Queen of the Wood ✅

8 - The Funeral

I had told myself that I was ready for this. That I knew what to expect. Surely, the funeral wouldn't be so bad since I had already seen Grams yesterday in her casket. I had even faced the stares and whispers and survived the visitation.

Apparently, I had deluded myself.

As soon as Dad pulled up to the church, I could feel an overwhelming sense of dread and foreboding threatening to take over. It was like when all the water was pulled out to sea, only to come crashing back to destroy everything in a mega wave. It only grew when we entered Pastor Rick's office to go over the final details of the service. Growing up, I had found him kind, if a bit boring, in the pulpit—never threatening.

However, today, something different was in his weathered eyes as he watched me sit on the worn leather sofa across from him, almost recoiling behind his large oak desk.

While Dad did all the talking and he never actually addressed any comments or questions toward me, Pastor Rick's eyes kept drifting over. They narrowed, almost as though he was sending me a silent threat.

"How dare you show your face here."

"It's your fault that poor Richards girl is gone."

Whatever calm I had managed to piece together was obliterated as I stared down at my hands folded in my lap to keep them from gripping and wrinkling my dress. I had rustled up a new outfit for the occasion, knowing Grams would be forever shamed if I wore the same dress to her visitation and funeral. She'd be just as likely mortified if my new dress were rumpled up.

As far as anyone watching was concerned, I was Aisling Turner. Dutiful and obedient granddaughter to Dorothy Turner and daughter to Dr. Turner. I was the picture of polite society. No one needed to know I had obedience beaten into me by my mother.

They also didn't know how hard it was sometimes to ignore the whispers begging me to snap.

Thankfully, the conversation didn't last all that long. While Pastor Rick was left to put the finishing touches on his sermon, Dad and I wandered out to the foyer.

"You can wait down there if ya want," Dad said as we reached the doors to the sanctuary, nodding toward a hallway. I looked up at him, an eyebrow raised. "I can tell yer anxious. I won't make ya stand out here with me to receive guests if ya don't want to."

My body tensed. I wasn't used to this. Sure, Mom would be nice in public when I was on the verge of an anxiety attack, but even then, I could hear the warning in her voice not to embarrass her. With Dad, I knew that this wasn't about him or appearances. This was about making sure I was okay.

He offered a reassuring smile. While I was in no mood to return it, I managed a tight smile and quickly ducked into a small classroom down the hallway, eager to be alone. Jesus, if I couldn't handle the pastor's looks of disapproval, how was I supposed to survive the entire town's condemnation?

I immediately began to pace around the small room, stopping occasionally to look out the window as the parking lot began to fill with cars.

And then fill. And fill.

It was probably the first time I'd ever seen the overflow lot across the street filled up. Normally, it was only used for the Harvest Festival in the fall and a big Back-to-School Carnival at the end of summer.

"Shit," I murmured as my hands began to shake.

I then looked up at the ceiling, silently begging forgiveness for cursing in the Lord's house. Surely, God would allow me this small indiscretion on a day like today. Nearly the entire town was showing up for my grandmother's funeral. While she would be tickled pink, I was one step away from a full-on panic attack.