Chosen

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One: Questions

"Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around." -Leo Buscaglia.

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 The church clock tolls twice as black shoes scuffle out of the building. Quiet murmurs fill the chapel as everyone moves to the doors. I become lost in the wave of people as we spill out of the church and into the parking lot. The grey sky is cloudless and sunless overhead. The air is moist from the last few days' rain.

 The whole town has a somber mood. Everyone seems to speak in hushed tones and is walking on tiptoes. Words are spoken sparsely and seem to stay around one subject. Rumors and opinions flow from one person to the next. All of them are wrong; no one can know at the moment what really happened if they can ever know.

 My brand-new black leather oxford shoes clack against the rough pavement. I push my hair behind my ears as I try to keep my head down. As I separate from the crowd to head to the car, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

 "You know the church is serving us lunch, right?" Alex asks.

 "I know, I just need to be alone," I keep my eyes down.

 "Are you going to come back for lunch?" He tilts his head.

 "Probably not, I'll just meet up with you guys back at the house," I shrug.

 I turn to leave but Alex has different idea. "Hey," He grabs my arm and pulls be back around, "You are not alone in this. Don't close yourself off. Let me in. Let me be there for you."

 "I just want to be alone for a bit, that's all," I bite the inside of my cheek.

 Alex places the back of his fingers under my chin and forces me to look up at him, "I love you, okay? Don't forget that."

 I nod my head as we lock eyes for a few long seconds. I abruptly turn back to the car and this time Alex doesn't stop me. I fumble to pull the car keys out from the pocket of my jacket. Alex watches me as I get into the car and drive away.

 My grandparents' funeral was today. A handful of their closest friends came to mourn and grieve. It was a private funeral. With the Avengers there we could not afford to just let everybody come. Plus, under the tragic circumstances it would be socially dangerous and overwhelming for half of the town to come. I recognized most people who came. Old family friends such as Sarah Hannick were there along with people from the church and all the members of my grandparents' small group.

 The funeral was nice, just nice. There was not anyone who volunteered to give a eulogy. The only two people you would expect to even give one would be I, my mom, or one or two of my grandma's friends. Steve did offer to give one on behalf of the Avengers; however, my mom assured him that was not necessary. Our pastor gave a heartfelt message. He talked about the time when he first met us, in the long years ago when he was only an associate minister. He spoke about how the first time he met us that I was only two years old and dolled up in a Sunday dress.

 The stage was home to bouquets among bouquets of flowers. Beautiful arrangements of various types of flowers were sent by anyone and everyone who were disheartened by the passing of my grandparents. I did not care to read the cards of all of the bouquets that surrounded the two urns because they all said a version of the same thing. It is an ocean of roses, daisies, lilies, stocks, poppies, asters, peonies, and gerberas. There was a white rose on the pedestal that held the urns from each of the Avengers.

  Most of the sermon went by in muteness; I was too distracted mentally to pay attention. I sat in the second pew with my parents. The rest of the Avengers sat in the last row as they wanted to give us space. I had sat motionless with my hands in my lap as the world went on around me. The one part of his message that stuck out to me was when he was describing my grandparents.