Beacon

by Michelle Irwin

  To the left of Phoebe’s coffin stood a heart-shaped wreath. One half was covered in baby’s breath, the other pink roses to match the spray over the coffin. Everything was perfect.

  Every small detail meticulously planned by Phoebe.

  And yet, it was all wrong.

  She shouldn’ta been in that box waitin’ on her final journey. She shoulda been alive and sassin’ me. We shoulda had decades left together.

  “Do you need to sit, or do you feel up to mingling?” Angel asked.

  “I should.” I didn’t elaborate which I should do, mostly because I didn’t know which I meant. I needed to rewind time a few years and live those days all over again. To fall in love with Phoebe again. To protect her better. To not make the same mistakes.

  “How are you holding up?” Alyssa’s voice pulled my blurred gaze from where it had caught on the coffin that held my love.

  My voice stuck in my throat as I processed how damn selfish I was bein’. Just like I had in Phoebe’s final hours, I was thinkin’ about myself and not the pain that everyone else was sufferin’. I wrapped my arms around Alyssa’s shoulders and whispered my condolences to her.

  “I contacted the funeral director to see if they needed any help, but I was told there wasn’t a need. She’d considered every detail, planned to the last degree,” Alyssa said, noddin’ in the direction of the display. “She made it easy for us at least.”

  I flinched at her words. There was nothing easy about the day. Nothing easy about life anymore.

  She frowned. “No. I-I didn’t mean . . .” She raised her hand to her face as her breath caught. Fresh tears rushed to her eyes.

  Without thinkin’, I drew her into an embrace again. As she sobbed against my chest, I whispered, “I know ya didn’t.”

  It wasn’t easy on any of us.

  Alyssa withdrew from my embrace as Declan found his way over to us. His appearance was just as ragged as the last time I’d seen him. It was possible the grief was now permanently etched onto his face. I was certain it would be evident on mine forever.

  “Mum’s got Georgia,” he murmured to Alyssa who took his hand. “Nikki’s with them too.”

  It didn’t feel fair to be forcin’ Phoebe’s nanas to be runnin’ a makeshift babysittin’ service when they were grievin’ like the rest of us, but none of us were in any fit state to do what we had to durin’ the service and take care of the children too.

  Three drivers who must have come together approached Declan, Alyssa, and me, offerin’ their condolences. When their talk turned to Phoebe’s style on the track, I made my excuses and left. There was no way I could listen to them talkin’ about that part of her life when it was the beginnin’ of the end for her.

  I found my seat in the front row of the pews and took it. I didn’t care that I was bein’ anti-social, or that I had a duty to present a face for the other mourners. No one else felt the grief as strong as I did; not in the same way.

  Almost on cue, Angel slid in beside me. “This waterproof mascara is bullshit,” she said, staring down at her hands. “Or maybe I just broke it. I’ve had to wipe the whole lot off because it wouldn’t stop running.”

  Reaching out, I clasped her hand. It was the reminder I needed that there was one other who felt the sting as fiercely as I did.

  Slowly everyone stopped their pockets of conversation and found their way to their seats. Declan sat on the other side of me, then Alyssa, Brock, Beth, and Parker. Parker and Beth held hands so tightly, it was clear they were drawing strength from one another. I risked a glance over my shoulder at the sea of mourners.

  “She touched so many people,” Angel murmured.

  I nodded. Everythin’ else just felt like too much.

  It wasn’t long before the funeral director stepped up and started the service. While she welcomed everyone, a new slideshow above her head began, showing photos of Phoebe’s whole life.

  The funeral director spoke in a gentle tone as she continued. The words didn’t matter, but it became apparent to me before long that Phoebe had written the speech. She’d planned every aspect of her death. I guessed it was one of the advantages of knowing it was coming. She’d spent so many of her final days planning this, just to make our lives easier after her death.

  Too soon, the funeral director called Declan and Alyssa to give their eulogies.

  And then it was my turn. With a deep breath, I stood and made my way to the dais.

  “When my sister passed, Phoebe gave me words that I’m tryin’ ta hold tight to now. She told me that as hard as it is to face, the pain is what reminds us to live. It reminds us why we need to keep going and enjoy the good moments for however long they last because there are no guarantees in life.” My voice cracked. “She was wrong though, there was one guarantee for me. I will love her until the day I die. Every moment of the years we had is gonna be with me forever. With that in mind, she wouldn’t want us to be sad for her passin’, but celebratin’ her life. She woulda wanted smiles and for us to share memories of the happiness she brought into our life.” My voice broke as I said the last words. The truth in them was too painful to acknowledge. I was breakin’ my promise to her by lingerin’ on the pain—and yet I wasn’t willin’ to let it go.

  Throughout the church, I saw a number of heads bob in agreement.

  “In the weeks she prepared for this, she asked if I would sing for her one more time today. Of course, I could never say no to her, but to tell ya the truth, I dunno if I can get through this. I hope y’all will forgive me for any notes that I miss.”

  I moved to the seat on the stage and lifted the guitar onto my lap. Unable to stare at the stained box that held my wife’s remains, I closed my eyes and brought up an image in my mind as I plucked the first notes of the song she’d asked me to sing—the same one I’d sung at Mabel’s and Abby’s funerals.

  Only this time, it would be a hundred times harder to get through.

  Part of me wanted to back away from the stage, and refuse to sing, but I’d agreed to it, and I needed to do everything I could to keep up with every promise I’d made her. Aside from my girls, my promises were all I had left.

  Picturin’ Phoebe sittin’ across from me at a bonfire—smilin’ and laughin’ at Angel’s side—as I crooned each word, was almost harder than singin’ to the room full of mourners. That was the night that sent us back on course to being happy, and it shoulda taken me to a place of some contentment, but I didn’t know how to process any positive emotions knowin’ I had to go on without her.

  I’d barely hit the first chorus when my voice faltered and failed. Angry at myself for failin’ Phoebe in this request, I beat the tears from my eyes with a fist and tried again.

  Each time I hit the lyrics wishin’ for one more day, they hit hard and too close to home for me to get them out. Despite the falterin’, terrible rendition I was providin’, no one laughed or muttered amongst themselves. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house—which only made it harder to get through a single bar.

  When I tried the chorus for the fourth time, another voice joined mine from the front row. Angel climbed to her feet and walked to my side. She rested her hand on my shoulder as she sang the words in unison with me. It proved to be exactly what I needed to get through the song.

  If I needed to skip a word because the lump in my throat grew too big, I didn’t have to stop. Whenever I could find the lyrics and fight to free them, she lowered her voice and let me take the lead. With my eyes closed, it was easy to trick myself into believin’ Angel’s hand was Phoebe’s and I was just singin’ to my wife in our house.

  When I played the last note, I opened my eyes and spotted the coffin again. Reality came crashing around me, and I dropped my chin to my chest. I had never been one for wearin’ my heart on my sleeve, but since Phoebe, I wore it on every part of my body. Havin’ been touched by her life, it was impossible to stow my grief.

  To thank Angel for her help, I rested my hand on hers. Although someone else stood to ma
ke their speech about Phoebe’s life or the way she’d impacted theirs, I couldn’t move from the seat. Instead, I buried my head in my hands and listened in as everyone else spoke about how my crazy, beautiful wife had improved their lives.

  Eventually, I was able to find the strength I needed to lift the guitar off my lap and join Phoebe’s family in the front row. My eyes found the slideshow of photos, and I was lost in memories of her.

  I didn’t even realize how far through the ceremony we were until I heard the first notes of another song. Rather than gospel readings and hymns, Phoebe had picked a few of her favorite people to sing or read a monolog.

  Once Angel started to sing her song, I was struck by the depth of her grief. It’d been easy to forget it all as she threw herself into helpin’ me with the girls. She had carried on relentlessly, like a goddamn saint, while I had fallen to pieces.

  The lyrics for the song Angel sang weren’t familiar, but they were perfect for the Phoebe and Angel story. It was a song of love and need and loss and captured everythin’ the two of them had shared. As Angel sang a line about bein’ willin’ to lose Phoebe again if it meant getting another chance to love her, it became clear it was a song that spoke of all the sorrow and love between them and not just Angel’s grief at Phoebe’s funeral.

  I wondered if it was a final love note from Phoebe, or if Angel had picked the song.

  My gaze met Angel’s—the only person in the room who understood the loss the same way I did—and I offered her a watery smile. When she offered me one in return, I knew I would get through the rest of the day the same way I had gotten through every day since Phoebe’s death—with Angel at my side understandin’ everythin’ I was goin’ through.

  Angel finished her song and came back to my side.

  “That was beautiful, sweetness. Phoebe woulda been so proud.”

  As if my words were enough to break the dam within her, her tears started anew.

  Before long, the ceremony was over, and we had one last chance to say goodbye to Phoebe. There would be no graveside service because she’d already chosen cremation. I waited until everyone else had left, and I’d done my duties of standin’ in the receivin’ line to thank the guests. Once I walked from the chapel, my duty would start again. The rest of the day and into the evening would be filled with the wake and family dinner.

  But first, I needed to say one last goodbye. I placed both of my hands on the cold, polished mahogany of her coffin and bowed my head.

  “You might be gone, darlin’.” My voice came in a choked declaration as my sorrow and hurt held my throat and chest in a vice grip “But I gotta trust that you’ll be with me. I need to keep ya with me, or I won’t be able to get through another day. I love you, Phoebe Castor Dawson Miller. That ain’t ever gonna stop. I will love you until the day I die.”

  My tears fell on the polished surface, blemishing the unflawed surface.

  I couldn’t help but think that I’d had the same impact on Phoebe’s life despite Angel’s reassurances. I wouldn’t fail our daughters like I had failed their mama.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: TIME PASSES

  MINUTES PASSED BY in flocks.

  Days rushed by in a flash. In the days that followed, I left the house once, to collect Phoebe’s ashes from the funeral home. She’d selected her own memorial—a bulb-shaped urn made from turquoise-colored glass with silver decorations and a nameplate. Bringin’ her home stirred up all the feelin’s of loss that had ravaged me for too long. When I returned home, I set the urn on my bedside table so she would never be far away from me.

  Weeks disappeared without warning. During that time, Phoebe’s lawyer came to the house to arrange the execution of her will. Everythin’ she had was goin’ to the girls. It didn’t surprise me, and it was what I woulda wanted her to do. In fact, it’s what I woulda done with the money if she had given it directly to me.

  Before I knew it, a little over six weeks had passed since Phoebe had left us. Angel and I had shared a somber Easter at home with the girls because neither of us felt much like celebratin’. We’d received invitations from various members of Phoebe’s family but had declined each one. It mighta been selfish, but I needed time more than I needed family. Although they said time heals everythin’, it wasn’t healin’ me. It wasn’t gettin’ any easier livin’ without Phoebe. If anythin’ each new day was a li’l harder than the last.

  The twins were thrivin’—they were hittin’ every milestone they should for their age, and both of them were already rollin’ over on their own, laughin’, and gettin’ their legs under them when they were held upright. Despite the way they filled my life, I still couldn’t find much joy in the day to day. Every minute was a struggle and even gettin’ out of bed was an uphill battle more often than not.

  A knock on my bedroom door signaled that Angel was gettin’ ready to head out. Without waitin’ for me to respond, she opened the door and leaned against the frame.

  “I’m going to head to work now.”

  “Work?” Over the last few years, she’d worked on and off in admin jobs and had scored the occasional modelin’ role. Since Phoebe got sick though, Angel hadn’t taken any work. I’d thought we’d come to a silent agreement that she wouldn’t so that she could be there to watch the girls. “Ya know you don’t hafta do that, don’t ya? I’ve got everythin’ covered, and I need your help with the girls.”

  “It’s just one shoot, and it’s been arranged for months. Before . . . well, before Phoebe got sick. Are you going to be okay with the girls on your own for one day?”

  I rolled away from her. “Course.”

  “I’ve given them a bottle each, changed them, and dressed them. Are you sure you’re going to be okay? I can take them around to Alyssa if you’d prefer.”

  I turned back to look at her. “I said I’m all right,” I snapped.

  She held up her hands in surrender. “Okay. I get it. Let me know if you need me. Otherwise, I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Okay.”

  The silence that fell over the room after my statement led me to believe she’d left, but a moment later, she spoke again. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you. It hasn’t been easy for any of us. But you have to join the living again. You have to do something. You haven’t even watched the first recording she made for you.”

  “I can’t just move on and forget her.”

  Angel’s footsteps moved closer to the bed. “I’m not saying you should forget her. God, that’s the last thing I want you to do. I just want you to stop shitting on her memory by locking yourself away for twenty hours every day.”

  My jaw clenched as I tried to ignore her words. It was easier to disregard her and attempt to stop her words from penetrating my heart.

  “How is this helping the girls?”

  “Angel, I—”

  “How is this honoring Phoebe?”

  “I can’t do this without her.”

  “You can. You have to. Maybe it would be a good idea to watch the first of Phoebe’s videos today. She was so worried you’d watch them all at once. I don’t think it ever occurred to her that you wouldn’t put them on at all.”

  “How can I?” I had tried a few times to watch the video, but each time the thought of seein’ Phoebe paralyzed me. I wanted it more than anythin’, but it would only serve to remind me that she was gone. If I saw the videos made near the end, when she was frail and had lost so much weight, it would be painful.

  “If you really can’t, then don’t, but you have to do something. Take the girls for a picnic. Go over and see Dec and Lys. Just get in the car and go to the shops. Something. Please?”

  Although I wanted to keep pushin’ back, Angel deserved better. The girls deserved better. Phoebe’s memory deserved better. “I can’t promise anythin’, but I’ll try.”

  “I’m just trying to hold everything together as best I can.” Her sigh was full of the pain that radiated through my whole body.

  I sat up and gave her more than a cursory gl
ance. There were bags under her eyes, her hair was limp, and her darker roots were growing longer showing at least two inches of unbleached hair. Her clothes were tighter than they used to be and her skin pale. It’d been so long since I’d paid any attention to her outside of conversations to discuss what was happenin’ with the girls each day that I hadn’t noticed changes wrought by the weight of grief.

  “Are you okay, sweetness?” I offered her my hand as I considered how badly I’d let her down.

  “I’m holding it together.” As if she’d been on the knife-edge the whole time, tears filled her eyes and traced down her cheek. She added a near silent, “Barely.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve let ya down, haven’t I? I’ve let everyone down.”

  “You’ve been grieving, and we all understand that, but at some point, life does need to go on. And I don’t mean forgetting Phoebe. I mean spending some time—honest to God quality time—with those precious angels you’ve got.”

  Swallowing my emotions, I nodded. “I’ll try.”

  “I’ve really got to get to work. I’m going to be late as it is.”

  “Okay, sweetness. Thank you.”

  She didn’t ask what I was thankin’ her for or respond to my words. Instead, she just nodded and left the room.

  Once she was gone, I got up to check on the girls who were on activity mats in a playpen in the livin’ room.

  “Apparently we need to spend some quality time together,” I said to them, “but there’s somethin’ else we need to do first. Wanna see your mama again?”

  I grabbed the USB with the number one printed on it. There were three in total, coverin’ all the years until the girls were eighteen. I shoulda watched the first one much earlier. After all, that was Phoebe’s dyin’ wish—the beginnin’ of her final story for me.

  Bracin’ myself for the pain, I put the USB into the TV and found the folder marked One Week. A moment later, Phoebe’s face filled the screen. It was as if we were back to having our Skype dates way back after her first vacation to the States. The years in between, all the heartache and loss, was easy to ignore if I imagined that were true.