she’d felt that first day, the morning when that awful Belinda woman had mocked her and told her she’d never make a difference, never find a way to reach the likes of Irvel and Helen and Edith.

Hot tears flooded Ashley’s eyes and ran down her cheeks, and this time she did nothing to stop them. Belinda had been wrong then, and she was still wrong now. God’s love and Ashley’s desire to show that love to the people at Sunset Hills had indeed made a difference. Wasn’t that what Irvel’s family had just told her?

But it hadn’t made a difference for Irvel and her friends only. Ashley had been changed, too. Changed dramatically and permanently. Before Irvel, Ashley hadn’t understood what love really meant. Not God’s love or any other kind of love. She’d assumed that her parents merely tolerated her, and that no one would care about her after what she’d done in Paris.

Irvel convinced her otherwise.

The love that woman had for Hank convinced Ashley that life had to be memorable, that one day all she would have left were her memories, and if she didn’t take a chance and let herself love Landon, she would have nothing to remember.

No, she couldn’t sentence him to a lifetime of risk. But the times she’d shared with Landon this past year would stay with her the rest of her life. She loved him; she still did. Loved him with all her heart, even if it was better for them to be apart.

Of course, Irvel’s legacy went even beyond Ashley’s love for Landon. She had also learned to love her precious son, the child she had never known quite what to do with. And hadn’t it gone beyond that? Weren’t things better in her relationship with her parents and her sisters, even her relationship with God?

Ashley pictured the wall of Hank photographs in Irvel’s room, the glow on her face as she studied them each morning and night. Irvel had loved in a way that was not defined by worth or perfection or even life itself.

For Irvel, love went way beyond even the grave.

It was still true, because here and now, in the chill of a February afternoon, Ashley could feel Irvel’s love as surely as if the casket weren’t standing before her, but rather Irvel herself.

Very simply, before meeting Irvel, Ashley hadn’t known how to love. And now everything was different—everything. And all because God had allowed one special woman to show her the importance of love.

Ashley let herself lean against the casket. “Irvel . . . I hope you know how God used you.”

It was time to go, but Ashley couldn’t pull herself away. She gazed toward the heavens and thought about the mercy of God, letting her find her way to Sunset Hills, using a woman as dear as Irvel to change her entire view about love.

“God, give her a good spot at the lake. Right near Hank, okay?” Again her words faded on the breeze, and for the longest time Ashley only stood there, her hand on the casket, eyes intent on the fading afternoon sun.

After a while she heard something behind her. She knew. It would be the caretaker, of course, patiently waiting for her to leave so he could lower Irvel’s casket into the ground and bury it.

She let her gaze fall to the casket once more, to the spray of red roses shouting one last time about the love of a woman who would be sorely missed. “Good-bye, Irvel . . . thank you.”

The moment had come, and she was about to turn around when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Then, inches from her face, in a gentle voice laced with sorrow and passion, she heard him.

“You have the most beautiful hair. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Landon . . . ” Her voice was more of a quiet gasp, the sound of shock because, of course, he couldn’t be here, couldn’t have known about Irvel, couldn’t have found a way from New York City to the small graveside service in Bloomington.

But as she turned she saw she was wrong. There, as real as life itself, stood Landon Blake, his eyes damp and locked on hers, and before she had time to figure out how he had come she was in his arms, lost in his love and the realness of his presence, there amidst a sea of death.

He held her for a long time, rocking her and letting her cry for the friend she’d lost in Irvel. After a while he eased back and searched her eyes. “I’m sorry, Ash. She was a special lady.”

“Yes.” Ashley blinked. “Yes, she was.”

He studied her face then, using his fingertips to brush her bangs back from her eyes. “Have you said good-bye?”

“Yes.” Ashley nodded and for a moment she let her head fall against his chest. She’d told him the truth; she’d said good-bye and now it was time to go, time to begin the celebration of Irvel’s life, and the gifts Ashley would always have because of their time together. She lifted her head and gave Landon a sad smile. “I’ve said good-bye.”

“Okay, then.” He stared down a pathway that led from the cemetery to an adjacent park. “Wanna take a walk?”

“Sure.” She set the framed photo down on the nearest chair and slipped her hand in his, amazed that he had come, that he’d cared enough to be by her side at a time like this.

She realized something as they headed along the path. She’d needed him these past few days, yet she’d never admitted that even to herself, but now—now with him by her side, matching her step for step, their bodies brushing against each other as they walked away from Irvel’s casket—now the colors in her grateful heart were more vivid than any she’d ever painted.

Landon waited until they crossed from the cemetery into the park. He led her to a quiet bench ten yards from a small play area. “Sit here?”

“Okay.” She sniffed, her heart still aching at the loss of her friend. “You always do this.”

“What?” He leaned back on the bench, weaving his fingers between hers and clutching her hand to his chest.

“You always come.” She turned to him, and the light from the waning sun stung her swollen eyes. “Whenever I need you, you’re here. I don’t have to ask; you just—” her eyes drifted to the trees, the path in front of them—“you just show up.” She worked the corners of her mouth into a smile. “All the way from Manhattan.”

He angled his head, studying her. “That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

Ashley felt her emotions shifting. No. He hadn’t come here today to talk to her about their future again. Her heart skittered into a strange rhythm. Her soul was still too hurt, too raw to have that discussion now.

She shifted her position, placing a few inches between them so she could see him better. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I don’t want to talk about us anymore.” He gave her a sad, lingering smile. “I’m tired of talking.”