Ben sent a wire transfer to their bank agent in Chiang Mai, a generous donation from all five of the K&A men, a sincere thanks to the clinic and the monks for the physical and spiritual care they’d given the troubled young man. Jeremy had come to them addicted to drugs and on death’s door. The experimental clinic in Thailand recommended by Jon had given his body the additional years, but the monks’ teachings and guidance had given his spirit renewed life Cassandra believed would be eternal. Ben hoped it was true. Lost souls needed all the help they could get, after all.
Even long distance, Marcie was working with Jessica to manage the memorial service details. He’d learned that through Peter, since Dana had been chosen to perform the service. It was to be held at Lucas and Cassandra’s plantation home on the outskirts of New Orleans. The sprawling grounds had a manmade lake fed by the marsh tributaries, lots of garden paths to walk, and a back lawn flanked by ancient oaks, the perfect setting.
He’d been working long hours, taking the lion’s share of Lucas’ work, even when the others protested. “I owe him,” he said briefly, and Matt let it go at that. Part of his self-imposed penance. The extra work helped the gnawing ache he had over other things as well. He was worried about Marcie, sure she was pushing herself too hard to support Cass and Lucas, trying to handle every detail in Thailand and at home. He checked in with Dana and Savannah regularly, confirming they and Jess were pulling everything off her shoulders that she’d let them take.
He hadn’t been able to resolve things with his girl before she left. If things had been fixed between them, he could have sent daily emails to her phone with more personal words of encouragement, comfort, things to make her smile. Instead, he found a card service that created unique, artistic digital bouquets, and sent her one daily, with basic notes. Thinking of you. Miss you. I’m here for you. That one mocked him, because until they had a face-to-face, there was a lot of debris that told her the exact opposite. Damn it.
She didn’t reply to them, but he saw the acknowledgments, knew she opened them all. He didn’t need her to reply, didn’t want to take up energy she needed for other things. The acknowledgment was enough. That’s what he told himself, even as he told himself not to be an idiot and get caught up in a paranoid scenario where she wasn’t replying because he’d lost her forever.
He sent two real bouquets the day they arrived back into town, one for Marcie, one for Cass. The card to Marcie said simply, “I’m sorry. For everything. Will talk to you soon.” Cass’ card had the appropriate condolences from a family friend. Now wasn’t the time for him to seek her forgiveness. Forgiveness was a selfish thing to ask during something like this.
While he wished the reason had been different, the separation had given him time to think things through. He was steadier now. Stronger perhaps, or at least on the right path to it. Though he wanted Marcie with an urgency that bordered on painful, he wasn’t going to screw it up again. Timing was everything.
* * * * *
Hell. He was late, despite breaking every traffic law to get there on time. He’d told Matt and Peter to go straight to the service while he went into the office to finish up a document for Lucas that needed to be filed today, and it had taken longer than expected. Crossing the back lawn quietly, he leaned against a tree a few feet back from the back row of chairs. It wasn’t a large crowd, mostly family and close friends, like Steve Pickard and his wife, here to support Cassandra and her siblings. Jeremy hadn’t had anyone in his life in the States not associated with his life as an addict. As Ben well knew, those kinds of acquaintances weren’t attend-your-funeral types.
Though mindful of the reason they were all gathered, he couldn’t help but seek out a glimpse of Marcie first. There. In the front row, her slim back even more fragile to him in the somber black, smooth hair in a barrette, the delicate line of her neck etched as she attended what Dana was saying. Her body leaned into Cass’, giving comfort.
He turned his gaze to the podium, decorated with a beautiful spray of yellow lilies and purple iris. Dana stood on a step behind it so she was tall enough to be seen by the gathering. It was different, seeing Dana in her minister’s robe, but her spiritual calling had always rested comfortably on her shoulders, despite the private side of her that some might say didn’t mesh with a Christian message. Ben guessed it depended on how a person defined being a Christian.
Dana could be mischievous, playful, downright kinky and irrepressible. She also had a lake of calm inside her, a deep understanding of people’s spiritual struggles in the face of physical and emotional adversity. She’d faced it firsthand herself with her injuries in Iraq. Her ministerial skills had already won her a loyal following at her New Orleans church, and they showed now, in her gentle but honest treatment of Jeremy’s life.
“Over six years ago, Jeremy came to the monastery door a troubled soul. Addicted to drugs, terminally ill, lost in every way one of us can be lost. But God opens doors for us throughout our lives, and Jeremy finally stepped through one that was offered. The monks told his sisters that he’d learned to be a kind and humble soul, always willing to help with their daily tasks when he had the strength to do so.
“On his good days, he helped them in the garden. Cass and Marcie visited a patch of vegetables that he’d sown and watered. Each day, even
