“I don’t know why Todd wanted me to be the one to speak today,” she began. She really didn’t know. She cleared her throat. “The last time I was in this church, many of you were, too…when Todd and I…when Todd left me at the altar.”
Torie hadn’t meant to say it so bluntly. The pages of her carefully prepared speech quivered in her cold fingers.
“Todd…” she began, but had to stop, fight the tears. “Todd hated to let anyone down.”
Yes. That was it. Focus on that. “We’d only been dating six weeks when my father died. He hardly knew me or my family, but he was there for me. For us.” She saw her brother nod, felt the small smile of encouragement warm her.
“When my father’s long estranged relatives from New Orleans came for the funeral, he helped us cope. He organized many of you, his fraternity brothers and friends, to shuttle people to and from the airport, he brought groceries, he even fixed meals.” She saw nods and smiles from some of the brothers she recognized.
“When one of the brothers from his pledge class was diagnosed with cancer, he took every spare moment he had from classes to call every other brother to raise money for medical expenses.” Torie heard a muffled sob, saw a man drop his head, saw his wife put a comforting arm around his shoulders.
“When he came into his fortune, he didn’t change.” The words brought fresh memories: she’d come home from what was to have been her honeymoon, which had turned into her escape from the debacle at the church. The townhouse had been cleared of Todd’s things, and it was as clean as a whistle. Her car had been full of gas, the fridge full of groceries. The wedding presents had all been returned, with a note from Todd. He’d paid his secretary two thousand dollars to do it, and spare Torie the pain.
Two days later, the deed to the house and the title to her car, paid in full, had arrived by courier. Neither she nor her family had ever received a bill or a complaint from any of the vendors associated with the wedding.
A cough from the funeral director brought her back to the moment. She’d lost her place, fogged by the memories.
“He asked me to give him another chance. I said no. All I could see, all I could remember,” she managed the words through the rising sobs. “All I could remember was the feeling of horror, standing in the bride’s room, with all of you out here, knowing he didn’t want me.” The words, ripe with pain, escaped, even though she had willed them not to.
In the front pew, Pam sat crying. She saw Steven and Dev turn from either side to comfort her friend.
“He would call me,” Torie managed to continue, to drag her gaze and thoughts away from Pam’s grief, “at weird times of the day or night. From weird places in the world.” Looking at the back of the church, she saw a few more nods, smiles. She focused on those last rows. She didn’t recognize many people sitting there, and that helped. She could not, would not look at Pam, or Paul Jameson sitting with the pallbearers on the other side of the church, in the front. “He’d send me presents, out of the blue. I know he did that to many of you as well.”
She saw one of Todd’s frat brothers elbow another, bend his head to share a story. It made her smile. “Once he called me from the golf course at St. Andrews. I was annoyed because I was on a date, and here was Todd, calling me.” That memory was so clear, she was able to push back the tears. Her date had been outraged. “But I had to laugh because he wanted to tell me he’d seen an eagle and had thought of me, and that he’d won ten thousand dollars on a hole-in-one and was going to give it to a wildlife conservation group.”
Wiping her eyes, she was able to echo the smiles she saw before her. “It was so like him. When I hung up, I didn’t even care that the date was a bust.”
There were actual chuckles as she finished, and it helped her regain her composure.
“He hated to come home at times. It seemed like bad luck plagued him if he were in the states. He said he had to keep moving so it didn’t catch him.”
Torie looked at her brother as she said the next part. “When my grandmother for whom I was named passed away, Todd flew thirty-seven hours to be here for her service. He just did that sort of thing. The right thing. I know most of you have the same kind of stories to tell about him. He did the right thing, and with very few exceptions, he managed to make it fun.”
Tears welled again, fell like rain onto the shiny wood of the pulpit. “I was never his wife, but I was his friend. I never managed to forgive him for being strong, doing the right thing, and not going through with our wedding. Now, remembering so many things, so many good things, I wish I’d done that before now. Told him…told him…”
It took seemingly forever to pull her composure back from where it flew at those words, those thoughts. She knew her voice was shaking, but she managed to wrap up her speech.
“I will miss him, and I know all of you will, too.”
Stepping down from the pulpit, she fumbled her way around the flowers, approached the casket covered in roses. Pressing her hand to her lips, she carried a last kiss for Todd with them as she touched the cool oak.
She didn’t remember going back to her seat. She didn’t hear the music, or remember leaving the church to follow the casket out. That was all a blur.
The next thing that registered was Paul Jameson taking her arm at the graveside, leading her back to the family car. He’d stood next to her as they’d buried Todd next to his mother and father.
She’d been there. She simply didn’t remember much of it. What she remembered were flashes of the sky’s amazing azure crispness, the trees beyond the tent blowing in the March breeze, the deep comforting warmth of Paul’s hand on her arm, or at the small of her back.
Her brother drove her to the hotel where she was staying until the insurance company helped her find a rental. After she put Steven on a plane back to Russia, she called in sick. The following day, she pulled every string and every favor she could muster to get her projects covered. Assured by the vet that Pickle was on the mend, she turned the car toward the airport, and got on a plane herself.
When she pulled another rental car up at the hotel in Nags Head, North Carolina, it was like coming home. A refuge in the storm. The same one she’d found after the wedding.
That’s where Paul Jameson found her.
She was on the beach. No towel, no chair, not even a jacket to block the whipping wind. The sea spray was a bitter gall to his lips as he strode toward her.
