Ben’s voice wavered, and he paused. Dipped his head. Cleared his throat.
Hold it together, Garrison. You can get through this if you stay the course and keep your eye on the horizon, like Skip always counseled.
He lifted his chin . . . and his gaze landed on Marci.
Compassion had softened her features, and the sheen on her cheeks gave him the answer to his earlier question.
She was here to pay her respects as a friend of Skip’s, not as a reporter.
For some reason, that comforted him.
Grasping the edges of the podium, Ben held on tight as he wound down.
“I know my grandfather would have been touched—and taken aback—by the large turnout here today—but it doesn’t surprise me. He was a very special man.” He glanced toward the photo of Skip on the deck of the Suzy Q, which rested on an easel next to the urn holding the ashes of the man who’d loved the sea almost as much as he’d loved the woman he’d exchanged vows with more than fifty-five years ago.
“I’ll close by sharing a piece of wisdom he offered me during one of my visits here two decades ago. Not much sticks in a teenage boy’s mind, but as most of you know, Skip knew how to turn a phrase. He said, ‘Always remember that life moves as fast as a mole crab—and it can disappear just as fast. Live every day. Plans are fine and dandy, but if all we do is think about the future, we throw away the gift of today for a tomorrow that might never be.’”
Ben folded his notes with hands that weren’t quite steady. “Thank you all for coming this morning. I know each of us will miss my grandfather in our own way, but we can take comfort in the assurance that he’s home—and happy. While he always called Hope Harbor a little piece of heaven, he knew this special town was only a tiny preview of what God has in store for those who love him. So I’ll repeat to him now what he always said to me when my visit ended each summer.” He angled toward the urn. Swallowed. “Godspeed, Skip—and God bless.”
The last word scraped past his throat, and the room blurred.
Before he lost it completely, Ben tucked the notes in his jacket pocket and escaped back to his seat.
Reverend Baker took his place at the podium. “Thank you, Ben, for that beautiful send-off for your grandfather. He was a man of firm beliefs who lived his faith every single day. And he has, indeed, gone home.” The minister then addressed the whole assembly. “Following the service, please join Ben in the fellowship hall for refreshments. Now let us join together in song as we conclude with Ned’s favorite hymn.”
The organ launched into the introduction for “Amazing Grace,” but Ben didn’t attempt to sing. Instead, he closed his eyes and let the comforting lyrics wash over him, soaking up the much-needed interlude of contemplation and peace.
Unfortunately, his serenity was short-lived—because for the next ninety minutes, it seemed everyone in town wanted to talk to him and share their memories of Skip.
If he wasn’t still jet-lagged, Ben would have enjoyed their humorous and heartwarming stories. But even the full plate of food someone pressed into his hands and the piece of Eleanor’s sugar-packed fudge cake he wolfed down weren’t sufficient to restore his flagging energy.
When he was at last left alone for a moment, he skimmed the hall. If he could sit for five minutes, he might be able to . . .
“You look like you’re ready to fold.”
The mellow baritone voice transported him back twenty-plus years, to a sunny day on the Hope Harbor wharf.
Summoning up a weary smile, he swiveled around. “Hello, Charley. Thank you for coming.”
“No thanks necessary. Ned was a remarkable man—and a blessing in many lives. It was a privilege to know him.”
“I agree. Having him as a grandfather was a gift.”
“Indeed it was. You two had a special bond.”
“That’s because he saved my life—metaphorically speaking.”
“I know.”
Doubtful. Skip wasn’t the type to air dirty family laundry to friends and acquaintances.
Then again, Charley had always inspired confidences—and he had uncanny intuitive abilities. How else could he have picked up the turmoil in a young boy’s heart within minutes of their meeting all those years ago?
Apparently, his acuity hadn’t declined with age.
Nor had his appearance changed, come to think of it.
Ben sipped his lemonade and took a quick inventory.
Same weathered, latte-colored skin. Same long gray hair pulled back into a ponytail. Same keen, insightful eyes—now tinged with amusement.
“I feel like a bug under a microscope.”
Warmth crept up Ben’s neck. “I was thinking how nice it is to see some familiar faces in town.” Close enough. “But I have to admit that outfit threw me.” He swept a hand over the man’s dark suit, crisp white shirt, and string tie. “I’ve never seen you wear anything but jeans.”
“I do dress up on occasion if the event or the person warrants the effort. Ned did.”
“He’d be honored.”
“A tribute well deserved.” Charley nodded toward some empty chairs tucked into a corner against the far wall, away from the clusters of people chatting and eating. “I think one of those seats has your name on it. No one will mind if you take a break for a few minutes.”
“I don’t know . . .” Ben assessed the crowd. “There’s been a steady parade of people passing by, and I don’t want to be rude if someone wants to talk to me.”
“Everyone seems to be otherwise occupied for now.”
Ben took another survey of the hall. No one appeared to be in the least interested in approaching him.
Perfect.
“You’re right. Would you like to join me?”
“Thank you, but I need to get back to the stand. Weekends are busy, and I hate to disappoint customers. You’re planning to pay me a visit soon, aren’t you? I have a complimentary order of tacos with your name on it.”
“Trust me, you’re
