This Winter

Chapter 23

Present

The morning arrives with a bitterness that coats my tongue. It doesn't leave me when I scrub my teeth harshly with fluoride toothpaste. Nor when I rinse my mouth with minty mouthwash.

It stains my throat, reminding me today is the dreadful day of Kurtis Anderson's funeral.

My stomach twists and churns throughout breakfast. I find myself unable to finish my stale bagel and cream cheese in the hotel lobby. Instead shoving my plate away and mindlessly scrolling through my phone- hoping something will catch my eye. It doesn't.

After a long time in the lobby, I procrastinate even more in my hotel room. Putting off the task of getting dressed.

Eventually pulling on some black slacks and a dark button-up. Something similar I dressed in my teens but the shirt is new- the tag scratches my neck. It's quite ironic that I'm still the same size as my teen years. Mostly because I was muscular before due to grueling football- my physique has lessened since my workout has been cut to occasionally running, but my body has since grown from my younger days.

I pull my coat over my buttoned shirt, hoping the gray will contrast the black on black. All black seems too mournful- I'm not in mourning. I'm only here for support, Noah's support. At least that's what I tell myself.

I tell myself that's why I'm here.

***

I'm early to the memorial.

There's light talking among visitors in the large building, that's meant to replicate a home. Many rooms are decorated with chairs and false fireplaces to create a warmth the people lack.

Rooms are adorned with various flowers from the arriving guests. It's a tribute to the Anderson's, a way to comfort. I came empty handed.

I stumble across a room with rows of chairs and a cross at the front. Only assuming this is where the memorial will take place.

I hadn't spotted Noah anywhere. Donna wasn't even found in the crowd, entertaining guests. I presume they have not arrived.

I don't recognize a single soul in the dark wooden building. Only elders from a particular richer class of the town.

I'm also early so not many people are scattered about the various rooms.

I'm almost certain I don't know anyone, until I spot a certain blonde in one of the pews. She's sitting alone towards the middle of rows, her head turned away.

I recognize her blonde hair instantly and walk towards her- slinking into the bench beside her.

"Hello, Savannah."

She jumps slightly from my voice, hand clutching her chest and she shakes her head scoldingly. "You scared me," she states matter-of-factually.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to," my hand gingerly touching her shoulder as I lower my voice. Attempting to blend with the grieving elders.

She huffs slightly, untouched by grief. My eyes skim past her to the empty bench and I'm suddenly curious. "Where's the family?"

"Oh, their at home. I didn't think this was an appropriate event for a toddler."

"Makes sense," my knuckles rap on the wooden bench and I relax into the oak wood.

"What have you been up to?" She questions, a hand resting over the obvious bump in her baby dress.

"Nothing really," I respond. My eyes unknowingly drift off to my surroundings, searching for him.

The blonde catches me with her attentive green eyes. Call it mothers intuition, but Savannah has always been a conscious person. Her dark brow quirks and I know she's onto me.