Unhealthy Coping Mechanism

Chapter 20

The remaining days before the funeral passed in a fog of flour. Harriet pulled out the last of the morning's batches of cookies shortly after Frank finished getting Sam settled in the car. "You ready, babe?" Frank asked softly. He slipped her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze, not caring about the dusting of flour coating her fingers.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

After a long car ride spent staring out the window and ignoring the sniffling coming from the backseat, Harriet arrived at the church. Nia greeted her with a hug that sent mascara dripping onto the back of her dress. "Thank you for coming."

"I am so sorry for your loss," Frank said. He offered her a handkerchief as he blinked back his own tears. He hadn't spent as much time with Elijah as he would have liked, but his father-in-law had been the sort of man you scarcely needed to know for a day before feeling like family.

"I m-made y-you..." Sam gave up trying to stammer through his sobs as he thrust out a drawing of him and his grandparents baking cupcakes together.

Nia clutched the paper close to her chest. "Oh honey, that is the sweetest thing anyone has done all day. Thank you for making your old grandma smile."

"Where would you like me to put the desserts?" Harriet asked. Her voice remained flat, her cheeks dry.

"Aw, you two are really keeping his spirit alive. He would have been so happy to see all those goodies. I can just imagine..." She trailed off as she blew her nose into Frank's handkerchief. "You can put 'em over in the corner with the others."

As Nia led Frank and Sam to their seats in the front row, Harriet hauled the heap of desserts she'd made over to the designated table. She smirked at the sad array of underdone chocolate chip cookies and cupcakes with sloppily frosted flowers arranged before her. They clearly couldn't compare to her sublime snickerdoodles, beautiful brownies, and perfect pies.

Mourners filed into the church in a sea of black. Sam scooted closer to Harriet the moment she sat down. She stroked his back until his shaky sobs quieted to sniffles as he leaned against her.

A picture of Elijah smiled down on them from above his coffin, and dozens of vases full of peonies perfumed the air throughout the church. Damn it. Harriet's eyes burned from holding back tears. She'd spent countless hours baking, yet she'd still failed to numb the grief wrapping its cold fingers around her heart.

Those fingers clenched tighter and tighter as the proceeding went on. Friends' eulogies filled with anecdotes about his landscaping days and tales of the hijinks they'd shared while hopped up on sugary treats brought both chuckles and tears from most of the mourners while Harriet struggled to remain dry-eyed.

"Lord knows I'd better not choke up there," Nia muttered as she approached the coffin after a sobbing poker buddy was escorted back to his seat by his wife.

She had never looked older. Her withered fingers gripped the podium for support as she cast a loving look over her shoulder at Elijah's picture.

Harriet remembered the day it had been taken. The moment she'd told him he was going to be a grandpa, the biggest smile she'd ever seen had bloomed across his face. "I'm going to spoil that boy rotten," he'd said with a twinkle in his eye.

And he had. Despite the illness that had been wreaking havoc on his lungs even then, he'd given Sam piggyback rides through his garden, picked strawberries with him until red juice had shined on their lips like lipstick, and treated him like the most important person in the universe every time he'd visited.

Nia cleared her throat and dabbed tears from her eyes. "Thank you all for coming here today. Elijah and I were married for over forty years and, as I'm sure you can imagine, saying goodbye is the hardest thing I've ever had to do."

The crowd murmured words of agreement and comfort. Harriet joined in the chorus, yet she couldn't help feeling bitter. What did these people know about the pain they were feeling? Their words rang as hollowly in her ears as Frank's apologies did each time he arrived home long after Sam had already gone to bed. They meant nothing to her.

"He lived a good life, my Elijah. He had a wonderful daughter, a sweet grandson, and an okay son-in-law."

Chuckles filled the church. Frank nudged Harriet. "At least she mentioned me," he said with a trembling smirk as he struggled not to break down.

"Speaking of my grandson," Nia said, "that absolute sweetheart got us a wonderful early Christmas present. You all know how much Elijah loved to indulge his sweet tooth, so it's a miracle he didn't bite into what has to be the world's tastiest looking ornament. A cupcake on a Christmas tree, who'd have thought? I don't know about you, but I think somebody's name is definitely at the top of the nice list this year."

Sam smiled through his tears at his grandma's praise.

"I swear Elijah practically lived in the kitchen in his last few weeks. I don't know what in God's name got into that man, but he just could not stop baking! Every single time his lungs started bugging him, he'd go fix up a big ol' batch of cupcakes or whatever else he was hankering for at the time. Said it helped him dull the pain and feel less scared." Her voice grew quiet. "That was the last thing he did, actually. Right after he finished icing those gorgeous cupcakes over there in the back, he went to take a nap, and..."

Harriet didn't hear a word of the rest of her mom's eulogy as her throat tightened. It was her fault. If she hadn't taught her dad Carol's trick, maybe he would have stayed awake. Maybe he'd still be here, prepping for Thanksgiving with her and the rest of the family instead of lying cold and alone in his coffin.

Sam tugged on her sleeve gently. "It's your turn," he whispered as Nia returned to her seat.

"I can tell 'em it would be too much for you if you want," Frank said quietly. "Or I could say your speech for you."

Harriet shook her head. She'd killed her dad. The least she could do was say something to honor his memory.

She dragged herself to the podium with halting steps. The scent of peonies flooded her nose as she stared out into the crowd.

"My father was a stubborn man. By the time he quit smoking, he already had COPD. But my father was a stubborn man, and he fought that disease with everything he had." Tears streamed down Harriet's face as she struggled to speak past the lump in her throat. "He was too stubborn not to push himself every day so he could spend as much time as possible around Sam and I instead of in the hospital, too stubborn to listen to my mom when she told us it wouldn't be a good idea for him to bake.

"So, here we are. Because I'm just as stubborn as he was, I convinced him to bake with me on Halloween because I thought it would help him like it's helped me. If I hadn't, he'd still be..." Her sobs sent her breath rattling out of her lungs the same way his COPD had made his. "It's all my fault. I'm sorry."

Harriet ran past rows of hands reaching out to comfort her and words rendered indistinguishable by her sobbing. Her heart ached as if it was ready to burst as she rushed through the sea of blackness.

Finally, she burst through the doors of the church into the frigid autumn air. Dead leaves whipped past her face as she sprinted to the car. She fumbled in her purse, finding nothing but used tissues and lip balm. Damn it! Frank had the keys. Her baking had failed her, and she couldn't even grieve in private.

Collapsing against the cold metal of the car door, Harriet broke down.